Before Forgiving: Cautionary Views of Forgiveness in Psychotherapy

BEFORE FORGIVING

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'BEFORE FORGIVING Cautionary Views of Forgiveness in Psychotherapy

Edited by Sharon Lamb Jeffrie G. Murphy

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

2002

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

Oxford New York Auckland Bangkok Buenos Aires Cape Town Chennai Dar es Salaam Delhi Hong Kong Istanbul Karachi Kolkata Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Mumbai Nairobi Sao Paulo Shanghai Singapore Taipei Tokyo Toronto and an associated company in Berlin

Copyright © 2002 by Oxford University Press, Inc. Published by Oxford University Press, Inc. 198 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016 www.oup.com Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Oxford University Press. Jerome Neu, "To Understand AH Is to Forgive All—Or Is It?," copyright © 2001 Jerome Neu. Reprinted with permission of the author. Jeffrie G. Murphy, "Forgiveness in Counseling: A Philosophical Perspective," copyright © 1998 by Jeffrie G. Murphy. Reprinted with permission of Kluwer publishers. Norman Care, "Forgiveness and Effective Agency," from Decent People, copyright © 2000 by Norman Care. Reprinted with permission of Rowman and Littlefield Publishers. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Before forgiving : cautionary views of forgiveness in psychotherapy / edited by Sharon Lamb and Jeffrie G. Murphy. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-19-514520-8 1. Forgiveness. I. Lamb, Sharon. II. Murphy, Jeffrie G. BF637.F67 B44 2002 155.9'2—dc21 2001036416

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

This book is dedicated to the memory of Norman S. Care, a distinguished philosopher and a gifted and compassionate teacher

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Contents

Preface ix Jeffrie G. Murphy Acknowledgments Contributors

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Introduction: Reasons to Be Cautious about the Use of Forgiveness in Psychotherapy 3 Sharon Lamb Part I. When Forgiving Doesn't Make Sense

1. To Understand All Is to Forgive All—Or Is It? Jerome Neu

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Part II. Forgiveness in theTherapy Hour

2. Forgiveness in Counseling: A Philosophical Perspective 41 Jeffrie G. Murphy 3. Forgiveness in Practice: What Mental Health Counselors Are Telling Us 54 Varda Konstam, Fern Marx, Jennifer Schurer, Nancy B. Emerson Lombardo, and Anne K. Harrington 4. Forgiveness as Therapy 72 Norvin Richards 5. Forgiveness in Counseling: Caution, Definition, and Application 88 Mona Gustafson Affinito 6. Forgiveness and Self-Forgiveness in Psychotherapy 112 Margaret R. Holmgren 7. Forgoing Forgiveness 136 BillPuka

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Part III. Culture and Context in Forgiveness

8. Women, Abuse, and Forgiveness: A Special Case 155 Sharon Lamb 9. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: Psychoanalytic and Cultural Perspectives on Forgiveness 172 Janice Haaken 10. Forgiveness after Genocide? Perspectives from Bosnian Youth 192 Joshua M. Thomas and Andrew Garrod Part IV Perpetrators and Forgiveness

11. Forgiveness and Effective Agency 215 Norman S. Care 12. Earning Forgiveness: The Story of a Perpetrator, Katherine Ann Power Janet Landman Index,

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Preface

A few years ago I (a philosopher) read with admiration psychologist Sharon Lamb's book The Trouble with Blame: Victims, Perpetrators, and Responsibility. In my view, her book—although deeply sensitive to the genuine hurts experienced by victims—also advocated forcefully the case for victims responsibly taking charge of their own lives in order to transcend their victimhood rather than wallow in it. We live in a world, alas, where people are given strong incentives—often ideologically motivated—to remain stuck in their victimhood and let it define them. I found Professor Lamb's advocacy of strength and responsibility as an important corrective very persuasive. Sensing a degree of intellectual and moral kinship with Professor Lamb, I sent her a letter telling her how much I liked her book and enclosed a recent essay of mine, "Forgiveness in Counseling: A Philosophical Perspective." In that essay I expressed some skepticism about the current trend of forgiveness counseling in psychotherapy—a trend revealed both in serious scholarly literature and in countless popular books in the self-help and recovery sections of bookstores. In these books, we are generally bombarded on all sides with the advice that the road to recovery and mental and moral health is paved with forgiveness—both of others and of ourselves. Frequently these books make a persuasive case that we sometimes can transcend our victimhood through acts of forgiveness, but they often fail to show appreciation that forgiveness can also sometimes be an act of weakness and insecurity—a hasty suppression of anger and resentment when that anger and resentment are neither evil nor unhealthy but rather valuable testimony to our self-respect. Although certainly not an enemy of forgiveness under the proper circumstances, I found much of this literature overly sentimental and enthusiastic in its boosterism for forgiveness. In particular, I thought that much of it tended to see only the good side of forgiveness and only the bad side of resentment and getting even. The purpose of my essay was to resist forgiveness as a universal prescription; it stated the case against and showed the dangers of hasty and uncritical forgiveness—a haste that fails to appreciate that there is such a

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thing as evil in the world and that people who do evil may be, particularly if unrepentant, legitimate objects of resentment rather than forgiveness by those they have victimized. Forgiveness, in my view, is generally legitimate only if directed toward the properly deserving (e.g., the repentant) and if it can be bestowed in such a way that victim self-respect and respect for the moral order can be maintained in the process. Cheap and hasty forgiveness, what some have called "cheap grace," can only debase the real and valuable article—as former president Clinton's tiresome perpetual babble about forgiveness surely illustrates. When Professor Lamb read my essay, she wrote back that she shared my skepticism about the forgiveness movement in psychotherapy, and we began a correspondence about this and other matters that soon developed into such a warm relationship that Professor Lamb (now Sharon) became the first person with whom I have developed a friendship totally through the Internet. We still have never met in person. At some point in our e-mail conversations, one of us (I cannot remember who) suggested that it might be a good idea to put together a collection of essays expressing not opposition to forgiveness but some cautions about its hasty and inappropriate uses—particularly in the context of psychological counseling. Our thought was that forgiveness is not something to be jumped into but rather to be adopted, if at all, only after some rational thinking— hence the title Before Forgiving. We thought that useful discussion of forgiveness must be interdisciplinary in nature and decided to bring together the perspectives of our two disciplines: philosophy (with its careful conceptual analysis and reflection on values) and psychology (with its understanding of the human personality and clinical practice). Our plan was to tempt a mix of both psychologists and philosophers to respond to some of the concerns I had raised in my essay. The present volume represents the fruits of that idea. It contains essays by philosophers (selected for the most part by me) and psychologists (selected for the most part by Sharon). Except for my essay and the essay by Norman Care, all of the essays were written expressly for the present volume. My goal (and, I believe, Sharon's also) for this collection is to enrich the discussion of the topic of forgiveness by setting it in a broad context where criticism as well as advocacy will be given a hearing. The purpose is not to reject or oppose forgiveness but rather to explore some cautions about it—in short, to throw a bit of a wet blanket over trendy forgiveness boosterism. We have all heard the cliche, "To err is human, to forgive divine," but we need to hear S. J. Perelman's variation on this cliche as well: "To err is human, to forgive supine." The truth is probably to be found somewhere between the two. August 2001 Tempe, Arizona

Jeffrie G. Murphy

Acknowledgments

We would like to thank several people for contributing to our thinking on these issues: Ellen Canacakos, Anne Dalke, Jean Hampton, Ron Miller, Peter Tumulty, the authors who contributed to this volume, and members of the Association for Moral Education. Special thanks to Padraic Springuel, Tara Arcury, Pauline Beaulieu, and Monica Kellow for help with the manuscript.

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Contributors

Mona, Gustafson Affinito, Ph.D., L.P., emeritus professor of psychology at Southern Connecticut State University, has given frequent workshops on "forgiveness" and taught courses on morality in psychotherapy and on forgiveness at Albertus Magnus College in New Haven. In 1995 she moved from Connecticut to Minnesota, leaving behind an active seventeen-year private psychotherapy practice. In Minnesota she has served as teaching and supervising faculty at Eden Prairie Psychological Resources and is a member of the faculty at the Alfred Adler Graduate School, while maintaining a small private practice. She is the author of Helping with Forgiveness Decisions: A Brief Guide for Counselors and When to Forgive. The late Norman S. Care was a professor of philosophy at Oberlin College. He was educated in music at Indiana University and in philosophy at the University of Kansas, Yale University, and Oxford University. His areas of interest in teaching and writing were moral theory, moral psychology, political philosophy, environmental ethics, medical ethics, and aesthetics. He wrote On Sharing Fate, coedited a number of collections, and published essays and reviews in journals in philosophy, law, and education and in magazines of social comment. His most recent books are Living with One's Past: Personal Fates and Moral Pain and Decent People, from which, with permission, his chapter here has been excerpted. Andrew Garrod is associate professor of education at Dartmouth College in Hanover, New Hampshire, where he teaches courses in adolescence, moral development, and educational psychology. His recent publications include the coedited volumes Souls Looking Back: Life Stories of Growing Up Black; Crossing Customs: International Students Write on U.S. College Life and Culture; and Learning Disabilities and Life Stories. His diverse work in the field of education has focused recently on cross-cultural applicability of moral development theory and on the use of personal narrative as a tool to explore issues of development.

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Janice Haaken is professor of psychology at Portland State University and a clinical psychologist in private practice. She has published widely in the areas of gender and violence, psychoanalysis and feminism, and the psychology of social movements. She is author of Pillar of Salt: Gender, Memory, and the Perils of Looking Back and coproducer of the video Diamonds, Guns, and Race: Sierra Leone and the Women's Peace Movement. Anne K. Harrington is president of Anne Harrington & Associates, Inc., a consulting firm that specializes in aging and long-term care. She is the author of more than 120 articles and 3 chapters on aging. Currently she is conducting research on forgiveness and dementia caregiving. Margaret R. Holmgren received a B.A. in philosophy from Bryn Mawr College and a Ph.D. in philosophy from the University of Texas at Austin. She is currently an associate professor of philosophy at Iowa State University and has been a visiting professor at Oberlin College and Wellesley College, as well as a visiting fellow at the Center for the Study of Values and Social Policy at the University of Colorado at Boulder. She has published articles in philosophy of law, ethical theory, and biomedical ethics and is the author of two articles on forgiveness, "Forgiveness and the Intrinsic Value of Persons" and "Self-Forgiveness and Responsible Moral Agency." Varda Konstam is professor of counseling and school psychology at the University of Massachusetts, Boston. She has published in the area of psychological adaptation to chronic illness, marital interactions, and health-related quality of life. She is an experienced clinician who has worked with adults, couples, and families, Sharon Lamb is associate professor of psychology at St. Michael's College in Colchester, Vermont. For a long time she has been interested in moral issues as well as abuse and victimization and has tried to combine these interests in her work. Her first book, coedited with Jerome Kagan, is The Emergence of Morality in Young Children. Her second book, The Trouble with Blame: Victims, Perpetrators, and Responsibility, was her first attempt to combine these two interests. Her recent book, New Versions of Victims: Feminists Struggle with the Concept, is a cultural critique of the idea of victim in the historical present. The Secret Lives of Girls: What Good Girls Really Do was published in March 2002. She is also a clinical psychologist who sees children and adults in private practice in Shelburne, Vermont. Janet Landman is associate professor of psychology at Babson College in Wellesley, Massachusetts. She taught for over a decade at the University of Michigan, where she earned her doctorate in psychology. She is author of Regret: The Persistence of the Possible and numerous research articles and book chapters. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Princeton Arts Review, The Dickinson Review, Icarus, Northeast Corridor, Black River Review, and other literary forums.

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Nancy B. Emerson Lombardo is senior research scientist at the Wellesley College Center for Research on Women. She has extensive research and intervention experience with persons with dementia, frail elders, and caregivers. She developed a theoretical model on forgiveness as a mental health intervention and has presented workshops with the coauthors for a variety of audiences. Fern Marx is senior research scientist at the Wellesley College Center for Research on Women. Over the past sixteen years her research on gender-related issues has included participation as an author of the American Association of University Women study "How Schools Shortchange Girls," as well as publications on effective social supports and programs to foster adolescents' and young adults' self-esteem, self-efficacy, and social competence. Jeffrie G. Murphy is Regents' Professor of Law and Philosophy at Arizona State University. He is the author of numerous books and articles on moral and legal philosophy, including Kant: The Philosophy of Right; Forgiveness and Mercy (with Jean Hampton); and The Philosophy of Law: An Introduction to Jurisprudence (with Jules Coleman). His third collection of essays, Character, Liberty and Law: Kantian Essays in Theory and Practice, appeared in 1998. His most recent writings on forgiveness and related topics are "Forgiveness, Reconciliation, and Responding to Evil," Fordham Urban Law Journal; "Two Cheers for Vindictiveness," Punishment and Society, "Moral Epistemology, the Retributive Emotions, and "The 'Clumsy Moral Philosophy' of Jesus Christ," in The Passions of Law, ed. Susan Bandes; "Repentance, Punishment and Mercy," in Repentance, ed. Amitai Etzioni; and "Jean Hampton on Immorality, Self-Hatred, and Self-Forgiveness," Philosophical Studies. Jerome Neu teaches philosophy at the University of California at Santa Cruz. He is the editor of The Cambridge Companion to Freud and the author of Emotion, Thought, and Therapy and A Tear Is an Intellectual Thing: The Meanings of Emotions. BillPuka is a psychologist and philosopher who teaches in the department of cognitive science at Rensselaer Institute. He has published widely in the area of ethics and public policy, psychological theory, and philosophy. Puka received a Ph.D. from Harvard, working with John Rawls, Robert Nozick, and Lawrence Kohlberg. He was the first "philosopher-in-residence" in the U.S. Senate, working on the Senate Budget Committee as a legislative aide to Senator Gary Hart. He runs a character education program, "Be Your Own Hero: Careers in Commitment," and a sister-city program in Umuluwe, Nigeria. He has also consulted in managerial ethics for various corporations and government agencies, including Western Electric Corporation and the New York State Governor's Office. Norvin Richards \s professor of philosophy and chairperson of the department of philosophy at the University of Alabama. His recent publications include Humility; "Forgiveness," in Ethics and reprinted in Ethics and Personality, ed.

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John Deigh; "Innocence," in American Philosophical Quarterly; and "Criminal Children," in Law and Philosophy. Jennifer Schurer was a research intern with Fern Marx at the Center for Research on Women at Wellesley College when the analysis for chapter 3 was undertaken. Ms. Schurer graduated from Wellesley College in May 2000 with honors in psychology and women's studies. She now works at a strategy consulting firm in Boston and plans to commence graduate studies for an M.S.W. and an M.P.A. in the fall of 2002. Joshua M. Thomas is currently an intern chaplain for the Episcopal campus ministry at Dartmouth College in Hanover, New Hampshire. He graduated summa cum laude from Dartmouth in 2000 with a B.A. in Russian area studies. His honors thesis considers the role of Orthodox religious philosophy in postcommunist Russia. He was a summer camp counselor for nine years and an outdoor education instructor; his interests include the faith development of adolescents and young adults as well as the role of religious organizations in work with at-risk youth and their communities.

BEFORE FORGIVING

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Introduction: Reasons to Be Cautious about the Use of Forgiveness in Psychotherapy Sharon Lamb

Forgiveness is in the air—public figures making public apologies, movies depicting loving kindness offered to murderers, and psychotherapy programs promoting forgiveness in individuals as well as in marital couples. It is a gift, an offering, a blessing, a cleansing event. Professionally speaking, within the field of psychology the literature on forgiveness has arisen with little criticism and developed without the generally accepted process of hypothesis testing in a neutral context. Rather than neutrality, there has been an almost wholesale acceptance of forgiveness as a virtue and, because of this, little concern about advocating forgiveness in psychotherapy. Indeed, this trend is in line with other trends in psychology that have been promoted by American Psychological Association president Martin Seligman and Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (2000) on "positive psychology." In a recent article, the two define the field of "positive psychology at the subjective level" as being about valued experiences such as "well-being, contentment, and satisfaction (in the past); hope and optimism (for the future); and flow and happiness (in the present)." ("Flow" is a term coined by Csikszentmihalyi to describe the feeling of well-being a person derives from mindful engagement in an activity he or she loves to do.) They go on to describe what positive psychology means for the individual: "The capacity for love and vocation, courage, interpersonal skill, aesthetic sensibility, perseverance, forgiveness, originality, future mindedness, spirituality, high talent, and wisdom" (p. 5). I believe forgiveness has become a popular notion among therapists today (see chapter 10) because of this new "positive psychology," which is indeed an extension of the three-decade long growth of cognitive-behavioral methods. The step or stage process toward forgiveness, the encouragement of benevolent attitudes, and the reframing of negative thoughts that are a part of many forgiveness counseling goals today have their roots in the cognitive-behavioral methods originated by Albert Ellis, Albert Bandura, Aaron Beck, and Martin Seligman. These men all researched and advocated a form of therapy that asked patients to change the way they think about their problems in 3

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order to change the way they feel and behave toward them. In a sense they overthrew the humanistic psychology movement of Carl Rogers and Abraham Maslow in the 1960s, which emphasized acceptance of feelings and selfdiscovery, and replaced it with a more directive approach to therapy, with homework assignments and sometimes even argumentative therapists whose goal is to show clients the errors in their thinking. Although, like all therapies, cognitive-behavioral therapy originated in the clinical setting, it aspires to be a more scientifically based practice and positions itself in opposition to "softer" (less scientifically based) practices like humanism and psychoanalysis. Indeed, cognitive-behavioral theorists like Seligman and Csikszentmihalyi (2000) frequently belittle humanistic psychology in particular, saying it spawned a "myriad of self-help movements," a psychology of "victimology," a legacy of "crystal healing, aromatherapy," and books that help one find one's inner child. Many forms of forgiveness therapy follow this cognitive-behavioral track in psychology. Advocates believe that if one changes the way one thinks about one's pain, one's perpetrator, and one's injury a person can forgive and that this act, this change of heart, this new way of thinking about one's injuries can bring about happiness and contentment. The belief is that a person has the freedom to choose to forgive, to think differently, and to feel differently. As in Beck's therapy for depression, Ellis's therapy for life's problems, or Seligman's optimism, through challenging old thinking patterns and old ways of responding, a person can free him or herself from responding to the past. While current practices of forgiveness in therapy follow this model, recent forgiveness theorists and researchers have not ignored the philosophical history and the religious underpinnings of the concept of forgiveness. And there is now an extensive literature in the field, the bulk of which is reviewed in Worthington's Dimensions of Forgiveness, published in 1998, and in Forgiveness: Theory, Research, and Practice, a book of edited chapters by McCullough, Pargament, and Thoresen published in 2000, as well as Enright and Fitzgibbons's most recent manual, Helping Clients Forgive. In spite of these extensive reviews of the philosophical, religious, and scientific dimensions of forgiveness, few have challenged the idea that forgiveness is a virtue to be endorsed and taught in a variety of circumstances. This volume is borne of two curmudgeonly but different responses to this literature: one from a philosopher concerned that psychologists were not taking seriously the philosophical questions that arose in their promotion of forgiveness, and the other from a feminist psychologist who saw problems specific to women as well as problems for psychologists whose goals ought to be the exploration, understanding, and accepting of negative emotions as well as positive ones. Jeffrie G. Murphy, from a philosopher's standpoint, has been long interested in issues of justice, retribution, forgiveness, and mercy, claiming, in disagreement with Jean Hampton in their coauthored volume Forgiveness and Mercy (1988), that in some situations forgiveness may be morally inappropriate and mercy a questionable substitute for justice. In my book The Trouble with Blame (1996), I took on the topic of forgiveness with regard to perpetra-

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tors of sexual abuse, battering, and rape and made pleas for a judicial system that created better spaces for repentance, apology, and reparation in the lives of wrongdoers. Making no claims for victims and forgiveness, I argued that victims needed to look realistically at their perpetrators' as well as their own responsibility and refrain from either taking too much blame on themselves or forgiving their perpetrators too easily in an effort to get psychological relief. Our interest in psychotherapy arose for several reasons. Over the past two decades, psychologists have no longer been content to philosophically argue points about forgiveness but have begun to advocate its use in psychotherapy. Along with the hope that forgiveness will have psychotherapeutic benefits have come scientific studies showing the benefits of forgiveness to the mental and physical well-being of people, books giving pragmatic advice about how to do forgiveness therapy, and articles showing steps and stages that lead to forgiveness. I have been a psychotherapist for over 20 years, working with children, couples, families, and adults with various problems, but also, in particular, those who have experienced abuse and victimization. I have also worked in both the psychoanalytic as well as the humanistic traditions and thus in traditions that generally do not sort emotions into categories of good and bad, nor encourage any particular feeling or set of feelings for a client to cultivate. Although McCullough, Pargament, and Thoresen (2000) point out that Freud says nothing about forgiveness, he does, however, say quite a bit about guilt and aggressive feelings and the repression of each. Psychoanalytic clinicians welcome negative feelings into the therapy hour for exploration and insight, perceiving repression of guilt and aggression (as well as sexual feelings) at the heart of mental illness. The humanistic tradition welcomes negativity as well and holds out the expectation that in psychotherapy as well as in a client's life, all emotions are acceptable. Anger and vengeance are equally as important as joy and generosity, and the therapist refuses to direct a client toward a certain moral end. As Carl Rogers might have said, "How could I possibly judge for you what would be best for you to do?" Murphy's interest in psychotherapy is less direct. Instead, he has worked primarily with those in the legal system to understand the place of moral emotions such as forgiveness, remorse, mercy, and vindictiveness in our laws and judicial system. I first came to admire his writings because of the practical examples he included to show how these ideas deeply influence the way we live our lives. A recent example of this is his essay "Two Cheers for Vindictiveness" (2000). In looking at the literature that currently abounds on the practice of and hopes for forgiveness therapy, we found what seemed to us to be a surfeit of stage and step theories about how to forgive, with supporting theory that primarily was used to advocate for forgiveness therapy. Enthusiasm was so great that many theorists overlook or plow past some of the trickier aspects of the theory, never demonstrating exactly in what way, for example, vindictive emotions are morally wrong. Although many of these theorists claim that they fully deal with objections to the advocating of forgiveness in psychotherapy,

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these views are rarely given their due. There is no authored or edited book that incorporates naysayers or questioners in a serious way. In Enright's most recent manual (Enright & Fitzgibbons, 2000), each naysayer is given short shrift: his or her work is discussed in a paragraph, and then dismissed as wrong. That is why we saw the need for a volume such as ours, where together naysayers and proponents take seriously the issue of whether forgiveness should be advocated ln psychotherapy; the problems of unilateral forgiveness; and concomitant issues. Some of the problems existing in this literature are discussed later; some are developed further in the chapters to come. One initial problem with this literature is that there is no consensus with regard to defining forgiveness (McCullough, Pargament, & Thoresen, 2000); some authors advocate forgiveness only after a perpetrator has made amends and others advocate forgiveness no matter what the response from the perpetrator. In addition, there is little justification for the stage theories that abound. A third problem in the literature occurs in discussions of examples of unilateral forgiveness, forgiveness that expects nothing from the perpetrator of the wrongdoing. Here authors tend to consider only the benefits to the forgiver and rarely the possible losses he or she might experience. The literature on forgiveness is rife with assumptions about negative emotions that remain unexplored and assumptions about the applicability of forgiveness goals to all kinds of people, to all groups, no matter how wounded or harmed. Finally, alternative practices have rarely been examined alongside forgiveness therapy, and other religious beliefs and cultural practices are either ignored or given a nod without serious attempt to incorporate them into a more universal view of forgiveness practice. We expand slightly on each of these and more in this introduction before introducing the individual chapters in this volume. Definitions

There is no consensus in the definition of forgiveness, although many theorists agree on what forgiveness is not. Those who advocate unilateral forgiveness try to make it clear that forgiveness is not "condoning" or "excusing" or "forgetting" or "denying" (Enright & Coyle, 1998). Baumeister, Exline, and Sommer (1998), however, have shown that in actual practice, forgiveness expressed often fails to communicate to an offender this essential promise, that he or she is not excused or the behavior is not condoned. Enright, Freedman, and Rique (1998) define forgiveness as a "willingness to abandon one's right to resentment, negative judgment and indifferent behavior toward one who unjustly hurt us, while fostering the undeserved qualities of compassion, generosity, and even love towards him or her" (pp. 46—47). Exline and Baumeister (2000) call it a canceling of a debt by the person who has been wronged or injured. Patton (1985) writes that forgiveness is not doing something, but discovering something, "that I am more like those who have hurt me than different from them" (p. 16). Others embrace the religious aspect more fully

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in their definition. For Pargament and Rye (1998), it is a method of religious coping and a religious pursuit. For McCullough, Worthington, and Rachal (1997), the essence of forgiveness is a change in one's motivation toward the offending person. The central problem with definitions of forgiveness is not so much whether one theorist calls it the canceling of a debt and another a gift, but that these terms differ in their implications and are not always compatible. Although theorists may claim that forgiveness does not absolve or excuse the wrongdoer, their definitions can imply that it does. A gift, it could be argued, offers a modicum of absolution. If one cancels a debt, the other need not pay back the wronged person in terms of making reparations. Definitions also differ in terms of whether they portray forgiveness as other-focused or selffocused. If the purpose of forgiveness is the benefit to the self, a gift, as it were, that one gives oneself, is the good it does another a fortunate byproduct? These problems are addressed in the chapters that follow. Stage Theories and Twelve-Step Programs Many forgiveness theorists agree that there is no easy path to forgiveness and warn against "pseudo-forgiveness," or forgiveness that comes too easily. Perhaps this is why there is an abundance of stage theories implying a longer, step-by-step process. Stage theories became popular in the 1970s as cognitive-developmental theorists built newer interpersonal theories onto Piaget's stages of intellectual development in children and adolescents. Kohlberg is perhaps the most famous of these stage theorists. Others include Robert Kegan, Robert Selman, and Carol Gilligan, all of whom showed a natural progression from one stage to the next, tying socioemotional changes to intellectual changes through scoring hypothetical and real-life discussions of moral and social issues. During the emergence of such stage theories, it was generally accepted that proof of the existence of developmental stages relied on several assumptions: that the stages follow one another in a standard progression and that people move through them one at a time in a similar fashion; that people do not go back to earlier stages once they develop or progress to a higher stage; and that people generally function at their highest level of development. The stage theories that abound in forgiveness research and counseling generally do not follow these requirements for developmental stages. Instead they use the terminology of stage theories without reference to or an understanding of the methods and qualifications that developmental psychologists have in mind when they develop stage theories. In the heyday of cognitivedevelopmental stage theories, researchers needed to defend stage progression as the natural way in which development progressed. They would do this through systematic interviews of children and adults of different ages over time (longitudinal methodology). Forgiveness theorists put their stages together using clinical observation (Enright & Coyle, 1998), neither defending

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stage progression as necessary or even the best way to go through this process of forgiving. Unilateral Forgiveness

Another issue that is rarely developed in the forgiveness literature is what is lost when a victim unilaterally forgives rather than "works for" forgiveness in a way Molly Andrews (2000) most recently described as "negotiated forgiveness." The assumption made is that unilateral forgiveness is the greater virtue because it does not depend on another's apology or remorse. She cites Enright as saying that forgiveness is an "internal release" and "a self-healing strategy" and argues that although forgiving in itself may be a virtue, these motives are not moral ones. She claims that the forgiver and the forgiven need each other for justice to be enacted and that to require remorse from a perpetrator is not to confuse justice and forgiveness but show their interdependence. In her view, an injustice can be committed through unilateral forgiveness. On a more individual level, when a person attempts to rid themselves of all vindictive feelings, Murphy (2000) points out that they may also be letting go of self-respect, self-defense, and allegiance to a moral order. He argues that the passion for revenge is not necessarily a human evil. Forgiveness theorists have not properly addressed that point. To take this point a bit further, forgiveness theorists have been unwilling to seriously consider the positive effects of negative emotions. They begin from a standpoint that emotions such as resentment, vengefulness, and anger are bad because they make people feel bad. While forgiveness therapy as outlined by Enright and Fitzgibbons (2000) is specifically designed to "treat anger," we are not so sure why anger must be treated and why it is bad for a person. Carol Tavris (1982) has splendidly pointed out that anger often seems wrong to us when a person in an inferior position feels the emotion and right when a superior expresses it. If anger is a problem to be treated, why is it not listed in the DSM-IV, the manual of psychiatric disorders, and why is it not seen as a symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder, a disorder most likely to develop in individuals who have been deeply injured? Alternatives to Forgiveness and the Scientific Method

Perhaps because forgiveness writing over the past two decades has primarily been theoretical, authors have not addressed the issue of whether different acts or goals of counseling other than forgiveness might better achieve their ends. This criticism of the literature seems particularly important at this moment in time when results from research funded by the Templeton Foundation are about to be brought into the public conversation on forgiveness. Unlike other granting agencies that support scientific research under a presumption that such research will be objective, the Templeton Foundation,

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which is dedicated to the "reintegration of faith into modern life" (John Templeton Foundation, 2001), challenged social scientists to design research that will prove the usefulness of forgiveness, a challenge that is reminiscent of drug companies who do research on the effectiveness of their own products. We are more likely to trust the findings of independent scientists, not those paid by the drug companies, to show us which drugs are safe and effective. We assume that a disinterest in the outcome will guarantee a more objective investigation. While the effort to examine some of these therapeutic programs from a more scientific viewpoint is a worthy effort—considering that McCullough, Worthington, and Rachal (1997, p. 5) have called the forgiveness literature "a literature of theories without data"—it is unclear that data approached from this biased perspective will be of use. Philosophers might argue that the scientific approach to studying forgiveness counseling is of no use at all anyway. If we are interested in whether unilateral forgiveness is moral and more virtuous than, say, a more negotiated forgiveness, science cannot answer this question. If we are interested in whether forgiveness counseling makes people happier, we might turn to science; however, whether it does or it does not will not justify promoting it on moral grounds. The Happy and the Good

It is problematic when forgiveness psychotherapists show a dependence on happiness as an outcome of forgiveness. While we may not take issue with the findings that being able to forgive makes people happier or more physically well, that does not in itself argue for forgiveness. It still begs the moral question: Why forgive? And to answer that question, forgiveness researchers will need to do something they have not so far successfully done, which is embrace the issue of why, morally, people may not and should not forgive. The research also does not address whether an alternative to forgiveness would have gotten the same if not better results. For example, research on victims who forgive shows that they feel better, but there are many other specific programs that have helped victims, specifically those that work on anger and empowerment or address anxiety associated with rape. While Enright, Freedman, and Rique (1998) agree that many other intervention models will prove effective, they "suspect" that only those involving forgiveness will prove the test of time. Lack of Attention to Context

Forgiveness theorists often ignore the context in which forgiveness occurs. Enright claims that his style of forgiveness transcends social context; however, the meaning of forgiveness and its usefulness may change depending on the historical period as well as the particular person or group of people being

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asked to forgive. Certain therapeutic techniques may work better during certain periods of history when differing values concerning mental health come into play. Likewise certain expectations of different groups of people— women, African Americans, Bosnians, Holocaust survivors—change over time in terms of our reading of the historical events that produced their oppression or traumas. Looking at women in particular, the recent period of backlash against feminism shows women clambering to be seen as good, sweet, and caring and not to be identified with those angry feminists. Empowerment therapy of the 1960s that depended on women's learning to express anger may not work as well with today's women. Forgiveness therapy conforms to their vision of who they want to be in this culture in this time. It is not surprising that women are better at forgiveness counseling than men (Worthington, Sandage, & Berry, 2000). These theorists also have rarely developed their thinking with regard to how such therapy applies to particular groups. Some give an exemption to Holocaust survivors, claiming that some injuries are too great to forgive. But rarely does a theorist consider how a belief in the virtue of forgiveness might affect African Americans in relation to whites; women in relation to men; or abuse victims in relation to perpetrators. Alternatives offered by other religions and other cultures are often presented but not as real alternatives that have moral weight. For example, forgiveness theorists often accurately reflect that the Jewish view of forgiveness requires repentance first (see Dorff, 1988; Pargament & Rye, 1998). These same theorists, primarily Christian, then go on to advocate their views of unilateral forgiveness, without addressing their possible ethnocentrism or Christian biases, which are the foundation of these beliefs. A Muslim view would even argue that it is best sometimes for one's own sanity to avoid those who have hurt us. The point is that these writers are not owning up to their promotion of a distinctly Christian view of morality. When they are actually offering Christian counseling, they are calling it forgiveness counseling for all. The chapters in this volume take on such issues as those mentioned here and most likely raise more questions than they answer. Because forgiveness therapy is moral therapy and not simply, in these theorists' view, therapy about making oneself happier, it seems appropriate and important to consider the thoughts of philosophers of law and ethics as well as psychologists. We have purposely chosen people who have written with varying levels of criticism toward this literature, from Margaret Holmgren, who advocates "genuine forgiveness," but who here takes seriously the work toward addressing a wrong that a victim has suffered before forgiving, to authors like Jeffrie Murphy and myself, who have written more positively about vindictiveness and anger than about the beauty of forgiveness. The opening chapter by Jerome Neu describes many of the themes that will be raised again in the chapters that follow. In particular, Neu examines deter-

INTRODUCTION

II

minism and forgiveness, to what extent either forgiveness or resentment are choices we make, and to what extent understanding must lead to forgiveness. Which explanations of acts, he asks, are enough or appropriate for forgiveness? The core section that follows presents chapters by philosophers and psychologists on the use of forgiveness in psychotherapy. Jeffrie Murphy, in his chapter, acknowledges that forgiveness may sometimes not reflect lack of selfrespect and may sometimes serve to motivate sinners to repent, but argues against universally advocating for forgiveness. For some people, there is a legitimate need for continued resentment, and in some situations, the withholding of forgiveness can encourage a wrongdoer to repent. While Enright claims we are "often healed" when we bestow forgiveness as a free unconditional gift, Murphy skeptically adds, "Perhaps often not, as well." Jeffrie Murphy's introduction to the problems of forgiveness in psychotherapy is followed by a straightforward analysis by Varda Konstam, Fern Marx, Jennifer Schurer, Nancy B. Emerson Lombardo, and Anne K. Harrington, who have studied to what extent counselors today perceive their clients to have concerns about forgiveness, as well as to what extent these therapists would like to address these issues directly and promote forgiveness. As a form of "baseline data," their research shows that the perceived need among counselors is great. Their research also shows that counselors are primarily interested in forgiveness as a tool to help their clients feel better and rarely see it in the moral perspective that forgiveness theorists advocating forgiveness therapy would like them to see it (as compassion, or as a gift to the wrongdoer, or an act that makes the world a better place to live in, and even as a possible way of encouraging a wrongdoer to repent). This last finding raises concerns with regard to the purpose of forgiveness in psychotherapy, a concern many of the following chapter authors examine more closely. Norvin Richards contends that to induce the troubled victim of mistreatment to forgive the person who inflicted the mistreatment is not always the appropriate therapy, any more than penicillin is always the right treatment for a physical illness. He offers several examples in which resentment of the wrongdoer is not at the heart of the victim's injury, so that to focus on getting the victim to forgive this person is at best to miss the opportunity to be of help. The practice of moving all clients through Enright's stages of forgiveness (Enright, Freedman, and Rique, 1998) is especially vulnerable to this criticism, he suggests, because those stages do not bring to light what is troubling the client. Mona Gustafson Affinito, a therapist who has written on how to help clients forgive, emphasizes in her chapter that it is a decision that clients should be helped to make and advocacy has little place in the counseling session. People cannot be cajoled or induced to forgive. Deciding whether to forgive, and putting the decision into action, requires intensive emotional and cognitive work. Nor is forgiveness a "technique." Affinito presents a fascinating case that flew in the face of her own urge to help clients forgive, describing her client's pleasure in vengeance and her own understanding of how this decision to take revenge may have been the right one for this

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INTRODUCTION

woman. Her discussion of punishment and justice brings out a concern that many raise; no matter how frequently advocates of forgiveness say that forgiving does not mean condoning, it is hard for most of us to accept that view. She raises an interesting question: Even when the individual forgiver is helped through forgiveness, is the moral community well served in this process? Margaret Holmgren argues that the practice of working toward genuine forgiveness and genuine self-forgiveness in the therapy hour, when clients are willing and able to undertake this work, actually promotes other values such as self-respect, responsibility, and client empowerment. This practice is also in the best interest of victims, perpetrators, and society as a whole. However, she writes that genuine forgiveness and self-forgiveness involve thoroughly addressing the wrong and warns that therapists should not encourage forgiveness before this process is complete. Once this process is complete, genuine forgiveness and self-forgiveness are always morally appropriate and desirable outcomes of psychotherapy. Chapter 7, written by Bill Puka, lays out several alternatives to forgiveness. While giving forgiveness its due respect, Puka demonstrates several alternatives and, to his mind, better paths toward forgetting, mental health, and reconciliation. In the part titled "Culture and Context in Forgiveness," four theorists examine forgiveness in relation to particular groups and historical contexts. First, I describe the difficulties inherent in asking women to forgive given women's gendered role in relationships. Female victims in particular ought not to be persuaded to forgive for the sake of either reforming the perpetrator or healing themselves. Holding both anger as well as compassion simultaneously, not ridding oneself of either nor insisting on the purity of these feelings, should be the hallmark of maturation, self-knowledge, and mental health. Janice Haaken, while agreeing with forgiveness theorists that the capacity to absorb interpersonal tensions and disappointments and to make reparation with others is a key indicator of mental health, wonders how we decide on the threshold of a normative or optimal level of forgiveness. Her chapter gives a psychoanalytic, cultural perspective on forgiveness. She looks at these negotiations particularly with women, examining the cultural scripts that make promoting forgiveness problematic for women. Joshua Thomas and Andrew Garrod, in "Forgiveness after Genocide?" use personal narratives as well as responses to fables and moral dilemmas to illustrate the difficulties of applying forgiveness therapy, let alone any psychotherapy, to those traumatized by the war in Bosnia. While beliefs run high among Bosnian college students that offering forgiveness may change a perpetrator's character, in practice their coping is much more varied. Without forgiving, many refuse to let anger rule their lives and are hopeful that justice rather than forgiveness will brighten their future. In the section on self-forgiveness that follows, philosopher Norman Care and psychologist and poet Janet Landman reflect on caveats to self-forgiveness. Care examines a forward-looking dimension of forgiveness and self-for-

INTRODUCTION

13

giveness, the possibility of "release" for the wrongdoer, a release that would mean a renewal of energy for projects and responsible conduct associated with effective human agency. He argues that other-forgiveness is not sufficient for self-forgiveness and that when our agency is diminished by our wrongdoing, our chances for self-respect can not only be harnessed to others' ability to "forgive and forget." Psychotherapists are encouraged to also take note that self-forgiveness may remain unattainable even when other-forgiveness is given to a perpetrator. Care asks, is the failure to self-forgive a psychological problem or something legitimately remaindered after other-forgiveness has occurred? Landman writes eloquently of Katherine Power's struggles to forgive herself as well as to address the wrong that she has done in terms of the pain it has caused others. At the age of twenty, Power participated in a bank robbery that was, at the time, conceptualized as an antiwar act, but resulted in the murder of a police officer, Walter Schroeder, a father of nine. Power went underground but twenty-three years later gave herself up, waived her right to a trial, pleaded guilty to manslaughter, and began serving an eight- to twelve-year prison sentence at the Massachusetts Correctional Institution in Framingham. Through interviews, news reports, and Powers parole request statement, Landman analyzes Power's efforts to earn forgiveness. Philosophers can work out for us the implications of forgiving or advocating forgiveness. Psychologists can tell us how healthy it is to advocate forgiveness in the therapy space. Together, in this volume, philosophers and psychologists take a pragmatic perspective to examine possible problems in the practice of advocating forgiveness within the therapy hour. With examples of those who have struggled long and hard to earn forgiveness as well as those who have forgiven too easily, we hope to be of use to psychotherapists who are inclined to promote what at first glance seems only to be a life-affirming and morally virtuous act. We hope also to be a resource for those scholars who continue to explore and try to better understand forms of both forgiveness and resentment we encounter in our daily lives.

References

Andrews, Molly (2000). Forgiveness in context. Journal of Moral Education, 29, 75-86. Baumeister, Roy F., Julie Juola Exline, & Kristina L. Sommer (1998). The victim role, grudge theory, and two dimensions of forgiveness. In Everett L. Worthington, Jr. (Ed.), The foundations of forgiveness (pp. 79—104). Philadelphia, PA: Templeton Foundation Press. Dorff, Elliot N. (1998). The elements of forgiveness: A Jewish approach. In Everett L. Worthington, Jr. (Ed.), The foundations of forgiveness (pp. 29-55). Philadelphia, PA: Templeton Foundation Press. Enright, Robert D., & Catherine T. Coyle (1998). Researching the process model of forgiveness within psychological interventions. In Everett L. Worthington, Jr.

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(Ed.), The foundations of forgiveness (pp. 139—161). Philadelphia, PA: Templeton Foundation Press. Enright, Robert D., & Richard P. Fitzgibbons (2000). Helping clients forgive: An empirical guide for resolving anger and resolving hope. Washington, DC: APA Press. Enright, Robert D., Suzanne R. Freedman, & Julio Rique (1998). The psychology of interpersonal forgiveness. In Robert D. Enright & Joanna North (Eds.), Exploringforgiveness (pp. 46—62). Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Exline, Julie Juola, & Roy F. Baumeister (2000). Expressing forgiveness and repentance: Benefits and barriers. In Michael E. McCullough, Kenneth I. Pargament, & Carl E. Thoresen (Eds.), Forgiveness: Theory, research, and practice (pp. 133— 155). New York: Guilford Press. John Templeton Foundation (2001). http://templeton.org/spirituality.asp. Lamb, Sharon (1996). The trouble with blame: Victims, perpetrators, and responsibility. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. McCullough, Michael E., Kenneth I. Pargament, & Carl E. Thoresen (2000). The psychology of forgiveness: History, conceptual issues, and overview. In Michael E. McCullough, Kenneth I. Pargament, & Carl E. Thoresen (Eds.), Forgiveness: Theory, research, and practice (pp. 1-14). New York: Guilford Press. McCullough, Michael E., Everett L. Worthington, Jr., & Kenneth C. Rachal (1997). Interpersonal forgiving in close relationships. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 73, 321-336. Murphy, Jeffrie G. (2000). Two cheers for vindictiveness. Punishment and Society, 2, 131-143. Murphy, Jeffrie G., & Jean Hampton (1988). Forgiveness and mercy, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pargament, Kenneth L, & Mark S. Rye (1998). Forgiveness as a method of religious coping. In Everett L. Worthington, Jr. (Ed.), The foundations of forgiveness (pp. 59-78). Philadelphia, PA: Templeton Foundation Press. Patton, John (1985). Is human forgivenessPossible?Nashville: Abingdon. Patton, John (2000). Forgiveness in pastoral care and counseling. In Michael E. McCullough, Kenneth I. Pargament, & Carl E. Thoresen (Eds.), Forgiveness: Theory, research, and practice (pp. 281—295). New York: Guiiford Press. Seligman, Martin E. P., & Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (2000). Positive psychology: An introduction. American Psychologist, 55, 5-14. Tavris, Carol (1982). Anger: The misunderstood emotion. New York: Simon & Schuster. Worthington, Everett L., Jr. (1998). Dimensions of forgiveness. Philadelphia, PA: Templeton Foundation Press. Worthington, Everett L., Jr., Steven J. Sandage, & Jack W. Berry (2000). Group interventions to promote forgiveness: What researchers and clinicians ought to know. In Michael E. McCullough, Kenneth I. Pargament, & Carl E. Thoresen (Eds.), Forgiveness: Theory, research, and practice (pp. 228-253). New York: Guilford Press.

Part 1 WHEN FORGIVING DOESN'T MAKE SENSE

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one

To Understand All Is to Forgive All—Or Is It? Jerome Neu

"To understand all is to forgive all," or so the famous saying goes. Madame de Stael was actually more measured when she spoke of the relation of understanding and forgiveness in Corinne: "Tout comprendre rend tres indulgent" (which Bartlett's Familiar Quotations translates as "To understand everything makes one tolerant" [1968, p. 502b]). She is also credited with the more sweeping and more familiar statement that provides my title and my theme: "Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner" (which the familiar wisdom "To understand all is to forgive all" captures—near enough). My theme is actually two-fold. First, why is it that the saying does in fact seem wise? My second theme, however, is to question its wisdom, to wonder whether the relation of understanding and forgiveness is perhaps more complex. The philosopher J. L. Austin is reported to have responded to the notion that to understand all is to forgive all with, "That's quite wrong. Understanding might just add contempt to hatred" (Dennett, 1984, p. 32 n.15). Surely Austin has a point. Suppose that what one learns is that someone did something out of mean and small—minded motives; such widened understanding need not, as Austin points out, create sympathy. Indeed, all too often, understanding may produce a perception of the insult behind an injury. The mere fact that a persons behavior had causes (and here it is important to note that causes can include reasons) does not lift responsibility. It all turns on the character of the particular injuries, and the particular causes, and on what it is to forgive (or to tolerate). Some sorting out is needed. On the first theme I can be, at least initially, brief. To say "To understand all is to forgive all" is not only to render a descriptive judgment, but also to offer a prescriptive piece of advice. If someone is not inclined to forgive, the suggestion is that they do not know the whole story, and that if they did this would (properly) soften their attitude. I think that is often good advice. It is often good for the aggrieved to recognize the limits of their understanding, to seek fuller understanding, and to be (at least somewhat) mollified when they achieve that fuller understanding. That I say "often" here rather than "always" 17

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connects with my second theme, and I will return to the point. Here we should note that there is also insight in the descriptive aspect of the folk wisdom. To understand all is often to discover that the person who behaved badly "could not help it." Once one knows all the factors that went into bringing about an action, it will often emerge that the crucial determining factors were outside of the person's control. Indeed, if one pushes the investigation far enough, perhaps it will always emerge that the factors are outside of the person's control (whether the crucial factors be upbringing, social pressure, genetic inheritance, the force of circumstances ... or the influence of cosmic rays). It is a deeply Kantian part of our understanding of ourselves and others that where a person is not free to act otherwise, "could not help it," that person is not regarded as responsible or properly blamable for the action done due to the factors outside their control. But this brings us to some of the limits on the folk wisdom which are also limits on our Kantian intuitions. For if we are determinists about human action, and believe that causal chains can always be traced outside the person, it might appear that we never have ultimate control and so responsibility (if responsibility requires such control as a condition) and so everything must always be forgiven. To refuse to forgive is simply to cling to present ignorance. If we wish to maintain belief in responsibility and to insist that some actions are unforgivable, we may be driven to Kantian belief in a noumenal realm of a pure will where freedom can reign in the face of the ever-expanding explanatory power of science. But I do not think we have to make such a mysterious, nonempirical move to preserve our more retributive, our less forgiving, intuitions. We need not claim that there is some realm beyond the explanatory power of science. We can grant, at least for the sake of argument, that all human actions, like all events in nature, are open to the law-like explanations of science, even if we have not yet uncovered them. (Kant insisted that the fact that we have not yet found a cause does not prove it does not exist [1785/1993, p. 419]. And even Hume could agree with that; indeed, he insisted that unexpected, uncharacteristic, and unpredictable human actions count no more against the reach of causal explanation than unexpected and unpredictable events in nature such as earthquakes and the weather count against there being causes that we simply have not yet uncovered [17487 1977, §8]. Hume's skepticism about causation was of a different kind.) Rather than retreat to the noumenal, I think we should recognize that there is always a story to explain how things have come to be as they are and why a person did whatever it is they have done. But not all stories excuse. The difficult thing is determining which stories excuse, whether our concern is the abstract problem of mapping out a domain of freedom or the more concrete problems of assigning responsibility or—via forgiveness—relieving individuals of some of the consequences of responsibility. This is so whether the particular problem involves determining when a person should be regarded as legally insane in a way that excuses from criminal liability or determining whether a person could not help what they did in a way that entitles them to sympathy and perhaps even forgiveness (if one can be entitled to forgive-

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ness—it is arguable that forgiveness, genuine forgiveness, must always be a free gift, never an entitlement, just as love must be).1 The sorting out may begin with a closer look at determinism, excuses, and forgiveness.

Determinism and Forgiveness

Determinism as such is not the issue. When we excuse or forgive someone, it is not because of some general belief in causal order in the universe, it is not because we believe that every event has a cause. Resentment is forestalled or inhibited in particular cases for particular reasons, broadly classifiable in terms of the voluntariness of the particular (otherwise) offensive or injurious act (where certain cognitive conditions, such as nonculpable ignorance, or certain control conditions, such as being pushed or the absence of viable alternatives, prevail), in terms of the competence or capacities of the agent (where at the time of action or always there are special pressures or the agent is psychologically abnormal, or is simply a child), or in terms of the character of the relation between the injurer and the injured (as when we forgive someone "for old time's sake"). As P. F. Strawson puts it in his discussion of these matters in "Freedom and Resentment," "it has never been claimed . . . that it would follow from the truth of determinism that anyone who caused an injury either was quite simply ignorant of causing it or had acceptably overriding reasons for acquiescing reluctantly in causing it or. . . . The prevalence of this happy state of affairs would not be a consequence of the reign of universal determinism, but of the reign of universal goodwill" (1974, pp. 10—11). Our commitment to ordinary participant reactive attitudes toward each other (attitudes that include resentment, gratitude, and love) does not depend on a denial of determinism, and an acceptance of determinism need not undermine those attitudes. We can add that an acceptance of determinism would not underwrite universal forgiveness—however desirable or problematic such a universal response. (While Christianity and some forms of therapy might encourage unbridled forgiveness for the sake of communion, community, and calm, an appropriate resentment may conduce to valuable restraint in others as well as be necessary to self-respect and justice.) If it is not a general thesis of determinism that leads us to excuse or forgive, but rather particular conditions, the relevant conditions call for examination. A good start on that is made by J. L. Austin in "A Plea for Excuses" (1970), and some of the legal ramifications are explored in H. L. A. Hart's Punishment and Responsibility (1968). But here we must pause to ask whether the differences between excusing and forgiving matter, whether an excuse can provide a reason for forgiveness or is instead incompatible with it. Despite some possible complications (Richards, 1988), it seems to me fruitful to follow Bishop Butler (1726/1970) and Jeffrie Murphy (1982) in taking forgiveness as forswearing resentment. Thus understood, as Murphy points out, forgiveness is only properly in place where resentment is initially properly in place (otherwise, there is nothing that really needs forgiving), and justified

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resentment is restricted to responsible wrongdoing (1982, p. 506). (More on the nature of resentment in a bit. More also on the suggestion that forswearing, and so forgiving, must be intentional.) Excuses generally undermine charges of responsibility, and so may put both initial resentment and subsequent forgiveness out of place. But this need not always be so. While occasionally excuses may leave nothing to forgive ("it was simply, purely, unavoidably, an accident"), more typically they merely mitigate or make the offense less serious ("I didn't mean to," if believed, may reduce an intentional fault to mere negligence, but negligence remains a fault). The depth of resentment, as well as the ease of forgiveness, are normally tied to the seriousness of the fault (as well as to the length of time since the offense—a rankling resentment that may have initially been appropriate may itself become a fault when it persists too long over too minor a matter). A lesser offense may still leave room for resentment (and so forgiveness). And even where an excuse removes all responsibility, and so makes resentment inappropriate, there may be a sense to forgiveness. The therapeutic concerns served by forgiveness may require the overcoming of anger as well as resentment. The kind of responsibility essential to resentment (and so forgiveness as the forswearing of resentment) may not be essential to anger, and so an excuse that attenuates responsibility may not undermine the anger provoked by an injury. Anger at harm may persist in the absence of resentment at wrong. So far as therapy aims to lessen both anger and resentment, the difference between forgiving and excusing as bars to resentment may not much matter. Our concern is with how understanding might lessen responsibility, and so provide an excuse, or otherwise lead to forgiveness. Excusing and forgiving are two different paths to disarming resentment, one by showing it misplaced, and the other by renouncing it despite its warrant. The issues raised by excuses may be seen in perhaps more acute form in relation to justifications. J. L. Austin provides a useful distinction between these two. In a case of excuse, you have done wrong, but there are mitigating factors and your "doing" may not be straightforward. In a case of justification, what you have done is not, all things considered, wrong—no excuse is needed (1970, pp. 176—177, 181 n.l). It might seem even more obvious in the case of justification than in the case of excuse that talk of forgiveness is, strictly speaking, out of place. Still, I am a bit uneasy at too quickly surrendering some of our looser usages. Even where someone's action is ultimately justified, so they did the right thing, there may still remain something (even perhaps a moral something, a moral remainder) to forgive. Think of the innocent victims of Allied bombing in Europe in World War II. Their suffering may be seen as the price of defeat of the Nazis (or more accurately as part of the price—the bombers too ran risks and made sacrifices). They (the victims who survived) might well say, "I forgive you my injuries, I would have done it too," or "It was necessary." Even in these cases, it must be admitted, it would make as much sense to say "There is nothing to forgive" as "I forgive you," but it seems to me that the second can be a way of acknowledging a

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shift in attitude based on a full understanding or appreciation of the situation. It acknowledges justification for a harm. To say simply, "There is nothing to forgive, you did the right thing" might fail to recognize and properly note the existence of tragedy. And there are unfortunately many situations— tragic situations—in which the best that one can do is still wrong, has a moral cost that remains to be regretted by the agent and (perhaps) forgiven by the victim (Williams, 1973). Or, to put it slightly differently, the lesser of two evils may still leave the chosen evil a wrong (an undeserved harm) even while ultimately the right thing to do. Therapy can sometimes be an effort to get someone to see that not every injury is an affront, that harm may be done (even intentionally) without disrespect. Some contemporary therapeutic movements urge forgiveness (of self and others) as a step toward self-healing. The acceptance (and self-acceptance) of limitations may be derived from a variety of sources. Some among these movements worry less about whether an apparent wrong is (from the point of view of objective judgment) excusable, justifiable, or forgivable, than whether it is good for the individual to give up their anger and resentment (whatever the characteristics of the object). But perhaps judgment of the object and judgment about what is good for the subject who experiences anger and resentment are not so simply separable.

Misplaced Anger

Let's consider a simple case of understanding leading to forgiveness. Sometimes wider context, more information, changes the perceived character of an action, excusing or perhaps even justifying it. You learn someone has smashed your car window. Anger turns to acceptance when you learn that the parking brake on your car failed and smashing the window was the only way for a bystander to rescue an imperiled baby. Or you are stood up for a third time. Anger turns to acceptance when you learn that your apparently inconsiderate date was the bystander in the failed-brake case and so detained by the need to smash a window to rescue a baby. But these are the easiest cases. It is hardly surprising that knowledge should lead to forgiveness when the initial anger is based on ignorance or incomplete information. But could it be that anger is always based on ignorance or incomplete information? Is it never right to be angry? (This question might remind one of the notion that some derive from belief in determinism that people may never have ultimate control over, and so responsibility for, their actions. It would be salutary to consider what "control" and "self-control" might mean in this context. That task is nicely started on by Dennett in Elbow Room [1984, ch. 3].) Aristotle certainly thought anger has its proper place. He speaks of those who fail to be angry enough: The deficiency, whether it is a sort of inirascibility or whatever it is, is blamed. For those who are not angry at the things they should be are

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thought to be fools, and so are those who are not angry in the right way, at the right time, or with the right persons; for such a man is thought not to feel things nor to be pained by them, and, since he does not get angry, he is thought unlikely to defend himself; and to endure being insulted and to put up with insults to one's friends is slavish. (Nicomachean Ethics, trans. Ross and Urmson, 1126a) Feeling anger (and variants such as indignation) when appropriate may be a condition of self-respect, and so failure to feel appropriate anger may be a sign of insufficient concern for one's rights and dignity, insufficient selfrespect. (See Hill, 1973; Murphy, 1982; and Spelman, 1989.) It does not follow that one should never let the anger go. To think about the proper place and conditions of forgiveness, one must think of the proper place and conditions of anger and of its more restrained cousin, resentment. I call resentment more restrained because it presumes a certain sort of justification not required by anger (at least by anger caused by frustration of desire). Of course resentment may, like anger, on occasion be unjustified (the beliefs involved may not be true). But resentment, unlike anger, typically asserts a moral claim. "A person without a sense of justice may be enraged at someone who fails to act fairly. But anger and annoyance are distinct from indignation and resentment; they are not, as the latter are, moral emotions" (Rawls, 1971, p. 488). Rawls distinguishes the moral emotions, including resentment and indignation, on the basis of the type of explanation required for a feeling to count as a particular emotion. Rawls writes, "In general, it is a necessary feature of moral feelings, and part of what distinguishes them from the natural attitudes, that the person's explanation of his experience invokes a moral concept and its associated principles. His account of his feeling makes reference to an acknowledged right or wrong" (p. 481). One of the abuses of resentment that Bishop Butler emphasizes emerges when there is no wrong (which Butler refers to as "injury"), "when we fall into that extravagant and monstrous kind of resentment, toward one who has innocently been the occasion of evil to us; that is, resentment upon account of pain or inconvenience, without injury; which is the same absurdity, as settled anger at a thing that is inanimate" (1726/1970, p. 77). There is something infantile about resentment at what could not be helped. If something is genuinely outside of a person's control, we ought to forgive them the harm they may have caused. But then (to return to an earlier point), if something is outside of a person's control, is forgiveness needed at all? Where is the wrong? If anger and resentment are out of place, is forgiveness equally out of place? (Is a child forgiving the table it bumps into as absurd as it being angry at the table in the first place?) Not every excuse, however, amounts to a justification. There are, after all, degrees of control. There are different kinds of wrongs. To see this, let us consider accidents. It might seem that if something was an accident, no forgiveness is needed. An accident is not an intentional wrong (indeed, it is the absence of intention that makes something an "accident"). As Justice Holmes put it, "even a dog

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distinguishes between being stumbled over and being kicked" (1881, p. 3). But then, intentional wrongs are not the only kind of wrong, and not all accidents are blameless. Not every accident could not be helped. People are often guilty of negligence, of failure to take due care.2 (Even stumbling may sometimes show a failure to take due care.) We say the outcome should be in their control, perhaps it would have been in their control had they behaved responsibly earlier. Surely that is what we think in the case of the drunk driver who, we admit, could not avoid hitting the pedestrian, given the driver's impaired reflexes. It is important to realize that the mere fact that something is caused is not enough to put it beyond one's control. How much care is due may depend, among other things, on the amount and kind of harm risked, and its likelihood in the circumstances. Is clumsiness always an excuse? Is thoughtlessness? Are these not themselves sometimes the central offense? Can't they sometimes be helped? Bishop Butler notes that proper resentment can have social value: "resentment against vice and wickedness . . . is one of the common bonds, by which society is held together" (1726/1970, p. 75). Since Butler, like Rawls, emphasizes that the object of resentment is wrongful injury rather than mere pain or loss, he insists that its point is to prevent and remedy such injury. Resentment "is to be considered as a weapon, put into our hands by nature, against injury, injustice, and cruelty" (p. 76). Aristotle connects anger with the notion of insult, a kind of wrong. "Anger may be defined as a desire accompanied by pain, for a conspicuous revenge for a conspicuous slight at the hands of men who have no call to slight oneself or one's friends" (Rhetoric, trans. Roberts, 1378a). The thing to notice is that the resentment is directed as much at an attitude as at a harm. As Murphy says: One reason we so deeply resent moral injuries done to us is not simply that they hurt us in some tangible or sensible way; it is because such injuries are also messages, i.e., symbolic communications. They are ways a wrongdoer has of saying to us "I count and you do not," "I can use you for my purposes," or "I am here up high and you are there down below." Intentional wrongdoing degrades us—or at least represents an attempt to degrade us—and thus it involves a kind of injury that is not merely tangible and sensible. It is moral injury. (1982, p. 508)3 I would only add that negligence and thoughtlessness can also send a message, indicate lack of due care and regard. In our interrelations, what needs forgiveness is underlying attitudes. In the case of the child angry at the table, what makes the anger and forgiveness out of place, in addition to the table being faultless, is that the table has and conveys no attitude. If we understand forgiveness as the forswearing of resentment, we should recognize that what is involved is an interplay of attitudes. What is resented is an attitude (whether intentional or a lack of due regard that produces an injury or is itself taken as an injury), and what changes when one forgives is one's attitude toward the person whose attitude originally caused resentment. We shall have to ask, are attitudes themselves in our control?

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WHEN FORGIVING DOESN'T MAKE SENSE The Interplay of Attitudes

Following Bishop Butler and Jeffrie Murphy in taking forgiveness as the forswearing of resentment, more specifically as overcoming resentment for a limited range of moral reasons (including repentance on the part of the wrongdoer, but not including psychological ease on the part of the aggrieved), enables one to see the centrality of an interplay of attitudes in forgiveness. Resentment focuses on the intention or lack of due care and respect that an injury may convey, and forgiveness involves a change of heart toward the wrongdoer. So one can begin to see systematic connections among the sorts of reasons that may serve as appropriate grounds for forgiveness. For example, both "repentance" and "old time's sake" enable one to distinguish the attitude manifested in an agent's act and the current fundamental attitude of the agent, and so make sense of St. Augustine's somewhat mysterious counsel to "hate the sin, but love the sinner." (The mystery arises because people are usually taken to be identified, to some degree, by and with their acts.) As Murphy puts it, "When you are repentant, I forgive you for what you now are. When I forgive you for old time's sake, I forgive you for what you once were. Much of our forgiveness of old friends and parents, for example, is of this sort" (1982, p. 510). There is a disparity in messages communicated. The divorce between act and agent, or between the attitude manifested in an act and the attitude of the agent, helps us see what shifts when understanding leads us to move from resentment to forgiveness. Attitudes, however, are complex. If our resentments are not simple matters of choice, can forgiveness be? And even if we can, somehow, shift our inner attitude, is such a shift by itself enough to constitute forgiveness? In all circumstances? Pardoning and showing mercy certainly require a shift in outward behavior; might forgiveness (at least sometimes) require as much in order for the supposed shift in inner attitude to be taken seriously? Just as it may be difficult to separate offending wrongdoers from their acts, it may be difficult to separate would-be forgivers from theirs; a change of heart in the would-be forgiver without a change in behavior and treatment may not be enough to constitute genuine forgiveness. While attitudes certainly matter, it is not always clear that an attitude can be taken to have changed if one nonetheless demands one's pound of flesh, insists first (or after) on extracting the full punishment. The poet Heine makes the point in striking ironical fashion: Mine is a most peaceable disposition. My wishes are: a humble cottage with a thatched roof, but a good bed, good food, the freshest milk and butter, flowers before my window, and a few fine trees before my door; and if God wants to make my happiness complete, he will grant me the joy of seeing some six or seven of my enemies hanging from those trees. Before their death I shall, moved in my heart, forgive them all the wrong they did me in their lifetime. One must, it is true, forgive one's enemies—but not

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before they have been hanged. (Gedanken und Einfalle, Section I, quoted in Freud, 1930, p. 11 On.)

Attitudes

Attitudes are not typically under the direct control of our will. Here we may compare deciding to forgive and deciding to care. As Harry Frankfurt writes of caring, "The fact that someone cares about a certain thing is constituted by a complex set of cognitive, affective, and volitional dispositions and states . . . It certainly cannot be assumed that what a person cares about is generally under his immediate voluntary control" (1988b, p. 85). So, even if we were persuaded we would be better off if we forgave someone who had trespassed against us, we might find ourselves unable to forgive. That is not necessarily something (a further something) to blame ourselves for: "I am an unforgiving person." Perhaps the forgiveness is undeserved. Perhaps the offense is in a sense unforgivable (due to its seriousness, its egregiousness, or the depth of betrayal involved). Perhaps the incapacity to forgive is specific to this offense and this offender rather than a sign of a perpetually unyielding and self-righteous disposition. For example, in the case of the psychopath, insensitive to moral rights and obligations, we may not forgive him (where that involves restoring him to full human relations) because it seems more appropriate to dismiss him (regard him as not a moral agent at all). Perhaps there is no ground for separating the agent from the act. (Understanding is not by itself sufficient for forgiveness. Why forgive the unrepentant wrongdoer?) And perhaps the wound itself is of a kind that renders the victim incapable of forgiveness. The interplay of attitudes needs to recognize a third kind of injury: Apart from whatever grievous harm might have been done and whatever morally offensive message might have been sent along with and through it, there is always a risk of moral injury, that the person who is the victim of injustice may become capable of injustice in turn (and withal incapable of forgiveness). It is that sort of moral damage that deeply concerned Socrates, and it is the fear of it that sometimes makes abusers and oppressors relentless; they may fear the justified resentment and revenge of their victims. And all may fear other consequences of such moral damage. Think of the molested child who becomes a child molester. Think of the victims of genocide whose fear of genocide leads them to commit the same crime. Forgiveness is one path to reconciliation. There are others. Think of the work of "Truth and Reconciliation" commissions after the defeat of evil regimes. The truth, sometimes amounting to confession, insisted on by such commissions is not quite the same as the understanding referred to in our proverb. Nor is it the same as punishment or, for that matter, revenge. So far as we think of forgiveness as a moral virtue, it must be given for moral reasons. Hence, if someone seeks to forgive simply to ease their own

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mind, for the sake of self-therapy, whatever kind of closure is achieved might not amount to forgiveness (Murphy, 1982, p. 507). Indeed, in such a case one might suspect that the relevant attitude does not really get shifted, it is just the expression of anger that gets suppressed. Since the attitude of the wrongdoer still presumably stands (the therapeutic interests of the aggrieved give no ground to separate agent from act), a response to the affront is always liable to be provoked anew. It is not clear that forgiveness to make ourselves feel better, to free us to move on, is "forgiveness," that is, a genuine change in attitude toward the offender or the offense. More broadly, the notion that forgiveness is the only way to achieve closure, so one can move on, is of course mistaken. The notion that one must achieve closure before one can move on may also be mistaken. And the notion that understanding inevitably leads to forgiveness and so closure is perhaps least plausible of all. The notion of "closure" is itself problematic when we are dealing with an interplay of attitudes, which by their nature, especially in ongoing relationships, are always in flux. One may understand the sources of an offense, but to forgive might seem to lessen the offense, to fail to take it and oneself sufficiently seriously. And clinging to grievance may seem to offer other rewards (the rewards of selfrighteousness, of dignity, of not having to deal further with the other, etc.). Understanding itself may sometimes be threatening. Even admitting the offense is intelligible (say in the case of genocide or of incest) may seem a risk; understanding might seem to make the offense thinkable and so possible again. Part of the point of taboo is to make certain things unthinkable precisely so as to make them undoable. Still, one might forgive an offense one fails to understand. One might do it because the wrongdoer repents. The wrong may remain unintelligible, yet be forgiven. (Understanding is not necessary to forgiveness.) Even where one fails or refuses to forgive, one need not be left seething in resentment. (The concern that one might be is one of the therapeutic arguments for urging forgiveness—letting go so one can move on.) It is not just that there are alternative methods of letting go (I shall speak of forgetting in a moment). Nor just that there are alternatives to resentment as a reaction to wrongdoing and neglect directed at oneself in the first place (I shall speak in a bit of an alternative discussed by Gandhi). It might just be that there are good reasons to let the past rest as past—say, in a political context, the evil is past and so there is no need to struggle further against it, indeed, reason to fear continuing the struggle against the admitted evil might run the risk of reviving it. The mere fact that an evil is past does not mean there is nothing to forgive (despite Aurel Kolnai's concern over an apparent paradox), the harm may persist, as may the attitude it expressed. What other accommodation is needed to maintain moral integrity could be highly variable. It can of course also be the case that precisely because one does understand the forces and the pressures that led to, say, a betrayal, one refuses or is incapable of believing it won't happen again. So despite apologies and apparently sincere promises that it won't happen again, one may refuse to forgive. People

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often reach such a point in dealing with alcoholics who say they are sorry (and perhaps even mean it, and will go on meaning it each time they lapse and relapse). And even where one understands the circumstances and pressures that led someone to betray, there may remain the feeling that they could have tried harder (Feinberg, 1970, pp. 282—283). The blanket excuse of determinism is met by our blanket faith in the ability to try. Even in cases where there may be no alternative, if the outcome reflects the agent's desires, the agent may still be responsible. It is arguable that the mere fact that a person could not have done otherwise need not lift moral responsibility. As Harry Frankfurt puts the point, "The fact that a person lacks alternatives does preclude his being morally responsible when it alone accounts for his behavior. But a lack of alternatives is not inconsistent with moral responsibility when someone acts as he does for reasons of his own, rather than simply because no other alternative is open to him" (Frankfurt, 1988a, p. 95). In such cases, the action can still be taken to express the agent's attitude. Sometimes it is not our understanding but our ignorance that leads to forgiveness. There are cases of too much and too little motive. Sometimes these two may come together in simple difference from the norm. There is the kleptomaniac who is willing to risk much for things that appear valueless to us (and seem, on a conscious level, equally valueless to him). The person who keeps getting in trouble for stealing the apparently valueless may become an object of pity because of unintelligibility. The behavior is not necessarily "compulsive." How, after all, does one distinguish an irresistible desire from one that is simply not resisted? Again, one can always try; and whether one would succeed may depend on which of a host of conditions are held constant and which are allowed to vary. The conditions for determining capacities are too complex to go into here, but J. L. Austin sheds useful light on the notions of "irresistible impulse" and "loss of control" when he tells a story about a sophisticated academic taking more than his share of ice cream at a dinner and dryly concludes, "We often succumb to temptation with calm and even with finesse" (Austin, 1970, p. 198n). Joel Feinberg (1970) includes the kleptomaniac in a small set of examples of cases of apparently voluntary actions with bewildering motivation where blame might seem out of place. In addition to the kleptomaniac, Feinberg describes a nonviolent child molester, a repetitive exhibitionist, and a wellto-do man who shoplifts, burgles, and assaults to obtain women's brassieres. All four understand the illegal character of their acts and avoid unnecessary risks of detection. What they do not understand is their own desires. And when we classify them as "mentally ill," we are generally marking the fact that we do not understand them either. What is particularly interesting, however, is that bizarre desires, precisely the sort that puzzle the person who has them and that seem incoherent to us, may lead us to forgive precisely because we do not understand. As Feinberg puts it, "Where crimes resist explanation in terms of ordinary motives, we hardly know what to resent. Here the old maxim 'to understand all is to forgive all' seems to be turned on its ear. It is closer to the truth to say of mentally ill wrongdoers that to forgive is

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to despair of understanding." What seems crucial "is the actor's lack of insight into his own motives" (1970, pp. 284, 288). Of course, understanding desires may sometimes simply be a matter of their being fairly widespread. Most adults have sexual desires for other adults. Having sexual desires for children seems (fortunately) rare, does not seem to fit in with other patterns of adult desire, and may seem inexplicable. But we should not be too quick to contrast this with a "normal" individual's insight into "normal" motives. People in general would have great trouble in specifying the sources of their "normal" sexual desires. Certainly they have an explanation, but so doubtless do the statistically aberrant or bizarre desires. (It does not follow that all desires are equally desirable. There may be all sorts of good reasons for individuals and societies to seek to restrain acting on certain desires, whether or not we understand their source.) The point here is that the path from lack of understanding to forgiveness is no less strewn with problems than the path from understanding to forgiveness. In seeking to follow St. Augustine's advice to forswear resentment by hating the sin while still loving the sinner, the separation is sometimes effectuated not by understanding, but precisely by lack of understanding. The attitude is not so much detached from the wrongdoer as the message that an injury might normally send is not received because the desires and attitude behind the action seem so obscure and unintelligible. So far as the sinner does not understand the appeal of the sin, the usual insulting message may be detached. But, again, do we understand our own desires? Is it a matter of associating with them versus renouncing them? May acting on them sometimes itself be enough to count as associating with them?

Point of View

If we cannot simply and directly will our anger and resentment away, steps can be taken, and perhaps sometimes ought to be taken. Therapy depends upon the hope that attitudes can be changed—if not by a direct act of will, by a variety of techniques that give varying place to reason, thought, and argument. Spinoza's therapy for anger, and for passive emotions generally, involves seeking wider understanding, ultimately sub specie aeternitatis (under the aspect of eternity). So the prescriptive advice mentioned at the start of this essay is not new, and modern therapeutic movements are picking up on a philosophical, as well as a Christian, theme. Spinoza counsels that we avoid as far as possible passive and painful emotions, such as hatred and anger, and points out, among other things, that if we appreciate "that men, like other things, act from the necessity of nature, then the wrong, or the Hate usually arising from it will occupy a very small part of the imagination, and will easily be overcome" (Ethics, Part V, Prop. 10 Scol.). In effect, he is suggesting a revision of belief about the operation of causes, so that the object of anger will be seen as just an element of a necessary structure—a change that would inevitably alter the character of the emotion.

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And the intellectual activity, the search for and consideration of broader causes, is itself a pleasure and so alleviating. Along similar lines, he points out that if we become aware of the multiplicity and complexity of causes, an emotion will have many objects and we will be less affected toward each than if we had regarded one alone as the cause (Ethics, Part V, Prop. 9). Spinoza's advice, especially the urging to seek wider understanding, contains good sense. Nonetheless, there is a risk, emphasized by Isaiah Berlin in "Historical Inevitability" (1969), of mistaking the sort of necessity Spinoza speaks of as some sort of justifying inevitability. It is what leads Berlin to condemn the notion that to understand all is to forgive all as a "ringing fallacy" (p. 41). However, I do not think we need to reject determinism outright in order to leave room for judgment. As previously noted, belief in determinism need not provide excuses or, we may now add, be a comfort. Of course, when we manage to take a wider perspective on the travails of our life, even if we do not come to regard them as inevitable, we may come to regard them as trivial. Certainly from a Gods-eye view, our concerns may seem absurd.4 But it is not obvious that we always can assume such a perspective, or even that we should. Sometimes we are able to direct our attention (though there are limits even on this), and choosing a perspective and so perhaps shifting attitude may sometimes be like that. But why should we take God's point of view or think that the perspective of eternity and the universe is somehow more correct than a more limited perspective? The mere possibility of such an alternative is not enough to make our concerns unjustified—once we recognize that justification must always come to an end. Recognition of alternative views need not leave us with an ironical view of the seriousness with which we take ourselves, when we properly, by our own standards, do take ourselves seriously. After all, what we are looking out onto are our individual human concerns. Such concerns might disappear within some vastly larger picture, but why should a point of view that makes them invisible be thought to make their position (in relation to us) clearer? The concerns remain real for us and the issue is what is the correct perspective for us. (The notion of a "correct perspective" itself determined from no point of view seems unintelligible.) Even if we somehow thought the God's-eye view the correct one, it seems clear that we could not sustain it. (Aristotle recognized that we are neither simply gods nor animals, though our natures may participate in characteristics of both.) And again, even if we could sustain it, that would not show that what matters to us does not really matter to us or should not matter to us. We love and (yes) we hate, and the reasons of our hearts cannot be simply dismissed just because we can imagine a perspective from which our reasons might no longer move. The God's-eye view, like the perspective of determinism, is not really ours. It is not what our attitudes toward others and ourselves depend upon. Perhaps we can look from such a perspective in rare philosophical moments (like looking from the point of view of the stars and seeing the Earth as an insignificant little planet), but there is no reason that we should seek to shift from the perspective through which we must inevitably live our lives or give higher priority to an ultimately impossible standpoint.

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While enlarged understanding may always offer some benefits, I myself would hesitate to attempt to move permanently into a wholly expansive view, not only because I don't think one could permanently succeed, but because more particular perspectives seem to me often appropriate. That something might not matter from a God's-eye view does not mean it does not matter. Forgiving need not take one to a God's-eye view. The notion that to understand all is to forgive all, taken in the prescriptive sense, may sometimes be urging one take the (apparently misbehaving) agent's view. If no person willingly does evil, as Socrates thought, then understanding what the person took themselves to be doing from their point of view is to see the person as aiming at the good: intentional action always aims at the good. This is the typical claim of the person who insists "I didn't mean to" when the unfortunate nature of the outcome of their acts becomes manifest. But even an agent conceded to be aiming at the good may be wrong about what constitutes the good and their view of the good may include an insulting message for the aggrieved. (This leaves aside the deeper issues of Socrates' understanding of human motivation and intention.) In order to preserve the inner goodness of the wrongdoer, perhaps to make it easier to go on loving the sinner while condemning the sin, people sometimes distinguish an inner (real and true) self and an outer (false and determined) self. (See Lamb, 1996, p. 82.) But the separation is as false as the Cartesian split between mind and body that it mimics—both approaches treating the real or essential self as though it were a disembodied mind. It is the schizoid vision of the self popularized by R. D. Laing in the 1960s. The perhaps comforting vision of a well-meaning (and, in the full schizoid version, all-talented and omnipotent) self should be resisted. There are several protections against the metaphysical and moral temptation to regard one's inner or mental life as somehow "true" and one's bodily life (with its overt, observable actions) as external and somehow "false." The first is to consider carefully what "false" might mean here. In most senses (except where it is equated from the start with things bodily and visible) it can apply equally to things mental and physical. That is, emotions and thoughts may be as "false" as social roles in the sense of being, for example, undesired, unchosen, and disliked. Properly understood, the true/false distinction cuts across the mind/body distinction, rather than running parallel to it. Mind (mental states) can be false as well as true. Bodily states can be true as well as false. This connects with a second major protection against the schizoid delusion: the recognition that not all social roles are false. We build our identity partly through others' perception and recognition of us. Some of the social roles that make us who we are we in fact desire and choose. Being a parent, friend, student, lover need not be "false" just because each is a social role involving an embodied, interacting life. And a third remedy to a schizoid split of mind and body is to consider what constitutes a "mental state." Philosophers such as Gilbert Ryle (1949) have emphasized the behavioral aspects of intelligence, knowing how, vanity, and others. As Wittgenstein put it, "The human body is the best picture of the human soul" (1958,

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p. 178). The self inevitably becomes empty if it is regarded as disembodied because the attribution and existence of many psychological states depends on their bodily expression. The moral comfort of a retreat to a well-meaning inner self can be bought only at the cost of gross distortion of just what it is that makes us who and what we are. Sinners cannot shed their sins by a simple metaphysical shift in identity. Forgiving and Forgetting

It might seem that, as a moral virtue, forgiveness must be given for moral reasons and so forgetting could not be a form of forgiving. Typically we forget for no reason at all, effortlessly; forgetting is not a straightforwardly intentional activity. But then, perhaps forgiveness itself need not itself always be intentional. (Whether it then ceases to be a virtue is a further question.) Of course, sometimes we are unable to forgive despite our best intentions. Still, as T. S. Eliot understood, there is many a slip between an intention and its execution for all sorts of acts. The fact that an intention may not culminate in action may leave the intention intact (at least sometimes). But the intention in forgiveness involves a largely internal change, a shift in attitude. The fact that one presumably can always say "I forgive you" does not mean that forgiving itself (which involves a change of attitude, which as we have noted is a complex process) is in one's direct control. Can one choose to forgive (to change one's attitude, not just one's behavior)? Always? Certainly one can choose not to forgive. But is choosing to forgive closer to choosing to love (usually something not thought within the power of the will) than to choosing not to forgive (which like deciding to bear a grudge, or to not speak to someone, is regarded as within the power of the will)? Control over emotions (despite the perhaps wishful thought of Sartre and others who treat all emotion as action), like control over beliefs, is limited. Belief, which aims at truth, is constrained by the evidence we acknowledge. (I think Spinoza, who refused to distinguish a separate faculty of willing in relation to belief, was closer to the truth about the relation of belief and will than Descartes, who insisted error was due to the extension of our will beyond our understanding.) Our responsibility for our beliefs does not end, however, with the limits on our will. There is always the question of whether to act on the beliefs we happen to have and the even more crucial question of what efforts and attitude to take toward gathering evidence in the formation and maintenance of beliefs. All of these complications in relation to belief, given the centrality of belief and thought in emotions, carries over to the realm of emotions, judgments, and attitudes. If forgiveness is forswearing resentment, the question arises of whether (and if so, how) we can choose to forgive. Can we choose not to be angry? At best it seems a process, sometimes involving steps over which we have only limited control. Not that forgiveness is simply a matter of anger management—the interplay of morally appropriate (or inappropriate) attitudes is at stake.

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Forgetting can, I think, sometimes be a form of forgiving—a way of letting go. (Of course, forgiving need not entail forgetting. It might indeed sometimes be foolish to forget.)5 While forgetting may not be directly willed, it may sometimes reveal that an offense, like certain debts, no longer matters. Indeed, a creditor may sometimes release an indebted individual from their debt by telling them to "forget it." Where a forgiver lets go of their resentment by forgetting the offense, the resentment has not been so much forsworn or renounced as simply allowed to die a natural death. (It is worth remembering that resentment has degrees and need not always be actively overcome. We expect it to fade with time, especially where the offense is minor and takes place in the context of an ongoing relationship characterized overall by caring.) Can understanding have anything to do with such forgiveness? While it is doubtful that understanding could lead directly to forgetting (given that forgetting is not itself directly willed), it might free an individual to let go—in the passive form of forgetting as well as in the active form of renouncing. The test here would come in what happens when the forgotten offense is recalled. (It might also be of interest to know what it takes to recall the offense. Is it so deeply buried that only a new offense or a direct statement about the old one can bring it back?) If a recalled offense brings back with it the old resentments, it has not been forgiven. If it doesn't, it may sometimes be that it is not just the passage of time that has made the offense cease to matter, but that a new understanding plays a role. It is significant that the new understanding may be of the offense, of the other, of oneself, or even of the world at large. (Following Spinoza's advice to consider things sub specie aeternitatus can be effective in overcoming anger—in the larger scheme of things, small offenses may not matter. My hesitation is in making the move to no offenses mattering.) This suggests an interesting twist in the role of understanding in forgiveness in general. When one says "to understand all is to forgive all," the object of understanding is typically assumed to be the same as the object of forgiveness. But in fact, a changed understanding of oneself or even of what matters in the world may be what enables one to forgive. Self-understanding may be as important as understanding of others in relation to forgiveness. This is obvious in terms of recognizing one's own fallibility and proneness to faults. That is sometimes a condition of sympathetic understanding (and so forgiveness) of others. But it may equally be the case that understanding one's own tendency to attach undue importance to certain things, one's over-readiness to take offense, may free one to forgive an offense that remains unjustified or even unintelligible in one's eyes. Understanding, we may note once more, is not a necessary condition of forgiveness. (If it were, we might wonder whether children who cannot fully understand can fully forgive. There is no age of forgiveness, unlike an age of consent. Understanding is a condition of consent, but it need not be a condition of forgiveness. Children are encouraged very early to apologize and to forgive. They may be very finely attuned to the interplay of attitudes.) Understanding may also include a recognition of one's provocativeness in producing certain

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offenses. In all, the object of understanding may be broader than just the object of forgiveness itself. It might seem that if forgetting can be a form of forgiving, a shifting of attitude, perhaps changing one's attitude not for reasons having to do with the wrongdoer but for one's own sake, say for anger management or other therapeutic reasons, might also be a form of forgiveness too—this despite my earlier remarks. But then there remain the earlier doubts about whether forgiveness with such a basis, aiming simply to allow the forgiver to move on, involves a genuine shift in attitude. The offender's attitude and the offense may not have shifted at all. It is only one's attitude toward one's own state of mind that seems to have come into play. The One and the Many

Does it matter who is being forgiven, who has wronged one? And does it matter whether it is just one who has been wronged, whether there were fellow victims or perhaps even a group of victims, or whether one was perhaps singled out as a victim precisely because one was a member of a group? All of these things may matter in a variety of ways, some of them affecting one's understanding of the nature of the wrong, of what needs to be forgiven or otherwise dealt with, and some even affecting who (if anyone) might be in a position to forgive. These questions about "who"—who has been wronged and who needs to be forgiven, who is the victim and who is the perpetrator (not to mention beneficiaries and perhaps not-so-innocent bystanders)— may matter as much as the many "whys" that so often complicate understanding and forgiveness. We should start with the recognition that one is always at least among the victims when questions of forgiveness arise. Of course a mother may forgive someone for something done to her child, or a husband forgive someone for something done to his wife, but then the forgiver is clearly aggrieved on their own behalf as well as because of the wrong done more directly to their loved one. The notion that someone with more tenuous ties to a victim or victims might be in a position to give vicarious forgiveness is at the very least presumptuous. One may forgive on one's own account, but to offer to forgive on behalf of another is to invite the question: who does one think one is? Only a wronged party can forgive. It is presumptuous for others to absolve those who have not wronged them. Insofar as resentment is a moral emotion, that is, insofar as it depends on beliefs about injustice, legitimate resentment requires a legitimate grievance. To forswear a resentment one has no right to bear in the first place is to renounce what is not one's own. One can of course be indignant on behalf of another, angry at injustice, but to call a change of heart in such circumstances "forgiveness" is liable to mislead. It takes place outside the central interplay of attitudes. There may be ties to perpetrators as well as to fellow victims. Is it worse to be raped by a stranger or by a date, a would-be friend? A member of one's

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family? The ties to the perpetrator, whatever they might be, open the possibility of additional injuries. (See Neu, 2000.) In particular, those injuries include betrayal of trust. What trust there might have been depends on what ties in fact there were, but we generally have less reason to trust strangers than friends. (Freud points out that the concepts of stranger and enemy are not very distant.) Still, people regularly report feeling "violated" when their house is burglarized. Aside from the identification of their house with their person, the description suggests that we may expect something even from strangers. The character of our expectations from others and the relation of their identity to our feelings is tellingly revealed in a story told by Gandhi in his early political pamphlet, Hind Swaraj. "Imagine, Gandhi suggests, that you are awakened by a thief entering your bedroom at night, and that in turning on the light you discover that the thief is really your own father. Would you not be embarrassed for his shame?" (Meister, 2000, p. 1). As Robert Meister makes clear in his retelling of Gandhi's story, anger and resentment are not the only morally appropriate responses to a moral affront. These variant feelings, however, may also call for something like forgiveness if they are to be overcome—which is not to say that they always should be overcome. In the political realm, as Gandhi well understood, reconciliation can take many and complex forms.6 Much may depend on the wrong and on one's understanding of one's relation to the wrongdoer—we have seen this already in the notion of forgiving someone "for old time's sake." Forgiveness is not the only morally or psychologically appropriate response to one's own anger and resentment. Herbert Morris (1976) contrasts a regime of forgiveness to alternatives of punishment and treatment of wrongdoers. He suggests automatic forgiveness, like automatic treatment (as though all wrongdoers were somehow "sick," determined by forces outside their control, and so in need of therapy), might be a terrible mistake. Respect for the choices of the wrongdoer (which may morally require certain sorts of responses and preclude others) might be as much at stake as self-respect. And, crucially, we would lose one of the central forces for social control and harmony. Too much pity, as Bishop Butler pointed out long ago, can be a mistake. "Just indignation," he says, "is necessary for the very subsistence of the world, that injury, injustice, and cruelty should be punished; and since compassion, which is so natural to mankind, would render that execution of justice exceedingly difficult and uneasy; indignation against vice and wickedness is, and may be allowed to be, a balance to that weakness of pity, and also to anything else which would prevent the necessary methods of severity" (1726/1970, p. 77). Since we may also sometimes need to forgive ourselves, the issue of who forgives whom can become multiply complicated. Surely there are significant differences between forgiving others and forgiving oneself. The latter may be (as therapists often urge) all the more necessary because one must always be with oneself. Insofar as forgiveness is a matter of attitude, an aggrieved and unforgiving attitude toward oneself may be all the more disruptive to one's life than a similar attitude toward an often absent (or avoidable) other. On

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the other hand, there may be something unseemly in being too ready to forgive oneself—at least for wrongs done to others. This connects with the two faces of responsibility: taking responsibility can involve forward-looking commitments to deal appropriately with the consequences of wrongs and it can involve backward-looking acceptance of blame for shortcomings. Only the latter might be at all undermined by some deterministic explanation of how whatever went wrong was (ultimately) out of one's control. It may always be in place to take responsibility for one's failings, to clean up one's messes (however uncertain one may be about the backward-looking attribution of the mess exclusively to oneself), and here being too ready to forgive oneself may buy comfort and self-satisfaction at the price of ceasing to be worthy of respect. The direct connection between understanding and forgiveness claimed by the expression "to understand all is to forgive all" is as questionable in relation to self-forgiveness as forgiveness of others. As Isaiah Berlin puts the commonsense point, "Certainly it will surprise us to be told that the better we understand our own actions—our own motives and the circumstances surrounding them—the freer from self-blame we shall inevitably feel. The contrary is surely often true" (Berlin, 1969, p. 96). Forgiveness and Knowledge

Going back to the quotation from Madame de Stael with which we started, her character Corinne's thought is actually, in context, neither simply descriptive nor simply prescriptive, but rather a kind of boast (Book XVIII, Ch. 5). Corinne there is claiming that among the virtues of "superiority of mind and heart" (her own and in general) is that it, through superior understanding, makes one exceptionally indulgent and accepting, and through superior depth of feeling, makes one exceptionally kind and good. Would that it were so. Leaving goodness aside (though here one should be aware that it is not unheard of for people to have great depth of feeling where they themselves are concerned, but less sensitivity when it comes to others), it is simply not the case that superior understanding leads automatically to acceptance of the foibles and crimes of others and oneself. Forgiveness, as we have seen, has other conditions. And, depending on what one thinks follows from forgiveness, that may be a good thing.

Notes

1. As Murphy (1982, p. 116) elaborates: "Christians often like to speak of forgiveness as a free gift or act of grace. Insofar as they are making the point that no one has a right to be forgiven, they are making a sound point. But if they are attempting to argue that no reasons can be given in favor of forgiveness, they are mistaken." 2. Aristotle writes, "Forgetfulness, too, causes anger, as when our own names are forgotten, trifling as this may be; since forgetfulness is felt to be another sign that we

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are being slighted; it is due to negligence, and to neglect us is to slight us" (Rhetoric, trans. Roberts, 1379b). Similarly, Bishop Butler (1726/1970) notes, "Men do indeed resent what is occasioned through carelessness: but then they expect observance as their due, and so that carelessness is considered as faulty" (p. 75). 3. There is another kind of moral injury that will need to be attended to. In addition to material harm and insult, there is the kind of injury that can make its victim in turn capable of committing injustice. It was this kind of injury that Socrates regarded as the only true kind. 4. For Thomas Nagel (1979), absurdity arises from the contrast between the seriousness with which we, unavoidably, live our lives and the arbitrariness of what we care about when we step back, inevitably, to a transcendent standpoint. While Spinoza sees necessity when we view things sub specie aeternitatis, for Nagel what emerges from a transcendent standpoint is contingency (p. 15). 5. Forgiveness does not require that one behave in the future as though the events needing forgiveness had not occurred. It would be foolish systematically to ignore evidence relevant to current and future expectations (that so-and-so is capable of betrayal, of deceit, of malicious action, and the like). Even if one does not assume the future will be like the past in every respect, only a fool would think the past contains no relevant guidance. (Hume, who insisted on the contingency of the connection, came to the same practical conclusion.) How forgiving connects with treating and interacting with the wrongdoer, given the past act and one's understanding of what it reveals about the character of the agent, can be a quite complex matter. As Murphy (1982) points out, "If I forgive, this will primarily be a matter of my forswearing my resentment toward the person who has wronged me—a change of attitude quite compatible with still demanding certain harsh public consequences for the wrongdoer. My forgiving you for embezzling my funds is not, for example, inconsistent with a demand that you return my funds to me or even with a demand that you suffer just legal punishment for what you have done. Neither does my forgiveness entail that I must trust you with my money again in the future. Forgiveness restores moral equality but not necessarily equality in every respect—e.g. equality of trust" (pp. 506-507). But demanding full punishment might undermine the claim to a shift in attitude (think of the parable of the unforgiving servant at Matthew 18:21-35 discussed by Murphy [pp. 512-513]). Can punishment be the price of forgiveness? If forgiveness is bought at such a price, is what is earned "forgiveness"? Does forgiveness require reparation (Melanie Klein's notion) that goes beyond repentance, or does reparation function as the true sign of repentance? 6. As Meister's exploration delicately brings out, there can be difficulties at every turn. If one follows the path of the unreconciled victim seeking revolutionary justice, refusing to distinguish between the perpetrators and beneficiaries of evil, there is hope of more than a merely moral victory but there is a risk of endless struggle, of the constant creation of new enemies. If one follows the path of the reconciled victim, willing to distinguish between the perpetrators and beneficiaries of evil, a moral victory may be claimed but there is a risk that the aftereffects of evil will persist in the form of social injustice, with the old beneficiaries reaping a reward when in fact they are no better than would-be perpetrators. Whatever its costs, a distinctive advantage of forgiveness (and other forms of reconciliation) is that it avoids the third kind of injury mentioned earlier (different from the grievous injuries done to victims and the degrading messages reflected in injuries done with certain attitudes), "the distinctively moral kind of damage that would make victims capable of doing injustice in their turn, and thus incapable of legitimate rule" (Meister, 2000, p. 4).

TO UNDERSTAND ALL ISTO FORGIVE ALL—OR IS IT?

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References

Aristotle (1984). The complete works of Aristotle, Vol. 2 (Jonathan Barnes, Ed.). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Austin, John Longshaw (1970). A plea for excuses. In J. L. Austin, Philosophical papers (2nd ed., pp. 175-204). New York: Oxford University Press. Bartlett, John (1968). Bartlett's familiar quotations (14th ed.). Boston: Little, Brown. Berlin, Isaiah (1969). Historical inevitability. In Isaiah Berlin, Four essays on liberty (pp. 41-117). New York: Oxford University Press. Butler, Bishop Joseph (1726/1970). Butler's fifteen sermons (Tom Aerwyn Roberts, Ed.). London: S.P.C.K. Dennett, Daniel C. (1984). Elbow room: The varieties of free will worth wanting. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Feinberg, Joel (1970). What is so special about mental illness? In J. Feinberg, Doing and deserving(pp. 272—292). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Frankfurt, Harry (1988a). Alternate possibilities and moral responsibility. In Harry Frankfurt, The importance of what we care about (pp. 1-10). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Frankfurt, Harry (1988b). The importance of what we care about. In Harry Frankfurt, The importance of what we care about (pp. 80—94). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Freud, Sigmund (1930). Civilization and its discontents (Standard Edition, Vol. 21, pp. 64—145). London: Hogarth Press. Hart, Herbert Lionel Adolphus (1968). Punishment and responsibility: Essays in the philosophy of law. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hill, Thomas E., Jr. (1973). Servility and self-respect. The Monist, 57, 87-104. Holmes, Oliver Wendell, Jr. (1881). The common law. Boston: Little, Brown. Hume, David (1748/1977). An enquiry concerning human understanding. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett. Kant, Immanuel (1785/1993). Groundingfor the metaphysics of morals. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett. Kolnai, Aurel (1978). Forgiveness. In Aurel Kolnai, Ethics, value, and reality (pp. 211-224). Indianapolis, IN: Hackett. Laing, Ronald Davis (1960). The divided self. London: Tavistock. Lamb, Sharon (1996). The trouble with blame: Victims, perpetrators, and responsibility. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Meister, Robert (2000). Ways of winning: The costs of moral victory in transitional regimes. Paper presented at the Conference, "Forgiveness: Traditions and Implications," University of Utah, Salt Lake City. Morris, Herbert (1976). Persons and punishment. In Herbert Morris, On guilt and innocence (pp. 31-58). Berkeley: University of California Press. Murphy, Jeffrie (1982). Forgiveness and resentment. Midwest studies in philosophy, 7, 503-516. Nagel, Thomas (1979). The absurd. In Thomas Nagel, Mortal Questions (pp. 11-23). New York: Cambridge University Press. Neu, Jerome (2000). What is wrong with incest? In Jerome Neu, A tear is an intellectual thing: The meanings of emotion (pp. 166—176). New York: Oxford University Press. Rawls, John (1971). A theory of justice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Richards, Norvin (1988). Forgiveness. Ethics, 99, 77-97.

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Ryle, Gilbert (1949). The concept of mind. London: Hutchinson & Co. Spelman, Elizabeth V. (1989). Anger and insubordination. In Ann Garry & Marilyn Pearsall (Eds.), Women, knowledge And reality: Explorations in feminist philosophy (pp. 263-273). Boston: Unwin, Hyman. Spinoza, Baruch de (1677/1985). Ethics. In The collected works of Spinoza, Vol. 1 (Edwin Curley, trans.). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Stael, Madame de (1807/1998). Corinne, or Italy (S. Raphael, trans.). New York: Oxford University Press. Strawson, Peter F. (1974). Freedom and resentment. In Peter F Strawson, Freedom and resentment and other essays (pp. 1-25). London: Methuen. Williams, Bernard (1973). Ethical Consistency. In Bernard Williams, Problems of the Self (pp. 166-186). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wittgenstein, Ludwig (1958). Philosophical investigations (2nd ed., Gertrude Elizabeth Margfet Anscombe, trans.). Oxford: Blackwell.

Part 11 FORGIVENESS IN THE THERAPY HOUR

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Forgiveness in Counseling: A Philosophical Perspective Jeffrie G. Murphy

There is, in the contemporary world of counseling, an increasingly visible movement called "philosophical counseling"—a movement that seeks to make the discipline of philosophy more central to counseling than the discipline of psychology. Although this movement has just started to gain attention in America, it has already attained some prominence in other countries, including Israel, Germany, and Holland.1 It seems that the influence of philosophy on the practice of counseling is currently of sufficient weight that even some who would not identify themselves as philosophical counselors now impose philosophical constraints on their psychological research and practice. For example, a recent essay by psychologist Robert D. Enright on forgiveness in counseling explicitly makes "philosophical rationality" a condition of appropriateness in counseling. As a professional philosopher, I greet the entry of my discipline into a new and practically important field with mixed feelings: delight that my discipline might be put to use in helping those with problems in living, and fear that my discipline might be used in irresponsible ways—either by psychologists who do not understand philosophy well enough or philosophers who do not understand psychology well enough. Some careful thinking is surely in order here, and the purpose of this essay is to make a start toward such thinking in a limited area of counseling practice: counseling forgiveness. I begin by noting that I am not a counselor, philosophical or otherwise, and that I have no expertise in the practice of counseling. I have become interested in the present topic because my wife, who is a professional counselor, recently brought to my attention the great emphasis that forgiveness—both of self and others—now receives in counseling literature and practice. In particular, she brought to my attention the work of psychologist Robert D. Enright and his Human Development Study Group at the University of Wisconsin at Madison. Since Enright is, in effect, the "guru" of forgiveness in counseling, my remarks here will be directed in the main at his work—particularly his recent essay, "Counseling within the Forgiveness Triad: On Forgiving, Receiving Forgiveness, and Self-Forgiveness."2 41

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Both on my own and in collaboration with the late Jean Hampton, I have written on forgiveness as an issue in moral, political, and legal philosophy.3 It is my hope that these studies might allow me to bring to bear a useful perspective on the role of forgiveness in the area of counseling. Since I am painfully aware that this is a new area for me, and one in which I totally lack expertise, my remarks here will be extremely tentative—mainly raising questions rather than providing theories and answers of my own—and aimed primarily at generating discussion. Perhaps counselors may have their thoughts and practices about forgiveness enriched by philosophers, and perhaps philosophers may have their speculations about forgiveness enriched by learning how forgiveness works (or does not work) in a context that is generally unfamiliar to them. Or perhaps not. We will not know until we try some cross-disciplinary discussions and see how they go. This essay is an attempt to generate one such discussion. First let me raise one general question about philosophical counseling. I assume that counseling in general has as its goal improving the life and functioning of clients—making them more viable in the primary arenas (if Freud was right) of work and love. The ideal, I suppose, is that they should become happy—or at least, to recall Freud again, that their neurotic incapacitating anxieties should be replaced by ordinary unhappiness. I would assume that philosophical counseling, if it is truly philosophical, will be to some degree guided not merely by such therapeutic values as anxiety reduction, but also by the value that is arguably intrinsic to philosophy itself: the value of rationality in the realms of belief and morality. Could, for example, a philosophical counselor welcome therapeutic improvement in a client that results from that client's coming to embrace a religious view that the philosopher might find irrational—even superstitious? I fear a possible dilemma here: If the intellectual merits of the comforting and therapeutic views of the client are irrelevant, then why call this form of counseling "philosophical"? If the intellectual merits are relevant, then will not the philosophical counselor at least sometimes experience a tension between the desire to support whatever will move the client toward viability and the desire to give no support to—and perhaps even to challenge—worldviews that (in the view of the philosophical counselor) cannot survive philosophical skepticism? In his introduction to the book Essays on Philosophical Counseling, Ran Lahav suggests that philosophical counseling should avoid the "dogmatic approach" found in traditional philosophical systems. Philosophical counseling, he writes, "does not provide philosophical theories, but rather philosophical thinking tools."4 Unfortunately, this claim by Lahav raises, at least for me, more questions than it solves. Most systematic philosophers have not been dogmatic in the sense of simply asserting views to be accepted as articles of faith. They have rather offered arguments on reasons for those views; if these are persuasive reasons, what is wrong with bringing the views to bear on counseling? If something is wrong, then one needs to argue for this and not merely hurl the insult "dogmatism." If counseling requires only the "thinking tools"—the

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methods of analysis and critical thinking—characteristic of philosophy, and not any of the conclusions that philosophers have reached using those methods, then how does philosophical counseling differ from the cognitive approaches (using such techniques as cognitive restructuring) that have been around in psychotherapy for a long time? Consider an example germane to our present inquiry. Suppose a philosophical counselor believes that a particular client will never achieve his sought-after happiness or even viability unless he forgives himself. But suppose, on philosophical grounds—perhaps by embracing a strong form of the retributive theory of punishment and suffering—this same counselor believes that justice demands that culpable wrongdoers suffer in proportion to their evil or iniquity. Now finally, suppose that this counselor believes that her client has done something so culpably evil that he ought to suffer for a long time, perhaps even unto death. Would such a counselor want to lead her client toward self-forgiveness (and its potentially cleansing and restorative healing) or might she instead, given her philosophical views, quite understandably think that this client should-—absent deep repentance and atonement perhaps—never attain self-forgiveness but should forever suffer the selfhatred he so richly deserves? Martin Buber (thinking perhaps of former Nazis who might seek therapeutic help) once cautioned therapists that, in their desires to help clients overcome neurotic guilt, they should not do anything that might prevent clients from dealing properly with what he called their "authentic" or "existential" guilt.5 Contemporary counselors do not get too many former Nazis these days, of course, but they probably do get their share of those deep in the evil of their own existential guilt—those who, for example, physically and sexually abuse their own children. Should these children be encouraged by counselors to forgive those who have visited these unspeakable horrors upon them? Should the perpetrators of those horrors be encouraged to forgive themselves? If so, is this because, in the realm of counseling, the value of client well-being gets to trump all other values? Or is it because a background worldview is being tacitly presupposed—a Christian perspective of love and forgiveness, perhaps—that might not withstand philosophical scrutiny or that might compromise the "do not impose your values" principle that many counselors recite as a near-mantra? These are the questions I shall address. Robert Enright on Forgiveness in Counseling

Enright writes of what he calls "the forgiveness triad": forgiving others, accepting forgiveness from others, and forgiving oneself. Although I suspect that he would not refer to himself as a philosophical counselor, he appears to accept a philosophical constraint upon acceptable counseling with respect to each aspect of his triad when he writes that "each aspect is ... presented as philosophically rational and therefore appropriate within counseling.... We . . . make a philosophical case for [forgiveness] as both rational and moral."

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Unfortunately, Enright does not explain what he means by "philosophical rationality." (He does find one philosopher, Margaret Holmgren, who agrees with him; but agreement with one philosopher, even as talented a philosopher as Margaret Holmgren, can hardly be a test for philosophical rationality. ) Neither does Enright explain why philosophical rationality is an acceptable constraint on counseling. These two omissions are related in important ways, since the plausibility of the constraint will surely to some degree depend upon how the operative concept in that constraint is analyzed. Also, for reasons noted previously, even the most plausibly analyzed concept of philosophical rationality might be in tension with therapeutic goals if those goals are conceptualized in terms of making the client feel and function better by, for example, removing anxiety. Though a philosophically rational morality might acknowledge anxiety reduction as a legitimate goal, it surely would not regard it as a dominant or controlling goal. There are clearly some puzzles here that require more thought. It is possible, of course—although Enright has provided neither an analysis of philosophical rationality (including morality) nor an argument for why such an analysis should constrain counseling—that an answer to both of these worries will emerge from the details of his discussion. Thus I shall now pass to the triad itself. Because of space limitations, I will focus mainly on forgiveness of others and treat the other two elements in the triad in a much more cursory way.

Forgiveness of Others

Enright is aware that some philosophers have argued that resentment of injuries may be a sign of self-respect and that therefore a too-ready willingness to forgive, rather than being a virtue, may actually exhibit the vice of servility. (Enright cites Joram Graf Haber for this view, but Haber clearly gets the view from me who, in turn, probably got it from combining the views of Joseph Butler, Peter Strawson, and Thomas Hill, Jr.) My own version of this view involves the claim that victims may be harmed symbolically as well as physically by those who wrong them. Wrongdoing is in part a communicative act, an act that gives out a degrading or insulting message to the victim—the message "I count and you do not, and I may thus use you as a mere thing." Resentment of the wrongdoer is one way that a victim may evince, emotionally, that he or she does not endorse this degrading message; in this way resentment may be tied to the virtue of selfrespect. (A person who forgives immediately, on the other hand, may lack proper self-respect and be exhibiting the vice of servility.) This does not mean that a self-respecting person will never forgive; but it does mean that such a person might make forgiveness contingent on some change in the wrongdoer—typically repentance—that shows that the wrongdoer no longer endorses the degrading message contained in the injury.

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Against this view, Enright (following Holmgren) writes as follows: A forgiver who knows that the act was unjust can see his or her own status as equal to the other person, regardless of the other's stance toward the offended person. In fact, resisting the act of forgiving until the offender somehow changes is giving great power to the offender. . . . An offended person who refuses to forgive until certain contingencies are met suffers twice: once in the original offense and again as he or she is obligated to retain resentment, along with its concomitant negative cognitions and perhaps even negative behaviors. . . . To forgive, then, is to show self-respect. (p. 109) Who is right—Murphy or Holmgren and Enright? I am inclined to say that the answer to this question is probably highly client- and context-dependent; for this reason, no universal prescription—either "always try to forgive" or "never try to forgive"—is justified.7 Enright and Holmgren claim that a person who fails to resent can see their status and dignity as not lessened by such a response, and I am happy to concede that this may be so in some cases. I am not concerned to argue that one is obligated to feel resentment or to retain it, only that feeling and retaining such a feeling is not always wrong and is sometimes, for some people, a mark of self-respect. What I am concerned to stress is that, while a failure to resent can be consistent with proper self-respect, it sometimes is not. There are, I think, cases that should be troubling to the uncritical boosters for universal forgiveness—cases where the victim does not "see" his or her moral status and dignity lessened, not because the victim's self-respect is so well-grounded as to be impervious to assault but because the victim had an improperly low view of his or her moral status and dignity in the first place. Some people, of course, may get their self-respect from comprehensive religious views, for example, the view that each person is a precious child of God. Given that such persons have a transcendent source for their self-respect, they may be less vulnerable to attacks mounted by their fellow humans and thus less inclined to feel resentment and more inclined to move quickly to forgiveness. Several questions must be raised here. First, is it rational to believe such a comprehensive view? Second, may such a view simply be presupposed as a given by a counselor? Third, and finally, what about those who lack such a religious vision and instead get their self-respect in more secular ways, that is, in ways that are dependent to a nontrivial degree on how they are treated by others? (John Rawls's treatment of the social dimension of self-respect and self-esteem in Part 3 of A Theory of Justice is magnificent.) How are people who live their mental lives in the secular, Rawlsian world to be counseled with respect to resentment and forgiveness? Enright seems to see mainly good consequences flowing from a counseling strategy that aims at encouraging victimized clients (even such badly victimized clients as incest survivors) to forgive those who have injured them. He

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writes that those who undergo forgiveness counseling manifest "greater gains in forgiveness, self-esteem, and hope and greater decreases in anxiety and depression" than those in a control group (p. 111).8 I find this conclusion puzzling for several reasons. First, it seems hopelessly circular to count greater tendencies to forgive as among the gains experienced by those who are counseled to forgive. This will, of course, count as a gain only for someone who is already committed to the general excellence of forgiveness. Second, I would like to know more what counts as a gain in self-esteem. Is this merely that the client feels better about herself—something that could result if she came to think that her status as a victim is proper, as no more than she deserves—or that she has an accurate conception of what it is to have full worth as a free and equal rational being? Third, and related to this, is a concern about the circumstances in which anxiety and depression reduction are to be counted as goods. What if they come about because we come simply to accept that our proper status in the world is that of victim and thereby no longer, as the ancient Greeks used to say, "kick against the pricks"? In my view slavery, oppression, and victimization are made worse, not better, when people are rendered content in their victimization. The counsel immediately to love, forgive, and turn the other cheek may be justified in certain versions of Christian theology, but I am not at all sure that it is always good advice for counselors to give to victims. When Marx claimed that religion is the opiate of the masses, he feared that certain religious worldviews might make oppressed people compliant cooperators in their own oppression; I fear that forgiveness might sometimes function as such an opiate as well. How many battered women, for example, have returned to their batterers for more (and perhaps fatal) abuse because some counselor advised them to keep trying to save the marriage out of love and forgiveness? I do not know what the answer to this question is, but I am worried that the boosters for universal forgiveness may not give ample thought to such issues. One possible consequence of premature forgiveness as a strategy is that it makes further victimization more likely. Such a consequence would have to be counted as a negative, surely. This is a negative consequence for the victim, but I can also imagine negative consequences for the wrongdoer.9 What if confronting resentment gives some wrongdoers incentives to repent and reform? If this is so, then a hasty forgiveness might contribute to their further moral corruption by depriving them of this important incentive. Thus making forgiveness contingent on repentance by the wrongdoer might in part be justified, not merely by the self-respect benefits that such a strategy sometimes confers on the victim, but also by the role that such a strategy might play in the rebirth of the wrongdoer. We have all heard Augustine's admonition—quoted approvingly by both Holmgren and Enright—that we should "hate the sin but love the sinner." It is hard to see how the distinction between sin and sinner can even be drawn, however, as long as the sinner remains psychologically identified with his sin. However, if he breaks the identification through repentance, then the distinction may easily be drawn; this

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may be another reason why a strategy of making forgiveness contingent on repentance might sometimes be rational. Of course, we all know stories where rebirth has been generated from a free gift of forgiveness without awaiting repentance—the rebirth of Jean Valjean in Les Miserables being the most famous literary example. I would not for a moment deny these stories. I would, however, suggest that there might be other stories as well—stories where rebirth was generated by the desire to earn, through repentance, the forgiveness and love of the person victimized. My point, you will recall, is not to debunk the possible value of forgiveness in some (perhaps even many) counseling settings; I am rather concerned to express skepticism about it as a general counseling prescription. I am reminded here of the famous story of Lord Bacon who, when he asked a priest the meaning of a large painting in a seacoast church, was told that it represented all those sailors who had been saved from drowning through prayer. "And where," asked Bacon, "do you hang the picture of those who were not saved?" I fear that Enright and his disciples may be a bit like this priest. I have, of course, no idea what Enright's own religious commitments are—or even if he has any. I cannot help suspecting, however, that certain Christian assumptions—perhaps acquired simply from growing up in a dominantly Christian culture—hover behind his approach to forgiveness in counseling. I have already noted some of these, but let me briefly mention another: Enright's belief (a belief I once shared) that one should draw a sharp distinction between (1) forgiveness as an internal change of heart and (2) all those external behaviors required for social reconciliation. I would submit that this sharp distinction is nearly unintelligible within the Jewish tradition and perhaps in part explains why for Jews repentance is such an important precondition of forgiveness. The Christian tradition tends to emphasize purity of heart as the core of the virtue of forgiveness, whereas the Jewish tradition gives primary place to the social dimension of reintegration into the covenanted community.10 Enright claims that "resisting the act of forgiving until the offender somehow changes is giving great power to the offender" (p. 109). But surely this is not always the case. If the offender greatly wants to be forgiven by me and I am not much interested in forgiving him—at least until he repents—then it seems to me that in this case the balance of power is in my favor and not in the favor of the offender. Again, these matters are highly client- and contextdependent, and any universal prescriptions should probably be met with skepticism. Let me close this section with a couple of personal stories. The first concerns one of my former students, a young man (let us call him Ralph) with whom I developed a friendship.11 Ralph once came to me, both as a friend and as someone who had thought about such matters philosophically, seeking advice on a personal problem. His father, who had subjected him to repeated sexual abuse when he was a young boy, had recently attempted—after many years of separation—to gain reentry into Ralph's life. The father

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demonstrated no signs of repentance for his past iniquity, but simply seemed his old arrogant self—acting as though, since Ralph was his only living child, he had a right to at least the appearance of a conventional father-son relationship with him. (It seems that he was in part motivated by a desire to look normal and respectable in the eyes of a new wife and family.) Ralph found this very disquieting. He had previously broken off all relationship with the father—to the point of changing his last name so that he would not maintain even that relationship—and had for years felt comfortable with putting the father and all he stood for utterly out of his life. Ralphs problem was this: His minister and several of his friends from church kept counseling him that he had a duty to forgive the father and to welcome him back into family life—at least on limited terms. This was starting to make Ralph feel both guilty and afraid—guilty because he hated going against the teachings of his religion and afraid that, if he did not continue to shun his father, the adaptive strategy that had worked so well for so long would collapse and he would suffer psychological damage. In short, for his own well-being, Ralph wanted to maintain his strategy of resentment and rejection but wanted to do so only if the strategy was validated, conceptualized as rational and morally acceptable (in contrast to having it conceptualized as sinful and unchristian). We had several conversations and he read some of my writings on forgiveness and resentment in which I argue for the legitimacy of resentment and for making forgiveness generally contingent on repentance. As a result of these encounters, Ralph claimed—with what accuracy I do not know—that I had helped him to accept the legitimacy of his continued resentments. He decided to go against his minister and retain a posture of rejection and resentment toward his father. He seemed comfortable with this—he still does—and indeed claims that the only time he was ever uncomfortable about the strategy was when his minister was trying to make him feel guilty about it. The story raises for me some interesting questions. Is there any reason to think that Ralph's strategy of resentment and rejection was—for him—irrational, immoral, or untherapeutic? Was he lucky that he talked to me? Was I, without realizing it, providing him with a kind of philosophical counseling? Would it have been better had he listened to his minister and perhaps obtained counseling from an Enright disciple? What would Enright himself say about cases like this: that they do not occur (and that my understanding of this case is necessarily superficial) or that they occur so infrequently that counseling forgiveness is still the best general strategy? I do not pretend to know the answer to these questions, but I do think that they are worth asking. Perhaps, as Enright claims, we are "often healed" (p. 111) when we bestow forgiveness as a free, unconditional gift. But the skeptical voice within me wants to say, "Perhaps often not, as well." This brings me to my second story, one told to me by a colleague whose mother, a Holocaust survivor, had been personally tortured by Doctor Joseph Mengele in one of his many cruel medical experiments. This woman, now to all appearances a psychologically viable human being, was once asked by her son—my colleague—what she would want him to do if, after all these years,

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he ever encountered Mengele. His mother thought for a moment and simply said, "Kill him." I find it hard to believe that this woman has missed out on something important—philosophically, morally, or psychologically—in never attaining a posture of forgiveness toward her torturer.12

Receiving Forgiveness and Self-Forgiveness

Because of space limitations, I will not be able to discuss in any depth Enright's treatment of the final two items of his "forgiveness triad": receiving forgiveness and self-forgiveness. The ideal case of receiving forgiveness, according to Enright, involves changes in attitude and behavior—remorse, respect for the offended person, and a willingness to make amends (p. 113). As long as this does not involve imposing oneself upon an unreceptive forgiver, for example, by making amends in an improper way or at an improper time, I see little to quarrel with in what Enright says here. Being forgiven in a spirit of arrogance or condescension is not true forgiveness, and one might properly resent it rather than accept it. Being truly forgiven as an act of love, however, might well be a step in the moral rebirth of some people (the Jean Valjean example); Enright is instructive and persuasive in describing the details of how such a forgiveness interaction might be structured. (My doubts about the universal validity of his prescription do not deny its potential value for a wide variety of clients in a wide variety of contexts.) I am less happy with what Enright says about self-forgiveness. In self-forgiveness, he argues, the wrongdoer moves from a position of self-estrangement to being comfortable with himself in the world (p. 117). He can finall, in the vernacular, get on with his life. But is it morally proper for all wrongdoers to get on with their lives in this way? Returning to Buber's worries about authentic guilt, we might well wonder if certain persons, by their horrible acts, have not forfeited forever their right to be "comfortable" with themselves. Of course, most ordinary wrongdoers, after most acts of ordinary wrongdoing, clearly have a right (after proper repentance, at any rate) to resume their lives with some affection for themselves.13 But what about the not-ordinary wrongdoer—the torturer, the ethnic cleanser, the abuser of children? Might we not want to say of such a person what Cynthia Ozick said of a Nazi murderer—"Let him go to hell. Sooner the fly to God than he"—or what Elie Weisel said in his prayer at Auschwitz—"God of forgiveness, do not forgive those who created this place. God of mercy, have no mercy on those who killed here Jewish children." If we believe in the reality of evil and do not want to excuse all wrongdoers as themselves helpless victims of their own terrible childhood and mental pathology, might we not want to say of those involved in certain evils that they should be brought to self-hatred, not freed from it, and forever view themselves as persons who have made of their lives excrement?14 This deontological/retributive moral vision—one that takes the past very seriously—probably cannot be demonstrated as rationally superior to all

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competing visions, but I do think that it has to be acknowledged as at least a respectable candidate for a philosophically acceptable moral worldview. The upbeat teleological vision of ultimate trust and love that seems to lie behind much of the literature of forgiveness is not the only viable candidate. What bearing might the deontological/retributive view have on the practice of counseling? Must a counselor reject the view entirely? (Are persons who hold the view simply ill-suited to be counselors?) If the counselor does hold the view, should he or she refuse to take on persons perceived as evil as clients? (Imagine yourself a counselor called upon to help an unrepentant Adolph Eichmann find peace with himself before his death. Would you ac-cept him as a client? Would you accept serial rapists and abusers and murderers of children? Would you accept those who brutalize the elderly?) If counselors do take on such clients, might they justify the practice in terms of some doctrine of role responsibility? Might they see their role responsibility as limited simply to serving their clients rather than considering large moral and social issues—much as a criminal defense lawyer might, in defending a dangerous criminal, seek moral insulation in the role responsibility of a lawyer? Just as the lawyer might believe that matters of guilt are best left to a jury, even a counselor who believes in evil and the retribution that evil people deserve might feel fallible in making such determinations and believe that they are best made by others—God perhaps—and thus might take on all clients in a spirit of moral humility. (The counselor might here be guided by Nietzsche's insight that, in doing battle with monsters, we must be careful not to become monsters.)15 Is such a posture of caution and moral humility the proper one for a counselor to adopt, or is it merely a rationalization that allows the counselor to avoid giving evil its due and taking responsibility for a failure to confront it? I have raised many questions here, and I do not pretend to know the correct answers to them. I do, however, believe that these questions must be faced if counseling—-and the role that forgiveness might play in counseling— is to be placed in a genuine philosophical context. Such a context will often reveal complexity and tension, a war of competing values, and force us to see that many gains carry with them some nontrivial losses. There might even be a general tension between counseling (as client-centered) and philosophy (as truth/rationality-centered)—or at least a tension between counseling and global moral concerns. If this is so, then it is better to bring this to full consciousness than to pretend that all is well so long as we practice love and forgiveness. What the Chicago School has taught us about economics may also be true for forgiveness counseling: There is no free lunch. Conclusion

In his closing argument in the Loeb and Leopold sentencing hearing, Clarence Darrow made a passionate plea for the overcoming of hate by love and quoted these famous lines from Omar Khayyam: "So I be written in the

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Book of Love, I do not care that book above, erase my name or write it as you will, so I be written in the Book of Love."16 If we could only be written in one book, then I suppose that all of us would prefer to be written in the Book of Love rather than in the Book of Resentment. Forgiveness, as an outgrowth of love, is often a wonderful—even blessed—thing; I have no quarrel with those who would advocate its power and value in counseling or in a variety of other contexts. Perhaps it is even reasonable to regard it as the default position. My only concern is that allegiance to this value should not be blind—that it should be tempered with a consideration of the possibility that, for some people in some contexts, it might not be the course to be recommended by either good philosophy or good counseling. Notes An earlier and much briefer version of this essay was presented at the March 1997 meeting of the American Society for Philosophy, Counseling, and Psychotherapy (held in conjunction with the annual meeting of the Pacific Division of the American Philosophical Association). The paper has benefited from comments by Robert Enright and Margaret Holmgren. It was first published in my essay collection Character, Liberty, and Law. Kantian Essays in Theory and Practice (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1998) and is reprinted here with permission. 1. For a detailed discussion of the nature of philosophical counseling and its increasing presence in the world of counseling, see Essays on Philosophical Counseling, edited by Ran Lahav and Maria da Venza Tillmanns (New York: University Press of America: 1995). 2. Counseling and Values, 40, 2 (Jan. 1996), pp. 107-126. All page references for Enright quotes are to this essay. 3. See especially Forgiveness and Mercy, by Jeffrie G. Murphy (chapters 1, 3, and 5) and Jean Hampton (chapters 2 and 4) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). 4. See Lahav and Tillmanns, eds., Essays on Philosophical Counseling, p. xi. 5. Martin Buber, "Guilt and Guilt Feelings," in The Knowledge of Man (New York: Harper and Row, 1965). 6. Margaret Holmgren, "Forgiveness and the Intrinsic Value of Persons," American Philosophical Quarterly, 30 (1993), pp. 341-352. 7. In correspondence, Enright claims that he does not mean to endorse forgiveness as a universal prescription. This restraint is present in some of his writings as well but—in my judgment—it does not get nearly the emphasis it merits. 8. I know nothing about designing experiments, but I wonder if the target group did not do better than the control group—presumably receiving no counseling?— simply because any counseling may be better than none. I would love to see a target group encouraged to retain resentment and take steps (within the limits of law and morality, of course) to get even with those who have wronged them, and see how they do. I am sure that such a group will not make "gains in forgiveness"—a questionbegging test anyway—but they might achieve a kind of closure that raises their selfesteem and decreases their anxiety as well or better than forgiveness. Also, I would like to know how many people in the forgiveness group came into it with an antecedent belief—perhaps based in their Christian faith—that they ought to forgive.

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9. Setting out to forgive others as a part of one's own therapeutic agenda has a danger of drawing others into that agenda in ways that may not be beneficial to them. In a splendid essay, Peter D. Baird describes his own realization that he was wrongfully trying to draw his aged father (who was suffering from Alzheimer's) into a drama of forgiveness when that drama was not consistent with the father's desires or interests. Peter D. Baird, "Remembering LaRoux," Maricopa Lawyer (Feb. 1997), pp. 8-9. The essay originally appeared as the "My Turn" column in Newsweek (Dec. 16, 1996). 10. I should note that I do not object to the use of religious assumptions in counseling. Indeed, I favor them in many contexts. I think it is important, however, that if they are used their use should be made explicit, not tacitly and quietly assumed. For the relationship between Christianity and forgiveness, see my "Forgiveness, Reconciliation, and Responding to Evil," Fordham Urban Law Journal, 27, 5 (2000), pp. 1353-1366. 11. What follows as a single case actually collapses two different cases into one, with enough changes of detail to prevent (I hope) recognition of either person. 12. It is interesting that in the three James and Alice scenarios offered by Enright (p. 115), the only time the forgiveness process seems to go at all well is in the third scenario, where (if I understand it correctly) Alice is able to forgive James in part because James has reached a stage of repentance—the very thing that Enright claims is not supposed to be a precondition for forgiveness. Rather than making Enright's point, this scenario seems to go against it. 13. But perhaps not total affection. The fact that we should generally retain enough affection for ourselves to get on with our lives does not have to mean that we should not carry some burdens of guilt and shame forever. These burdens may properly humble us without crippling us. One can have a tragic view of human life without being destroyed or defeated by that view. Note this wonderful passage from the novelist A. N. Wilson: It is only on those whom I have loved that I have ever knowingly inflicted pain. The guilt of it remains forever, my words selected with such malice and the startled expression on the victim's face as the effect went home. These are the faces which return during nights of insomnia, forever hurt in my memories, and inconsolably so. It is said that time is a healer, but it is not necessarily so. Memory has the power to encapsulate moments of pain, to freeze them, so that though the person who suffered has drifted on into other worlds and other states of feeling or non-feeling, the remembered moments of pain can stay. Sometimes in spells of profound depression, it is these moments alone which surface in the memory. Everything else is a bland, misty background against which these figures stand out sharp and clear—women in tears, or my uncle, drawing back the corner of his lips and sticking a pipe in his mouth, trying to conceal the extent to which I was hurting him. (Incline Our Hearts [New York: Viking, 1989], pp. 143-144) 14. I have developed my ideas on self-forgiveness at greater length in "Jean Hampton on Immorality, Self-Hatred, and Self-Forgiveness," Philosophical Studies, 89 (1998), pp. 215-236. See also my "Shame Creeps through Guilt and Feels Like Retribution," Law and Philosophy, 75(1999), pp. 327-344. 15.1 examine these cautions in greater detail in my "Moral Epistemology, The Retributive Emotions, and the 'Clumsy Moral Philosophy' of Jesus Christ," in The Passions of Law, ed. Susan Bandes (New York: New York University Press, 1999), pp.

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149-167. Nietzsche's remark occurs in Beyond Good and Evil, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: Viking, 1989), p. 89. 16. I have taken this quotation, and some of the ideas for this concluding section, from Michael Moore's essay "The Moral Worth of Retribution" in Responsibility, Character and the Emotions, ed. Ferdinand Schoeman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987).

three

Forgiveness in Practice: What Mental Health Counselors Are Tel I ing Us Varda Konstam, Fern Marx, Jennifer Schurer, Nancy 8. Emerson Lombardo, and Anne K. Harrington

Within the past decade, scientific studies have begun to document what religious leaders, theologians, and philosophers have long suspected. Forgiveness is a potentially significant modality for increasing personal well-being and improving interpersonal relations. Although the scientific literature is sparse, initial studies agree that forgiving is effective in resolving feelings of remorse, guilt, anger, anxiety, and fear (Cerney, 1988; Fitgibbons, 1986, 1998). Benefits have been found in highly diverse populations such as incest survivors, substance abusers, and cancer patients (Flanigan, 1987; Freedman & Enright, 1996; Phillips & Osborne, 1989). This current interest in forgiveness—what it is, how it works, and whether and how it can apply to the counseling process—follows years of neglect and avoidance of the topic by research scientists. Despite the fact that for centuries forgiveness has been lauded by most societies and cultures as valuable and worthy of adoption, there has been a general reluctance to study it. This has slowed efforts to understand what it means to forgive, how it occurs, or advocate for its use (McCullough & Worthington, 1994). Denton and Martin (1998) explain the hesitancy as the result of associating forgiving with religion, not science. Considering the negative association between science and forgiveness, it is hardly surprising that the scientific literature on forgiveness is in its infancy. There is ambiguity about many forgiveness-related issues, including the definition of forgiveness, as well as many unanswered questions about how the process works, how to measure forgiveness, what models of intervention might be applicable, and what relevance any of this has for differing populations. Given the evidence pointing toward the beneficial effects of forgiveness and the dearth of research assessing attitudes by counselors toward forgiving, 54

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we developed a survey to assess if and how counselors were addressing forgiveness in their practice. This chapter will summarize the scientific literature on forgiveness, describe the current study and findings, and discuss the implications and conclusions. We specifically attempted to address the following research questions: Does forgiveness present itself as an issue in the counseling process and how likely are mental health counselors to raise the issue by themselves? What do mental health counselors view as essential components of forgiveness? What are the prevalent attitudes held by mental health counselors regarding forgiveness and what factors contribute to their attitudes?

The Scientific Literature on Forgiveness In general, current definitions of forgiveness lack clarity and consistency. As Hebl and Enright (1993) point out, this hampers further productive research and clinical application. But notable areas of consensus have begun to emerge. Denton and Martin's (1998) definition of forgiveness is fairly representative. They state that forgiveness involves "two people, one of whom has received a deep and long-lasting injury that is either psychological, emotional, physical or moral in nature; forgiveness is an inner process by which the person who has been injured releases him- or herself from the anger, resentment, and fear that are felt and does not wish for revenge" (p. 284). Similarly, Hargrave and Sells (1997) state that forgiveness is a process that occurs over time in which the individual who has been injured becomes less angry, resentful, fearful, and interested in revenge. Forgiveness, therefore, is interpersonal and intrapsychic. It takes place over time and involves choice. Other areas of convergence in the literature include the belief that forgiving is not to be equated with forgetting, pardoning, condoning, excusing, or denying the offense (Enright & Zell, 1989). In addition, the viewpoint assumed by many current forgiveness studies is that of the offended party's perspective, not that of the offender. Areas of disagreement include the relationship between forgiveness and reconciliation, whether forgiveness is a necessary component of personal growth, and whether one has to feel love and compassion toward the offender in order to forgive. To elaborate, while some argue that forgiveness is an act of mercy independent of whether the injurer is remorseful or repentant (Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998), proponents of reconciliation insist that the injurer must demonstrate behavioral change and some type of compensation and respect toward the person injured (Davenport, 1991; Hargrave & Sells, 1997). There is also disagreement in the literature as to whether forgiveness is a necessary part of personal growth and development (Hargrave & Sells, 1997). Experts also disagree about whether a loving response toward the offender should be (voluntarily) adopted (Denton & Martin, 1998).

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There are four types of forgiveness models in the current literature: (1) models based on psychological theories; (2) process models (the most prevalent) describing psychological tasks involved in the act of forgiving over a period of time; (3) models based on a moral development framework; and (4) typologies of forgiveness (Demon & Martin, 1998). Process models closely approximate Brandsma's (1982) model. According to Brandsma, the individual must at first choose to let go of negative feelings, face past experience and painful feelings, view the injurer in terms of his or her needs, motives and behavior, and release feelings of anger and retaliation. North (1987; 1998) also views forgiveness as a process. North emphasizes that forgiveness requires a letting go that unfolds over time. As a process, it involves certain important sequences. These are: (1) suffering a deep hurt as a result of some injurious action(s); (2) overcoming the desire for anger and revenge (the offended party has a moral right to these feelings, she states, but as time passes, she or he chooses not to continue to harbor resentment and anger); and (3) developing a new response to the offender, including the possibility of compassion and love. Enright and the Human Development Study Group (1991) cluster these steps or sequences into four major phases: the uncovering phase, decision phase, work phase, and deepening phase. These "phases" are facilitated or impeded by contextual conditions affecting the individual's ability and willingness to forgive, including: (1) the need for punishment in proportion to the offense; (2) the need for restitution; (3) the intent of the offender to harm; (4) the severity of the consequences; and (5) the presence of an apology or repentance from the offender. Enright, Freedman, and Rique (1998) view the model not as an invariant set of prescriptions, but rather a flexible set of processes with feedback and feed-forward loops, leaving space for variation. Although intervention studies are not yet as abundant as in other fields, the evidence seems to point to the benefits of forgiveness, particularly as a potentially useful means of treating a wide range of psychological difficulties (Worthington et al., 2000). For example, Freedman and Enright (1996) evaluated the efficacy of an individual therapy intervention focusing on forgiveness with incest survivors. The authors found significant increases in selfreported levels of forgiveness and hope and lower levels of anxiety and depression relative to the wait-list control. Treatment gains persisted one year after intervention. Similarly, group intervention studies with a wide range of populations, including adolescents, college students, and elderly females, found an increase in forgiveness as well as lower levels of anxiety and depression and increased self-esteem (Al-Mabuk, Enright, & Cardis, 1995; Hebl & Enright, 1993; McCullough, Worthington, & Radial, 1997). DiBlasio and Proctor (1993) state, "Without exception, forgiveness is reported . . . as restoring relationships and healing inner emotional wounds" (p. 176). Question remains, however, whether promising intervention results related to forgiveness are due to common factors present in all effective psychotherapies. Comparisons between forgiveness protocols and more tradi-

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tional protocols are needed to gain further understanding of the specific role and responsibility of forgiveness interventions in achieved therapeutic gains. Age appears to be related to forgiving. Enright and Zell (1989) examined the relationship between age, justice, and forgiveness and found that the reasoning of adolescents differed from adults and children, paralleling developmental theory. Girard and Mullet (1997) found an increase in the propensity to forgive from adolescence to old age. The greater tendency to forgive in the elderly was due in part to a significant proportion (22%) of unconditional forgivers, who espoused a perspective consistent with Enright's final stage of forgiveness, associating forgiveness with love. Propensity to forgive is dependent in part on cognitive and affective characteristics, such as an individual's moral emotional style. Shame, guilt, and particularly empathy have been identified as moral emotions that inform forgiveness (McCullough, Worthington, & Rachal, 1997; Tangney, Fee, Reinsmith, Boone, & Lee, 1999). Individuals who reported a disposition toward empathy were more inclined to forgive a transgressor after a transgression (McCullough et al., 1997; McCullough et al., 1998). Konstam, Chernoff, and Deveney (2001) reported that guilt proneness, in contrast to shame proneness, was positively associated with forgiveness, findings consistent with Tangney et al. (1999) and Baumeister, Stillwell, and Heatherton (1994). Guilt proneness appears to engage individuals in a process supportive of resolution of conflict and forgiveness. In contrast, shame proneness has been associated with a desire to self-protect, isolate oneself, and engage in destructive responses to anger, thus increasing the probability of angry interpersonal exchanges (Worthington & Wade, 1999). Inconsistent findings have been reported with respect to gender and forgiveness. While the majority of findings suggest no gender differences (Enright & Zell, 1989), a small number of studies suggest that men are more inclined to forgive (Hanson, 1996). The work of Azmitia, Kamprath, and Linnet (1998) and Konstam, Chernoff, and Deveney (in press) raise the possibility that processes leading to forgiveness may differ for men and women. To date, only five studies have been conducted that attempt to explicate attitudes by practitioners toward the process of forgiving, including its place in clinical practice. Denton and Martin (1998) studied the perceptions of 101 experienced social workers regarding (1) the definition and process of forgiveness; (2) common misconceptions about forgiveness; and (3) the categories of problems most helped by forgiveness. Participants belonged to the North Carolina Society of Clinical Social Workers, and the majority was in private practice for a minimum of fourteen years. The overwhelming majority (80%) agreed that forgiveness (1) is an inner process of releasing anger and fear; (2) reduces the desire to retaliate; (3) is a slow process that takes time; and (4) does not mean that the person has to forget the injury. There was no support for the idea that forgiveness involves certain sequential steps that must be followed, one after another. Findings supported the notion of a process but not the particular order of the steps.

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Findings from the Denton and Martin study also indicated that clinicians perceived forgiving as very useful for the problem areas of family, marital, and relationship issues; grief and loss; and guilt associated with abuse of substances. Psychotic and character disorders were ranked low as being influenced by forgiving. Significant sex differences were observed in this study. Contrary to cultural expectations, male social workers were more favorable to the definition and benefits of forgiving than women, a finding which may be attributed to sample bias and "the fact that men in social work might be sensitized differently toward forgiveness than the general population" (Denton & Martin, 1998, p. 288). Hanson (1996) also reported findings that favor male practitioners with respect to use of forgiveness in their clinical settings. There were no significant differences between practitioners of different religious orientations, a finding which may suggest a "universally accepted basic understanding of forgiving across religions" (p. 288). The authors suggest that setting and type of client may be relevant variables in assessing the effectiveness of forgiving. For example, clinical social workers in public practice viewed forgiving as less effective with problems related to chemical dependency than did their peers in private practice. In another study, DiBlasio and Proctor (1993) surveyed 128 clinicians belonging to the American Association of Marital and Family Therapists to explore the use of forgiveness techniques in clinical practice. The mean age was 47 years and 55% were female. Respondents were diverse with respect to religious affiliation. The authors assessed the extent to which therapists had developed specific techniques to assist clients: (1) seek forgiveness; (2) grant forgiveness; and (3) forgive themselves. Although only 10% of the respondents indicated no religious preference, the majority of respondents (57%) reported that their religious ideologies should be completely separate from their clinical work regarding forgiveness interventions. Results revealed that therapists were more likely to develop techniques related to forgiveness if they were older, and if they reported openness to assessing and working with clients' religious belief systems in therapy. Therapists' levels of religiosity were not related to the development and use of forgiveness techniques. The relationship between age of therapist and openness to forgiveness may suggest that as therapists gain clinical experience, they may feel more comfortable and aware of forgiveness as a relevant clinical issue for clients. DiBlasio and Benda (1991) examined the relative and cumulative effect of religiosity on forgiveness. They hypothesized that practitioners with strong religious beliefs would hold more positive beliefs regarding the therapeutic potential of forgiveness, and would be more open to clients' religious issues in treatment. Religiosity explained less than 5% of the variance with respect to identified forgiveness factors, including attitudes and techniques. The authors concluded that religiosity was related to forgiveness attitudes and techniques of practitioners, but explained a small amount of the variance. DiBlasio (1993) assessed attitudes toward forgiving as well as the use of clinical techniques related to forgiveness in thirty social workers. An addi-

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tional focus of this study was the comparison of highly religious practitioners with those less religious. The mean age was 43 years, and 71% were female. A questionnaire was developed to assess (1) attitudes toward forgiveness; (2) forgiveness techniques used in assisting clients with issues related to forgiveness; (3) perception of the role of forgiveness in resolving depression; (4) perception of the role of forgiveness in reducing anger; and (5) sensitivity toward clients' religious issues as part of the therapeutic process (religious openness). DiBlasio found that highly religious clinicians differed significantly from less religious clinicians on only one of the five variables studied. Although highly religious clinicians were more likely to express favorable attitudes toward forgiveness relative to less religious practitioners, their more positive attitudes did not translate to a greater emphasis on forgiveness in clinical practice. This finding conflicts with the results reported by DiBlasio and Proctor (1993) in that social workers' religious involvement was associated with more positive attitudes regarding the use of forgiveness in clinical practice. In a critique by McCullough, Exline, and Baumeister (1998), the authors suggest that, if future surveys do not report a relationship between therapists' religious involvement and openness to forgiveness, findings may be due to increased comfort with the use of forgiveness as a clinical tool by religious and nonreligious therapists. Hanson (1996) assessed the use of forgiveness by 86 licensed psychologists and found that psychologists reported that they were inclined to use forgiveness in their practice and that their use of forgiveness was context-dependent. The author concluded that although practitioners tend to use forgiveness in their practice, a lag exists with respect to our knowledge base regarding current practices related to forgiveness.

The Current Study

In our study, participants were 381 members of the American Mental Health Counselors Association who responded to a request to participate in a forgiveness-related survey. The questionnaire was designed to explore whether forgiveness-related issues arise in clinical practice, how these issues are dealt with, and what the counselor thinks about forgiveness. The survey also explored gender differences among clients raising forgiveness-related issues and among counselors in their approach to forgiveness. In addition, counselors were asked about interest in obtaining additional professional training on the subject of forgiveness. The survey was mailed to a random sample of 1,132 association members between December 1998 and March 1999. Two followup mailings to nonresponders were completed to improve the response rate. The overall response rate was 35.8%. The survey itself consisted of four sections. The first asked general background questions regarding the counselor's clinical environment, supervisory and teaching experiences, theoretical orientation, education, age, and religion. The second section assessed whether or not forgiveness arose as an issue

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in practice and how likely counselors were to raise the issue by themselves. Only participants who indicated that forgiveness did arise as an issue in their counseling practice completed the remaining questions in this section. Questions were designed to assess the incidence and nature of forgiveness in clinical practice and to describe the background of clients who most often raise the issues themselves. In section three, counselors were asked to identify essential components of forgiveness. They were asked to indicate which forgiveness-related activities, out of a list of 18, they utilized in their clinical practice. The final section consisted of 16 Likert scale items that assessed mental health counselors' attitudes toward forgiveness (i.e., "Forgiveness is highly beneficial as a therapeutic goal for problems of anger and depression," "Forgiveness perpetuates abuse"), as well as several questions about each respondent's interest in obtaining additional professional training on the issues of forgiveness in clinical practice. Respondents' Background

Participants of the study ranged in age from 24 to 79 years of age (M = 47). There were more women than men (71% vs. 29%); and the men, on average, were 3 years older than die women, a significant difference and consistent with other surveys (Denton & Martin, 1998; DiBlasio, 1993). The overwhelming majority of the respondents held advanced degrees, with 76% having master's degrees and 22% having doctoral degrees. In terms of religious preference, 46% indicated themselves as Protestants; 19% Catholics; 8% Jewish; 3% members of an Eastern faith, such as Buddhism; 17% had no religious preference; and 7% listed a variety of other affiliations. Counselors had been practicing on average, 10.7 years. The range was from less than one year to 50 years. Male respondents had been in practice significantly longer (regardless of age) than female respondents, almost 14 years compared to about 9.5 years. Respondents reported practicing in a variety of settings, from solo practice to a variety of group settings (more than one setting could be selected). The most frequently mentioned clinical settings included solo practice 43%; social service agencies 26%; group practice 18%; schools/colleges 15%; and hospitals 6%. Other settings (mentioned by less than 3% of respondents) included religious settings, outpatient clinics, correctional facilities, and community mental health centers (more than one setting could be selected). The respondents came from a variety of theoretical orientations ranging from psychoanalytic to cognitive/behavioral. The largest proportion (52%) reported that they utilized more than one orientation, citing various combinations of psychodynamic/psychoanalytic, family systems, and cognitive/ behavioral. Among those reporting a combination of orientations, 43% indicated that they utilized all three. Forty-eight percent reported using a single theoretical approach. Among this group, 63% indicated that they used a cog-

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nitive/behavioral orientation, followed by 24% using psychodynamic/psychoanalytic, and 13% using family systems. The client population served by these counselors varied widely in age from children through the elderly. The most frequently mentioned issues respondents dealt with in their practice were substance abuse (21%) and depression (16%). Between 6% and 10% of respondents reported treating clients whose issues included mental illness, abuse, anxiety, sexual abuse, rape, and trauma. Marital problems, domestic violence, neglect, loss, grief, or death were mentioned less often, by 4% or less of respondents. Issues of Forgiveness in Clinical Practice

The survey revealed that 88% of the counselors saw forgiveness as an issue in their practice. Furthermore, they indicated that, on a 5-point scale (from 1 "rarely" to 5 "very often"), the issue arose often (mean score = 3.47). Respondents' theoretical orientation was a significant factor in the frequency with which issues of forgiveness arose in their practices. Counselors who used a psychodynamic or psychoanalytic perspective were least likely to identify forgiveness as a presenting issue, while counselors who used more than one theoretical orientation were most likely to identify forgiveness as an issue. Those who practiced in a group setting felt that forgiveness presented itself as an issue more frequently than respondents who practiced in other settings. Additionally, counselors who dealt with issues of substance abuse, trauma, and rape also felt that forgiveness came up more frequently than counselors who did not address these issues. Although 94% of participants indicated that it was appropriate for counselors to raise forgiveness issues in their practice, only 51 % indicated that it was the counselor's responsibility to do so. A number of factors were found to contribute to whether or not respondents would raise the issue of forgiveness in counseling. The factor that was the strongest predictor of counselors raising this issue of forgiveness was whether or not they felt it presented itself as an issue in their practice. Additionally, participants who answered positively to the question of whether or not it is appropriate for counselors to raise issues of forgiveness were more likely to bring up the issues, in comparison to those who felt that it is not appropriate. The same was true for participants who indicated that they felt it is the counselor's responsibility to raise the issue and who practiced in a solo practice as opposed to another setting. Counselors who had a highly positive attitude toward forgiveness, as measured by section 4 of the instrument, were also more likely to raise issues of forgiveness in their clinical practice. It is interesting to note that counselors who felt that the forgiving process is the same for men and women reported that they were less likely to raise issues of forgiveness than those who believed that the process is different. When asked how the forgiveness process differed between men and women, interesting themes emerged with respect to perceived sex differences.

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Although our questionnaire did not allow for thorough and more detailed explications regarding how the process of forgiveness differed for men and women, nevertheless, interesting preliminary patterns were observed. Respondents were asked whether men or women were more likely to raise forgiveness-related issues or whether they were equally likely to do so. Respondents reported that female clients are more likely to raise forgiveness-related issues (female clients 55%, male clients 4%, equally likely 42%). In addition 59% of respondents reported that the process for working with issues related to forgiveness appeared to be different for men and women. Specifically, respondents reported that women were emotionally more open and more likely to raise forgiveness-related issues in counseling. In addition, respondents reported that different meanings were attached to the process of forgiving by men and women. Respondents reported that women valued the process of forgiveness and tended to view it as central to successful relationships. Men, it was reported, "have a harder time of coming to the point of seeing forgiveness as a vital component in relationships." Another perspective articulated by respondents is that "Women frequently feel that they must forgive in order to heal. Men do not feel this way in general." The data suggests that among counselors who reported gender differences with respect to the process of forgiving, women were viewed as more open and available to explore forgiving-related issues. Respondents noted that social expectations differed for men and women regarding forgiveness. It was perceived that the ability to forgive was acceptable—perhaps admirable and socially sanctioned—for women. In contrast, the ability to forgive was more likely to be associated with weakness for men. It was noted that women were expected to be more forgiving in our culture. Respondents suggested that men and women get "stuck" at different junctures of the forgiveness process. Men focus on "revenge and anger issues" before focusing on issues of forgiving. Women focus on feelings of hurt and loss. "Men seem to forgive causes of anger, women seem to forgive causes of hurt." The results appeared to suggest that pathways toward forgiving may differ for men and women. Men may initially present anger as the most pressing issue, specifically a need to retaliate or seek revenge, whereas women may present with initial concerns related to feelings of hurt and loss. Components of Forgiveness

Respondents were asked to indicate which of 18 activities devoted to the process of forgiveness they utilized in their practice. The 18 activities were based on the units of the Enright, Freedman, and Rique (1998) process of interpersonal forgiveness. Respondents were asked to indicate which of these activities they utilize in their practice. Of these 18 activities, a group of eight items was endorsed by over 75% of the participants, and a group of five items that was endorsed by approximately 40% of the respondents. Upon closer inspection of the content of these two groups of items, a theme emerged for

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each. The cluster of items endorsed by the majority of participants related to the forgiveness process and the self, or client, while the cluster of items that was endorsed by the smaller proportion of counselors related to the forgiveness process and the offender. Activities relating to forgiveness and the self/client New insight that old strategies are not working Emotional release and letting go Examination of psychological defenses (focusing on what is helpful/not helpful to the individual) Confrontation and release of anger Admittance of shame and guilt, when appropriate Reframing such that the situation itself is understood in a different way Awareness of what inhibits forgiveness Acceptance of pain by the individual who has been wronged Activities relating to forgiveness and the offender Reframing who the wrongdoer is Empathy toward the offender Insight that the injured party may be comparing self with the injurer Decrease of negative affect toward the injurer Increase in positive affect toward the injurer An average score was computed for both groups of activities. These scores were then used as cut-off points to measure overall utilization of the activities as they relate to the client or the offender. Forty-four percent of respondents endorsed both the client/self and offender groups, while 24% endorsed neither. Twenty-three percent of respondents utilized only the activities relating to the client, and 9.5% solely utilized the activities relating to the offender. Overall, 66% of respondents indicated they used most of the activities pertaining to forgiveness and the client/self, and 44% also indicated use of the items pertaining to forgiveness and the offender. Enright, Freedman, and Rique's (1998) steps clearly include activities, or "units" addressing both the client's relationship to him- or herself as well as to the injurer, implying that both parts are equally crucial for full, true forgiveness. Our findings indicate that almost 25% of respondents appear not to be addressing forgiveness in any sort of systematic way, while another third are only addressing part of the process. In particular, it seems that the activities relating to the offender are less often being addressed by the participants than those relating to the self/client. Additionally, counselors who indicated use of activities pertaining to forgiveness and the client/self had fewer negative attitudes toward forgiveness compared to counselors who did not use them.

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Attitudes toward Forgiveness

The fourth section of the survey consisted of 16 statements about forgiveness, scored from 1 "strongly disagree" to 5 "strongly agree." Factor analysis resulted in two theoretically based factors: one that measured respondents' level of positive attitude toward forgiveness, while the other measured their negative attitude toward forgiveness. Respondents were scored on each subscale independently. Positive Forgiveness item The ability to forgive is a sign of strength. Dealing with one's anger is an essential ingredient in the process of forgivingPeople mature into the capacity to forgive not only others, but themselves as well. Forgiveness is highly beneficial as a therapeutic goal for problems of anger and depression. Encouraging letting go of resentment is a beneficial goal for individuals in therapy. Religious/spiritual beliefs can play a significant role in the process of forgiveness. Forgiveness is a choice. There is therapeutic value in having perpetrators of sexual abuse seek forgiveness for the acts they have committed. Negative Forgiveness item Forgiving is condoning. Forgiving is not helpful to an individual who has been wronged. Forgiving implies reconciliation. Forgiving perpetuates abuse. The ability to forgive is a sign of weakness. Males and females differ in their approach to forgiveness. Forgiveness belongs in the realm of religion/spirituality and has no place in clinical practice. Overall, participants had a very positive attitude about the therapeutic implications of forgiveness; the average score for positive forgiveness was 3.99 out of a possible 5, while the average score for negative forgiveness was 1.82. Forgiveness scores also differed significantly depending on the counselors' religious affiliation. Specifically, respondents who subscribed to a Protestant religious tradition had a significantly more positive attitude toward forgiveness, compared to those who subscribed to a religion classified as "other" such as

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paganism, interfaith/pluralism, or Native American religious traditions. Although not significant, the highest positive forgiveness scores were found among participants practicing an Eastern religion such as Buddhism, Islam, or Hinduism and those with no religious affiliation. Participants' theoretical orientation also had a significant bearing on their positive attitudes toward forgiveness. In particular, the counselors who had a psychodynamic/psychoanalytic orientation had a significantly lower positive forgiveness score compared to cognitive/behaviorists and family systems clinicians, who had the highest mean. Respondents with lower positive scores were, predictably, more likely to have higher negative scores. Respondents who indicated that the elderly was one of their primary populations had a more negative view of forgiveness than those who did not, and those who believed that the forgiveness process was the same for men and women had a less negative view of forgiveness than those who believed the process was different for the genders. Counselors who indicated that they employed activities relating to forgiveness and the client/self also had lower negative forgiveness scores. Training Needs

Almost all respondents to this survey (90%) indicated that forgiving is an important clinical issue that should be addressed in professional training. Those who felt forgiving is an important clinical issue had significantly higher positive forgiveness scores and indicated using therapeutic activities related to forgiveness and the offender more often than respondents who did not feel forgiving is important. Seventy-six percent of respondents indicated they would be interested in attending workshops on forgiveness; these clinicians also had significantly higher positive forgiveness scores. Eighty percent of respondents indicated that they would like to learn more about factors and counseling techniques that facilitate forgiveness. Respondents who indicated interest in learning more about counseling techniques had significantly higher positive forgiveness scores and had been in practice fewer years. They also indicated that they already utilized activities relating both to forgiveness and the client/self, as well as to the offender, significantly more often than respondents who did not wish to learn more. It appears that counselors who have already been exposed to forgiveness issues and have already devised techniques to bring their clients through the process are more positive and eager to learn more about forgiveness. Discuss/on

Although the sample of counselors in our study is the largest to date, most diverse in populations served, and the most diverse with respect to theoretical orientation, the results must be viewed with caution given the low response rate. It is unclear whether the sample is representative of mental

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health counselors belonging to the American Mental Health Counselors Association. Identifying characteristics of the sample are, however, consistent with other samples reported in the literature (Denton & Martin, 1998; DiBlasio, 1993).

Forgiveness in Clinical Practice

Our findings indicate that issues related to forgiveness are very much present and relevant to the clinical work of mental health counselors. Indeed, 88% of our sample reported that forgiveness arises as an issue in their practice. Interesting findings were reported regarding mental health counselors' attitudes toward raising forgiveness-related issues with their clients. Although 94% reported that it was appropriate for the counselor to raise forgiveness-related issues in practice, significantly fewer mental health counselors (51%) reported that it was the counselor's responsibility to do so. Further inquiry would be helpful in understanding the meaning attached to appropriate counselor behavior versus counselor responsibility. Our findings indicated that counselors who held more positive attitudes toward forgiveness were more likely to raise forgiveness-related issues, a finding that is consistent with expectations regarding attitudes and comfort level with content and process related to forgiveness. Results revealed highly positive attitudes toward forgiveness and implications for its use in clinical practice. Counselors reported that female clients are more likely to raise forgiveness-related issues and that the process for working with issues related to forgiveness may be different for men and women. Analysis of qualitative data suggested the possibility of different pathways leading to forgiving for males and females. While a majority of mental health counselors reported anger and hostility as particularly salient for men with respect to forgiveness, issues related to loss and feelings of hurt appeared to be more salient for women. The findings of Konstam, Chernoff, and Deveney (2001) and Azmitia, Kamprath, and Linnet (1998) also suggest gender differences with respect to processes leading to forgiving. Azmitia, Kamprath, and Linnet (1998) reported differences with respect to how boys and girls work through or come to terms with a violation in their friendships. Boys chose to renew their friendship after a modal time of one day. In contrast, girls chose to renew their friendship after a modal time of two weeks. The authors interpreted the difference as boys' "greater willingness to forgive their friends" (p. 175). In a study with high school students, they reported that boys are more likely to "forget about it" and never discuss a violation in friendship, focusing instead on the advantages of avoiding conflict with friends. The authors reported prolonged retaliation in girls; in contrast, boys returned to being best friends within a few days. Konstam, Chernoff, and Deveney (2001) reported that the ability to forgive for female graduate students was related to diminishment in anger, increase in guilt proneness, and feelings of detachment, accounting for 16% of

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the variance. For male students, in contrast, age, proneness to shame, and pride in behavior informed the process of forgiveness, accounting for 54% of the variance. The older the male, the more prone to shame, the less likely he is able to forgive. In addition, the greater the pride in behavior, the more likely he is to forgive. Issues of detachment and pride are relatively unexplored in relation to forgiveness in general, and gender differences and forgiveness specifically. Our findings, in addition to those of Azmitia, Kamprath, and Linnet (1998), Konstam, Chernoff, and Deveney (2001), and Konstam et al. (2000), suggest the need for further qualitative and quantitative study regarding gender-related differences in the processes leading to forgiveness. Linkages to clinical intervention appear to be particularly germane given the possibility that men and women understand and negotiate forgiveness differently. Use of Therapeutic Activities Devoted to Forgiveness

Examination of the items endorsed by the respondents revealed an interesting and important difference with respect to the therapeutic activities utilized by mental health counselors. While Enright clearly endorses activities that are related to both the self/client and the offender, our findings indicate that almost 25% of respondents do not appear to endorse forgiveness-related activities in a systematic way, and furthermore 66% of our respondents do not endorse activities that acknowledge and address the significance of the offender. Thus, critical activities such as reframing who the wrongdoer is and exhibiting empathy toward the offender—activities that appear to be integral to the forgiving process—were not endorsed by respondents. The majority of respondents in our survey appear to view forgiving as a process that involves the self and ignores the interpersonal quality of forgiving. Consideration of the offender as well as contextual variables surrounding the nature of the offense appear to be ignored as significant to the forgiving process. The majority of respondents appear to view forgiveness as a gift primarily to the self alone, in contrast to a gift to the offending person as well as the self. Our participants seem to take away the construct of forgiveness from the interpersonal and moral qualities of generosity and/or moral love. Contextual conditions affecting forgiveness (i.e., intent of offender to harm, severity of consequences) do not appear to be acknowledged, although these contextual variables have been cited as crucial to the forgiving process (McCullough, Worthington, & Rachal, 1997). Endorsed clinical activities by respondents appear to indicate a lack of knowledge regarding key activities cited in intervention studies with a wide range of clients. Endorsed practices suggest a lack of understanding regarding activities designed to reduce the relative salience of the offending person's hurtful actions, and ability to reduce the power of the offender's action to seek revenge, resulting in the maintenance of estrangement (McCullough, Worthington, & Rachal, 1997).

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Attitudes toward Forgiveness

Religious affiliation of respondents was related to attitudes toward forgiveness. This is in contrast to the findings of Denton and Martin (1998), whereby no significant differences in attitudes between practitioners of different religious orientations were reported. They suggest a "universally accepted basic understanding of forgiving across religions" (p. 288). Our finding indicating that respondents who practice an Eastern religion hold more positive attitudes toward forgiveness suggests that religious affiliation is related to forgiveness attitudes. Levels of religious involvement were not assessed in this study, and therefore comparisons with DiBlasio's findings (1993) regarding level of religious involvement and attitudes can not be analyzed. In addition, our findings must be viewed with caution given the small sample size of those counselors identifying themselves as "other." Further study is indicated to gain a clearer understanding of the role and relationship of religious affiliation and the involvement and use of forgiveness in clinical practice. Our results also revealed that theoretical orientation was related to attitudes toward forgiveness, with clinicians trained in systems therapy expressing the most positive attitudes. Although our findings are significant, further study is merited regarding the understanding of the actual impact of these findings in day-to-day practice of mental health counselors as well as therapeutic outcomes related to forgiveness. Results also revealed that those respondents who espoused more positive forgiveness attitudes were more likely to raise issues of forgiveness in their practice. They were also more likely to include the use of forgiveness activities related to the offender. It appears that more positive attitudes expressed by the practitioner are associated with increased use of therapeutic activities related to forgiveness and the client/self as well as activities related to the offender. This finding has implications for training, although causality regarding positive attitudes and use of activities focusing on the offender can not be determined. Training Needs

Respondents overwhelmingly indicated a need for further training related to forgiveness and its use in clinical practice. Specific competencies endorsed by respondents included mastery of the professional literature as well as applications to the counseling process. Predictably, respondents who espoused more positive attitudes toward forgiveness indicated greater interest in learning more about counseling applications. They were also more likely to view forgiveness as a process that incorporated the self/client and offender. They also were in practice fewer years, although they were experienced practitioners (mean years = 10). It appears that practitioners who hold more positive views toward forgiveness, who view the forgiving process as interpersonal, and who

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include the incorporation of the offender are also more likely to engage in further training.

Conclusion

In summary, our survey findings revealed forgiveness-related issues to be highly salient and relevant in clinical practice. Counselors reported that female clients are more likely to raise forgiveness-related issues and that the process for working with issues related to forgiveness may be different for men and women. Our qualitative data suggest interesting gender differences meriting further research. In addition, our findings raise interesting issues with respect to clinical practice, indicating that a significant percentage of mental health counselors do not perceive the inclusion of the offender, including contextual variables related to the offender, as critical to the forgiving process. Thus, key concepts such as empathy and refraining and their role in the forgiving process were not endorsed and probably not addressed by a significant majority of mental health counselors. Finally, 90% of respondents indicated that forgiving is an important clinical issue and would be interested in pursuing professional training focusing on forgiveness-related issues in clinical practice. There appears to be a gap between our current understanding of the forgiving process and the results obtained in this survey regarding clinical practice. The identified gap can be effectively addressed, given the overwhelming endorsement by respondents of the need and interest in further professional training References

Al-Mabuk, Radhi H., Robert D. Enright, & P. A. Cardis (1995). Forgiveness education with parentally love-deprived late adolescents. Journal of Moral Education, 24, 427-444. Azmitia, Margarita, Nancy A. Kamprath, & Linnet Jakob (1998). Intimacy and conflict: The dynamics of boys' and girls' friendships during middle childhood and early adolescence. In Luanna H. Meyer et al. (Ed.), Making friends. Baltimore: Paul H. Brooks Publishing Company. Brandsma, Jeffery M. (1982). Forgiveness: A dynamic, theological, and theoretical analysis. Pastoral Psychology, 3, 40-50. Baumeister, Roy F., Arlene M. Stillwell, &Todd F. Heatherton (1994). Guilt: An interpersonal approach. Psychological Bulletin, 115, 243-267. Cerney, Mary S. (1988). "If only . . ." Remorse in grief therapy. Psychotherapy Patient, 5, 235-248. Davenport, Donna S. (1991). The functions of anger and forgiveness: Guidelines for psychotherapy with victims. Psychotherapy, 28, 140—144. Denton, Roy T, & Michael W. Martin (1998). Defining forgiveness: An empirical exploration of process and role. American Journal of Family Therapy, 26, 281-292. DiBlasio, Frederick A. (1993). The role of social workers' religious beliefs in helping family members forgive. Families in Society, 74, 163—170.

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DiBlasio, Frederick A., & Brent B. Benda (1991). Practicioners, religion, and the use of forgiveness in the clinical setting. Journal of Psychology and Christianity, 10, 166-172. DiBlasio, Frederick A., & Judith H. Proctor (1993). Therapists and the clinical use of forgiveness. American Journal of Family Therapy, 21,175—184. Enright, Robert D., & the Human Development Study Group. (1991). The moral development of forgiveness. In Robert D. Enright & Joanna North (Eds.), Exploringfogiveness (pp. 47—62). Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Enright, Robert D., Suzanne R. Freedman, & Julio Rique (1998). The psychology of interpersonal forgiveness. In Robert D. Enright & Joanna North (Eds.), Handbook of moral behavior and development (Vol. 1, pp. 123-152). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Enright, Robert D., & Robert L. Zell (1989). Problems encountered when we forgive one another. Journal of Psychology and Christianity, 8, 52-60. Fitzgibbons, Richard P. (1986). The cognitive and emotional uses of forgiveness in the treatment of anger. Psychotherapy, 23, 629-633. Fitzgibbons, Richard P. (1998). Anger and the healing power of forgiveness: A psychiatrist's view. In Robert D. Enright & Joanna North (Eds.), Exploring fogiveness (pp. 63-74). Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Flanigan, Beverly J. (1987). Shame and forgiveness in alcoholism. Alcoholism Treatment Quarterly, 4,181-195. Freedman, Suzanne R., & Robert D. Enright (1996). Forgiveness as an intervention goal with incest survivors. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 64, 983-992. Girard, Michele, & Etienne Mullet (1997). Forgiveness in adolescents, young, middle-aged, and older adults. Journal of Adult Development, 4, 209-220. Hanson, Denisejoan. (1996). Psychologists' use of forgiveness in psychotherapy. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Antioch College: Yellow Springs, OH. Hargrave, Terry D., & James N. Sells (1997). The development of a forgiveness scale. Journal of Marital and Family Therapy, 23, 41-62. Hebl, John H., & Robert D. Enright (1993). Forgiveness as a psychotherapeutic goal with elderly females. Psychotherapy, 30, 658-667. Konstam, Varda, M. Chernoff, & Sara Deveney (2001). Toward forgiveness: The role of guilt, shame, and empathy. Counseling and Values. Konstam, Varda, Fern Marx, Jennifer Schurer, Anne Harrington, Nancy Emerson Lombardo, & Sara Deveney (2000). Forgiving—what mental health counselors are telling us. Journal of Mental Health Counseling, 22, 253—267. McCullough, Michael E., Julie Juola Exline, & Roy F. Baumeister (1998). An annotated bibliography of research on forgiveness and related concepts. In Everett L. Worthington, Jr. (Ed.), Dimensions of forgiveness: Psychological research and theological perspectives (pp. 193—317). Philadelphia: Templeton Foundation Press. McCullough, Michael E., Kenneth C. Rachal, Steven J. Sandage, Everett L. Worthington, Jr., Susan Wade Brown, & Terry L. Hight (1998). Interpersonal forgiving in close relationships: 2: Theoretical elaboration and measurement. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 75, 1586-1603. McCullough, Michael E., & Everett L. Worthington, Jr. (1994). Encouraging clients to forgive people who have hurt them: Review, critique, and research prospectus. Journal of Psychology and Theology, 22, 3-20.

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McCullough, Michael E., Everett L. Worthington, Jr., & Kenneth C. Rachal (1997). Interpersonal forgiving in close relationships. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 73, 321-336. North, Joanna. (1987). Wrongdoing and forgiveness. Philosophy, 62, 499-508. North, Joanna. (1998). The "ideal" of forgiveness: A philosophers exploration. In Robert D. Enright & Joanna North (Eds.), Exploring forgiveness (pp. 15—34). Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Phillips, Lynda J., & John W. Osborne (1989). Cancer patients' experience of forgiveness therapy. Canadian Journal of Counseling, 23, 236—251. Tangney, June P., R. Fee, C. Reinsmith, A. L. Boone, & N. Lee (1999, August). Assessing individual differences in the propensity to forgive. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Psychological Association, Boston. Worthington, Everett L., Jr., Taro A. Kurusu, Wanda Collins, Jack W. Berry, Jennifer S. Ripley, & Sasha N. Baier (2000). Forgiving usually takes time: A lesson learned by studying interventions to promote forgiveness. Journal of Psychology and Theology, 28, 3-20. Worthington, Everett L., Jr., & Nathaniel G. Wade (1999). The psychology of unforgiveness and forgiveness and implications for clinical practice. Journal of Social and Clinical Psychology, 18, 385-418.

four Forgiveness asTherapy Norvin Richards

We are all mistreated, from time to time. That is not to say that we all have equally hard lives at the hands of others, of course. We differ in how seriously others mistreat us, in how regularly they do so, and in what patterns there are to the ways we are mistreated. We also differ in how we react, not only while the mistreatment is underway or when we first realize what has happened but also in the aftermath, as time goes by. Some of us are able to move on with our lives more or less readily, perhaps with a lesson learned, and perhaps not. Others, though, continue to suffer in various ways from what was done to them; sometimes, they suffer from it in ways that disrupt their lives. For them, time falls far short of healing the wounds, or at least it does not heal them in a reasonably prompt fashion. Neither are they able to do the healing themselves; their troubled state is not only distressing to them and to those who care about them but can also interfere with their everyday interactions with the rest of the world. What can be done to help them? The answer, some say, lies in the healing power of forgiveness. According to this view, the victim's continued hard feelings toward whomever did him wrong are the source of the disruption in his own life. If his anger and resentment toward that person could be replaced with positive feelings, the victim would be much better off himself, advocates of forgiveness therapy contend. The therapy aims to produce this change, and to do so without doing its own damage to the victim's self-respect. Does it work? Not for everyone, presumably, but to some extent it does work, and it seems to be working better as the procedure evolves. In a 1993 study, the group of patients receiving forgiveness therapy did better than the control group in coming to have "less anger and harsh thoughts (toward those who had hurt them) and showed more love and willingness to help" (Hebl & Enright, 1993; see especially table 3, p. 665). They also did better than the control group at becoming more forgiving people in general. On the other hand, they did not do markedly better at achieving improved selfesteem than the control group, or at becoming less depressed and anxious 72

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(Hebl and Enright, 1993). In a different study conducted three years later, the results were more impressive. This time, the patients given forgiveness therapy "gained statistically more than the control group in forgiveness and hope . . . [and] decreased statistically significantly more than the control group in anxiety and psychological depression" (Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998, p. 58. The results quoted are more fully presented in Freedman & Enright, 1996). Those are only two studies, however, and presumably the majority of those who are given forgiveness therapy are not participants in a study at all, but individual patients. For a more general picture of the therapy's success and prospects, consider these remarks by a prominent practitioner: Enright and others in the Wisconsin group have made a major scientific contribution to the mental health field as a result of their pioneering research in forgiveness studies. Their research findings of decreases in anxiety and depression and improved self-esteem and hope in those who achieve forgiveness are extremely encouraging. They have proved what therapists knew from their clinical work but were unable to demonstrate empirically: Forgiveness has remarkable healing power in the lives of those who utilize it. . . . The research on forgiveness by Robert D. Enright and his colleagues may be as important to the treatment of emotional and mental disorders as the discovery of sulfa drugs and penicillin have been to the treatment of infectious diseases. (Fitzgibbons, 1998, p. 71) This is high praise. Even the use of sulfa drugs and penicillin was not perfect from the outset, however, and we are in relatively early days where forgiveness therapy is concerned as well. There is still considerable room for misgivings about the state of the art, and for constructive suggestions. My own misgivings and suggestions fall into three rough categories. I want to raise questions about what forgiveness therapists take forgiveness to be, about the procedure by which they move patients to forgive, and about which patients should be urged to employ this means of solving the problem in their lives rather than another. As we might expect, these matters are interrelated, and that makes the discussion of them less tidy than this separation into categories might suggest.

What Should Count as Forgiving?

Forgiveness is more than ceasing our anger toward the injurer . . . forgiveness is not a neutral stance toward our injurer.—Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998, p. 48 What forgiveness therapists want the patient to do is not just to stop resenting the wrongdoer so fiercely for treating her as he did, while perhaps retaining hard feelings of some more manageable kind. They want all hard feelings abandoned, and that is not all: they want the patient to come actually to have positive feelings toward the person who did her wrong, feelings

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of "compassion, generosity, and even love." The patient's "new stance" is to include changes in "affect (overcoming resentment and substituting compassion), condemnation (overcoming condemnation with respect and/or generosity), and behavior (overcoming indifference or the tendency toward subtle revenge with a sense of goodwill)" (Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998, p. 47). It is reasonable to ask why the patient must go this far. Suppose that she doesn't manage to have such positive feelings, but does manage to stop holding the particular episode that troubles her against this person in any way or to stop hating him for the series of occasions on which he abused her. She has not come to regard him as an object of compassion, let alone to have more general goodwill toward him or love him, but she has still achieved a very considerable change. She has gone from hard feelings so intense as to be virulent to having no negative feelings toward him, of any kind, for having done what he did. Why may this never count as success? Why may it never count as forgiving the wrongdoer? Advocates of forgiveness therapy might reply that for some patients, it could be said that unless they have come to feel positively toward the wrongdoer, they have not completely abandoned all their negative feelings toward him. Take, for example, a case in which one loving spouse has done another a terrible wrong, but aside from that there was a warm relationship between the two. If the victim really had put this one cause for hard feelings completely aside, there would be no coolness between them now; if there is, the process must not have been completed. What this victim managed should not count as complete forgiveness but as something short of that, and surely there could be patients whose troubles would remain until they had completely forgiven the person who mistreated them. This cannot explain why it is never enough just to abandon the hard feelings, however, since there will also be cases in which the mistreatment is not an aberration in an otherwise positive relationship. Sometimes the mistreatment is all there is to the "relationship" such as a victim who fell prey to a stranger who misused her terribly and then moved on. Their only encounter was the one in which he dragged her into an alley a few steps from her door, beat her severely, ripped the jewelry from her neck and her hands, and left her whimpering and bleeding. She simply has no residual reasons to feel warmly toward this person if she can just get past this one episode. We cannot use the earlier rationale to explain why her forgiveness of her assailant should not count unless she comes to have positive feelings toward him. We cannot say, that is, that we can tell, from the absence of positive feelings, that she has not really abandoned the hard feelings she had toward him for having done this to her. Similarly, there are victims who did have larger relationships with the person at whom they are so angry, but who were given more than one reason to resent that person in the course of that relationship. Here too, we cannot say that they have not really put what made them so angry behind them unless they come to have warm feelings toward the person they used to resent so intensely. Perhaps they have put that episode completely aside, and what it

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made room for were not warm feelings but harsh ones that were based on the rest of what this other person did in their years together. I would describe this person as having forgiven the other party for what was troubling him or her so, without also having forgiven this person for everything else. It seems as if that should be possible for a person to do, but the therapists appear not to want to count it as forgiving the other person at all. It might be tempting to dismiss this as a quibble over terminology or to grant the therapists license to redefine "forgiving" as a technical term of their own which will apply only to replacing hard feelings with positive ones. But it is not at all clear why forgiving, thus defined, should always be the goal of forgiveness therapy. The goal (it seems) should be to solve the patient's terrible problem with what was done to him. What would solve the patient's problem would vary with the case, would not it? It would not always require coming to have positive feelings or putting everything this person did behind one. Take, for example, the sort of person who has been mistreated in many ways by the person he resents so bitterly, though most of it pales in comparison to the treatment that is bothering him most. Suppose we do get him to abandon his bitter resentment, but do not get him to regard the wrongdoer with affection or even compassion. Instead, he now regards this person as someone who is less than a monster but is definitely someone to be wary of and to be disliked for his lesser deeds. This second set of hard feelings do not need to be so intense as to call for therapy, it seems, despite falling far short of "compassion, generosity, or even love." If so, we would have solved the patient's problem without inducing him to "forgive," as the therapists would have redefined the term. It may be similar for the person who was horribly mistreated by someone who only passed through her life on one dreadful occasion and then went his way. It is not clear why the disruption this caused in her life cannot cease unless she comes to regard the predator with "compassion, generosity, or even love" and why it could never be enough just to drop the hard feelings toward him. To speak more generally, what change the patient would need to undergo seems to be something that would vary with the patient, a distinction that is obscured if we aim in every case for replacing hard feelings with positive ones. That further step could be unnecessary. Moreover, since it is a step that must often be especially difficult for the patient to take, to require that all patients take it must increase the number who end their therapy with a sense of failure, of having fallen short in their efforts to deal with their problem. It is easy to see how that could cause troubles of its own, and we would have caused them by pushing the patient to perform something both difficult and unnecessary. Perhaps the therapists will reply that these worries rest on an illusion. The illusion would be that a person can abandon disruptive anger and resentment without also coming to regard the former object of those feelings at least with compassion, if not with affection or love. If we cannot have the one change without having the other, it is certainly a mistake for me to suggest that we should sometimes aim only for the one. As we shall see, the therapists' efforts

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to induce forgiveness rely heavily on painting the wrongdoer as an object of compassion and on getting the patient "to understand deeply the offender and his life struggles" and "develop a degree of empathy for the 'wounded boy or girl' within the adult" who mistreated them" (Fitzgibbons, 1998, p. 66). For forgiveness therapists, the two changes might seem inseparable. That would be a mistake, however, because there are other reasons to forgive than compassion for the wrongdoer, and the patient might be induced to attend to these. For example, sometimes the reason to forgive someone is that although what he did to you was very bad, so bad that you were perfectly right to resent him bitterly for quite a while, it was not so bad as to be permanently unforgivable. It was not so bad that you should still feel this way, to put the point more precisely; it is time you forgave him. A person could be brought to see this, it seems, and to forgive for that reason, without the wrongdoer becoming an object of compassion.

The Gift in Forgiveness

The offended willingly chooses to forgive. Forgiveness is volitional, not grimly obligatory.—Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998, p. 47 This accords with the conventional understanding of forgiveness as something to which the wrongdoer is never entitled, something for which she can only beg, never demand-—a gift the offended one is always free to withhold, if that is his or her choice. Oddly, Enright and his colleagues think forgiveness has this quality because forgiving someone necessarily includes coming to hold him in a positive light. They say that if forgiving someone is just a matter of abandoning the hard feelings one had toward him for doing what he did, then "giving a gift to the offender is going beyond the requirements of true forgiving" (p. 48, emphasis added). Apparently any gift is in the new "undeserved qualities of compassion, generosity, and even love" that the victim has for the person she once resented, to their way of thinking, not in the abandonment of the hard feelings. I think this is mistaken. Suppose the victim has a perfect right to resent this person to the degree she does, given the way he treated her. Surely it would also be a gift for her just to lighten up, if that were welcome to the wrongdoer. After all, she would be abandoning the "resentment, negative judgment, and indifferent behavior" to which she has a right (p. 47). Since she has a right to feel and act in these ways toward him, it follows that he has no right not to be the object of those hard feelings and that behavior. He has no right to be released from them, to put it differently, unlike someone who had not actually behaved in the way the victim had taken him to act. So, for her to release him from them is a gift in the sense that it is "volitional" rather than "grimly obligatory" (though of course it would be a further gift also to be positively nice to him). Consider next a more radical thought. It might be put in either of two ways, depending on possible answers to some questions we needn't sort out.

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One way to put it is to say that although it is very often true that there is no obligation to forgive, there are also times when there is an obligation to do so. The other is to say that although forgiveness is always a gift, it is sometimes a gift one would be wrong not to give. In the relevant sort of case, the victim was perfectly right to regard the wrongdoer as she did, but things are now different. We think it is just time she forgave him, given what he did, and that she is wrong to continue to hold it against him after all these years, despite having been perfectly right to feel that way for quite a while. The idea that it is wrong for her to continue to hold what he did against him has its home in our more general way of thinking about misbehavior. According to this way of thinking, we should take misbehavior more seriously the worse it is. Taking worse misbehavior more seriously than lesser misdeeds includes thinking worse of those who do very bad things than we do of those who misbehave more trivially. Part of that perspective is to continue to allow what we take this person to have done affect our view of her. Now, suppose we learned that we were making a mistake about a particular wrongdoer in this way, and the mistake was one of overreaction. We were acting as if she had mistreated us more seriously than she actually did. In that case, we ought to change our attitude toward her, it seems to me. We ought not to be as condemnatory as we have been. Quite possibly, we ought to abandon the hard feelings that would still have been in place if our picture of what she did had been correct. We ought to forgive her, that is, just as others ought also to stop thinking of her in a way that would have been appropriate if she had acted as we thought. These changes of attitude are only fair; although making them could require quite an effort, these are efforts we would be wrong not to make under the circumstances. Such scenarios seem to get lost in the talk of forgiveness as always a gift, and as never obligatory. Forgiveness therapists do want to be able to offer their therapy to patients who (as I've put it) would be wrong not to forgive those who mistreated them, as well as to those who would not be. Forgiveness therapists want to help anyone whose hard feelings disrupt his life, and hard feelings that are exaggerated in the way described can certainly do that. However, the language with which the therapists describe forgiveness and the procedures by which they enable their patients to forgive seem suited to patients of a different kind: patients whose forgiveness really is beyond the call of duty. That excludes these others.

Good for What Ails You?

Enrightand'the Human Development Study Group have developed a very important and much needed modelfor the process of forgiveness, with the four phases of "uncovering, decision, work, and outcome."—Fitzgibbons, 1998, pp. 67—68 The process Enright and his colleagues have developed has many elements: 17 of them, in the 1993 version of the therapy, and 20 in the 1998 one. (For

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a table representing the process employed in the 1993 study, see Hebl & Enright, 1993. For a table representing the process in 1998, see Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998.) This is to their credit, since bringing someone from disruption to forgiveness cannot be simple. The complexity of the process limits the depth to which the authors discuss any of its elements, however. Perhaps a fuller discussion would reveal that the points I am about to raise are dealt with in the therapeutic process after all. I hope so. It is particularly troubling that the "uncovering" phase with which the process begins does not appear to attend especially closely to identifying what is troubling the patient so deeply about what happened to her, and that later sessions also seem to ignore it. I found only one mention of any particular effort to elicit what precisely it is that troubles the patient so deeply. This was in the 1993 study, which reported, "Some of the questions for reflection and group discussion toward the end of the (first) session included . . . "What specifically was there about the perceived hurt that caused the most pain?" (Hebl & Enright, 1993, p. 661). There are several reasons to think the matter merits a great deal more attention. First, if we clarified what troubled the patient so deeply it might emerge that he is one of those discussed a bit earlier, someone who is actually wrong not to forgive. Although this patient certainly was done wrong and was justified in being angry, the anger now disrupting his life is an overreaction in the sense that he is acting as if the wrongdoer had mistreated him much more severely than she actually did. If so, to treat him now forgiving her as the completely gracious gift that Enright and his colleagues take all forgiveness to be, would be mistaken. Moreover, surely it would be helpful to the patient to understand that he is overreacting and to learn the reasons why he is doing so. That could enable the therapists to help him with some more general problem he has with being mistreated, or with this particular kind of mistreatment; or with this particular person. Those opportunities are missed if we devote all our attention to getting him to forgive. If patients of this kind could be identified, they could be taken down a different path. That sort of patient aside, here is a second point in favor of working harder at clarifying what it is that troubles the patient. Although the hard feelings someone has toward the person who did this terrible thing could be very central to the disturbance in his or her life, it also seems as if they could be peripheral to it. As an example in which the hard feelings toward the wrongdoer are at the heart of the trouble, we can imagine someone who hates and fears his father. Those feelings distress him because he thinks he should love his father, and they also work some general disruption in his relationships with older men, including potential employers. Here it is easy to see how replacing the hatred and the fear with a different attitude might do the man a great deal of good. Now imagine a different patient, though. This patient was raped, and she feels that this experience has ruinedher. She feels soiled, deeply and irretrievably; she believes no decent man could respect her now, and that she is now

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incapable of doing what she believes God created women to do, which is to marry and have children. The disruption caused in her life by what was done to her is at least as great as that in the life of the man who hates and fears his father. But it is not at all clear that the key to helping her is to get her to stop hating the person who did this. Suppose we did get her to see the man who assaulted her as an object of compassion. That would not change the fact that she was raped, and, in her eyes, ruined as a woman; it would only make her someone who was ruined by a pitiful creature rather than by a hateful one. She might still feel just as devastated, that is, even if we did get her to forgive him. In short, what the therapists mean by forgiveness will not take care of what distresses her. For that matter, neither would forgiveness that consisted only in ceasing to hate the person who raped her, if she could manage that. She needs help of a different kind, help (it seems) that focuses on correcting her feelings about what happened to her rather than her feelings about the person who did it, beginning perhaps with efforts to change her picture of what it means. More generally, what she needs seems more akin to grief counseling than to a change of feelings about an individual. The worry is that a patient's need for help of a different kind will not emerge, in a process devoted singlemindedly to inducing those distressed by having been mistreated to forgive the person who mistreated them. There are cases of at least three other kinds that raise this same worry. In these cases too, hard feelings toward the wrongdoer seem to be either peripheral to the patient's troubles or are only one aspect of those troubles, conditions under which forgiving the wrongdoer should not be the only goal. The therapeutic process developed by Enright does not seem sensitive to cases of these kinds, either. As an instance of the first kind of case, take the following example, offered originally by Joanna North in defense of forgiveness therapy. The example concerns a woman who "is unable or unwilling to forgive her attacker, a man who assaulted and robbed her on her way home one night." The woman's feelings toward the attacker disrupt her life, to some extent, since even though the attack took place three years ago, "She thinks about him every day" (North, 1998, p. 18). No doubt this poor woman would be better off if she could do something about that, and forgiveness therapy might be just the ticket. Her feelings toward the attacker are only a small part of her troubles, however; she engages in uncontrolled generalizing from what happened to her to similar situations. She was attacked by a man when walking home alone. Now, "Every time she walks home, she is nervous, edgy, perhaps even panic-stricken when she hears someone walking behind her. . . . She has given up her job and has developed a more generalized fear of going out alone, even in daylight. Furthermore, the attack has affected her relations with men. Whenever she is with a man, she fears he might attack her; she cannot trust him and cannot build a relationship with him" (North, 1998, p. 18). It is hard to see why our efforts to help this poor woman should concentrate on getting her to forgive the man who attacked her rather than on

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enabling her to stop all this misplaced generalizing. It seems as if what her therapy should focus on is why this happened to her, so that she can abandon her false hypotheses, such as: "It happened simply because the attacker was male and I was a woman walking alone and so all males are dangerous or all walking alone is dangerous or everywhere outside the apartment is dangerous, or ..." What would do her the most good, it seems, would be coming to accept that he attacked her not because he was male but because he was a male of this kind who acted under conditions of thatkind, after she herself had not simply been outside her apartment and alone but had done the following things to make herself vulnerable. The hope would be that if she could accept that, she would cease to generalize wildly and be uneasy and anxious only when in genuinely similar circumstances. That would erase the extensive disruption of her life, which consists not in her feelings about the person who attacked her but in mistaken interpretations of where danger lies. It is conceivable that changing her feelings about her attacker would play some key role in effecting this other correction. This needs demonstrating, however, since the two seem very different and quite unrelated. In lieu of any such demonstration, this seems instead to be another respect in which forgiveness-therapy misses the chance to do what would help the patient the most. Before leaving this point, it should be acknowledged that there must also be cases that would not neatly resolve themselves by helping the victim to see why this terrible thing had happened to her and thus to be anxious and fearful only when the circumstances call for anxiety and fear. There are cases of another kind, because life includes coincidence and luck. It is possible to do everything right, taking no unreasonable risks, and still just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Suppose that one man had been terribly mistreated, not in a series of events he could learn to recognize as dangerous, but in circumstances he could not learn to see in that way or should not learn to see in that way (because the bad effect was one in a million). Suppose, further, that his fear and anxiety after this event were free-ranging, leaving him desperately uncomfortable most of the time. Clearly the solution would not be to help him accept that his mistreatment came about through special circumstances and to be anxious only in those circumstances, because that is not the way it was, for him; his misfortune came out of the blue. It is no more obvious why forgiveness therapy should be a help to him, though. Rather, he is another person whose distress comes not from how he feels about the person who mistreated him but from how he now feels about other matters. He is another person it would seem best to identify and send down a different therapeutic path. Perhaps it would help him if we acknowledged the random nature of what befell him, and reassured him that this means he did nothing wrong himself and that it is perfectly understandable to be distressed when what ought to be trustworthy goes so terribly wrong. We could then offer an assessment of how much or how little it would have helped if he had been anxious or fearful on this occasion and how much or how little help it would be to feel that way in the future, and discuss both how unlikely it is that he would be unlucky in this way again and the costs of

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trying to protect himself from it by continually being on guard. Perhaps this might help him, but that is only amateur guesswork, based on what may be a naive supposition that if the truth does not always set us free, at least it should help correct emotions that misconstrue the facts. Those who know therapy will do better than I can at identifying the best therapy for someone whose troubles began when he was mistreated in a way no one could have predicted, when he was the victim of a terrible coincidence of factors that almost never come together or that almost never produce this sort of result when they do. Still, it is fair to say that getting him to forgive the person who did him wrong on this occasion has no obvious claim to be the best therapy for troubles of this kind. Again, this sort of case would probably be better served if forgiveness therapy took greater care to identify what it is that troubles the patient and to direct some patients elsewhere. As one last point of that kind, consider the patient whose distress over what happened to her is partly distress with herself, over what she did on this occasion. This is a particularly common reaction in women, according to Sharon Lamb's excellent book The Trouble with Blame (1996). As Lamb points out, the rest of us often have a powerful urge to assure victims who blame themselves that they are entirely wrong about this; in our efforts at this we may speak as if the victim had been an entirely passive object, on this occasion, someone who did nothing but only fell victim to the wrongdoer (Lamb, 1996; see especially chapters 2 and 4). This is well meant, but notice how closely the story we press on her resembles the one so troubling to the victim discussed previously—the man whose ill-treatment was impossible to predict. "You did nothing wrong," we told him and now tell her. "This is something that just happened to you—essentially, you were hit by lightning when Thor was in one of his moods." This may not be reassuring, as noted above. The picture it gives of what life is like can be its own source of potent, stubborn distress, of a kind not obviously amenable to forgiveness therapy. I think forgiveness therapy might encourage this picture and certainly does little to dislodge it, since its attention focuses largely on the victim's feelings about the wrongdoer. It does not also address the woman's feelings about her own role on this occasion or include any attention to what that role might have been. That is close to treating her as if she did nothing, as if she had been only the passive victim of one of the unpredictable lightning bolts. At the very least, since it leaves the victim's actual role unexamined, it misses an opportunity to be of help to her. Of course, it could be that the victim was entirely helpless and that her own behavior was utterly blameless, and (as Lamb points out) we certainly don't want to encourage the old picture in which the victim is entirely to blame for what happened to her. One of Lamb's many useful points, though, is that there are several alternatives to an individual (1) being entirely to blame for what happened to him or her and (2) either not having been an agent at all or having made no contribution whatever, in his or her actions. Among those alternatives are (3) having acted in a way that was both blameworthy and foolish but does not in the least diminish the blameworthiness of

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the person who took advantage of this. Surely it would be much more useful to understand that you had played that part than to be told repeatedly that you had played none. This would allow you to come to terms with part of what was upsetting you, including, perhaps, correcting a mistaken feeling of responsibility for what happened; it would correct that mistake without inducing you to make a different one. That is, it would do so without encouraging you to think the reason you were not responsible was that you did nothing, or that whatever you did do was faultless: If that is not why you were not responsible, it would be better not to treat you as if it were. In addition, clarifying the part you actually did play could show you something you could change, if you wished, in order to avoid having someone else treat you in this way. If you chose not to make that change, you would at least have some warning of what might get you mistreated the next time. And, since you would understand what it was that others were taking advantage of, you would be better able to attend to what sort of person takes advantage of it and what sort does not. The general points are that understanding what part you played when you were mistreated can be empowering, and that unhappy suspicions about that part can contribute substantially to the disruption of your life. Forgiveness therapy will not help you in these matters. It ought to include ways to identify those patients who need this help and to steer them toward it. Finally, the therapeutic process appears to pay no attention to the possibility that the patient has moral misgivings about forgiving the person who mistreated her. In one essay, Enright, Freedman, and Rique (1998) do address moral objections to forgiveness, but only by dismissing Nietzsche's contention that all forgiveness is craven (pp. 49—50). It is possible to believe instead that although forgiveness is sometimes legitimate there are other times when it amounts to selling out, to being too weak to continue feeling as a good person would. That conviction might be particularly strong in a patient whose hard feelings were not over what this person had done to her but over what he had done to her mother, or to her daughter. This person might feel that to stop hating him for it would be to fail those other people; it would be a way of acting as if what he did to them was not so bad after all, as if they did not matter all that much. If the cost of continuing to hate him is the disruption of her own life, to her way of thinking that is but one she is called to pay. What does the therapy include to deal with deep moral concern of this kind about what the therapist is asking the patient to do? It will not be enough to tell her repeatedly that she is not being asked to condone or to excuse the wrongdoer; that is not what worries her. What does worry her is that she would be forgiving him too lightly, and, ultimately, doing so for reasons of self-preservation to which it is disgraceful to yield. That seems to be both an obstacle to the therapy's success and a way in which succeeding in inducing the patient to forgive would not be of unqualified value to her, but would bring troubles of its own. There is no sign that forgiveness therapy takes this seriously.

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What Happens in Forgiveness Therapy?

The injured party begins the "work" phase of theforgiveness process. . .. The individual engages in "reframing". . . by striving to understand the offender's personal history, current pressures, and basic human worth. It is important to understand that the outcome of reframing is understanding, not condoning.—Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998, p. 54 Certainly it is important that the outcome not be one in which the injured party comes to condone what the offender did to him. To condone it would be to regard it as an acceptable way to act, or at least as an acceptable way to treat the likes of the injured party. Neither of these is a direction in which we would want the victim to move, even in order to end the previous disruption the mistreatment had wrought in his life. We are also told that reframing does not induce the victim to excuse the wrongdoer: "First, forgiving is not condoning or excusing wrongdoing" (Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998, p. 48); "It is important to distinguish this process from one of condoning or excusing his father's behavior" (North, 1998, p. 25). Here matters are a little more complicated. First, therapists are absolutely right about there being a conceptual difference between forgiving someone and excusing him. To excuse someone is to stop holding him responsible for the behavior for which you were holding him responsible, because you have found that he was not responsible for it after all. To forgive him for it would not involve this change, but only one in your attitude toward him for having done it. You would cease to hold it against him, as it were; you would abandon the hard feelings you had toward him because of his actions, despite still considering him responsible for having done it. We can also see why forgiveness therapists aim for forgiveness rather than for excusing. For one thing, it is only forgiveness that fits their picture of a victim who has a right to be hurt or angry at this person but graciously follows a different emotional path; excusing someone who had an excuse for what he did would be a very different matter. For another, presumably many wrongdoers actually have no excuse for what they did. If the goal were to get the emotionally wounded to excuse those who had mistreated them, often this could only be achieved by inducing them to accept a false excuse. Like condoning what was done, in that it wrongly treats the behavior as if it were not an improper way to treat this person after all. So there is a difference between forgiving and excusing, and it is forgiving that is to be sought. The trouble is that the considerations urged upon the victim in the reframing stage are at least as well suited to function as excuses as they are to be taken as reasons to forgive. Here is one set of such considerations: In reframing . . . the client views the other in context, seeing the influences on the offender at the time of the hurtful event (Hebl & Enright, 1993,

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p. 660). Typically, this involves understanding the pressures that the wrongdoer was under at the time of the wrong (North, 1998, p. 24). In reframing, the victim is urged to change her picture of what was done to her, indeed, to correct that picture: "This is not done to condone or distort but to understand motives and behaviors more accurately" (Hebl & Enright, 1993, p. 660). "It is important to note that the outcome of reframing is understanding (Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998, p. 54) (as opposed, presumably, to the misunderstanding she had beforehand). She was wrong about the motives from which this person acted, or she didn't understand the pressures he was under at the time or the influences under which he acted. Very often, this shift to seeing such things in a different light is seeing that the wrongdoer has an excuse for what he did. If he did not mean to hurt her, if his motives were quite different, that exonerates him completely from the charge of having acted with the aim of doing harm. But then what she ought to do is to excuse him from responsibility for that offense, since he did not commit it, not forgive him for having done it—since, again, he did not do it. A similar shift occurs with learning in the "reframing" stage that the man was under tremendous pressure to do what he did; that means he did not do it perfectly freely and lightheartedly. If that had been her preconception, then what emerges in reframing is that she was mistaken; he did not act in the way that was assumed. What she should do is not to forgive him for having acted in that way, then, but to recognize his excuse. Of course, these excuses may leave him responsible for having mistreated her in a different way than she had previously thought. Even if he did not mean to do what he did, he should have been much more careful than he was about the effects on her; even if he did act under pressure and so not entirely for the sake of hurting her, he ought not to have yielded to those pressures. As J. L. Austin once put it, "The typical excuse in a bad situation only gets us out of the fire and into the frying pan; but, then, any frying pan in a fire" (Austin, 1966, p. 125). There may still be something to forgive, namely, the lesser (but perhaps still considerable) offense that remains once the client has given the offender's true motives and the pressures and influences under which he acted their proper due. Can those same considerations now be reasons to forgive him for the lesser offense, though? It does not seem as if they can do double duty in this way. If they could, then the reason the victim should forgive this person for mistreating her in the way she now understands that he did is this; he mistreated her in that-way, not in some worse one. If this alone were a reason she should forgive him, though, the message to her would be uncomfortably close to the one contained in condoning what he did. The message would be, "Treating you in this (admittedly bad) way isn't something you should hold against a person." Why not? Because it is only you he did it to? Because bad behavior shouldn't be held against a person if there are worse things he could have done? Neither is a message with which we should be comfortable. Unless there is more to reframing than this, what happens in a session appears either to be excusing that is mislabeled as forgiving, or else to be a form of forgiving that should worry us.

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The solution, I think, is to inform those who undergo forgiveness therapy that what might happen during the course of their therapy is this. First, they might come to realize that the person against whom they bore such ill-will had not acted in quite the way they had always thought. Second, they might find that the way he had acted did not trouble them in the same deep way. For this reason, their feelings toward him might change to a level that would not be disruptive in the way their current feelings are. If so, the original motivation for seeking to find a way to forgive this person would be gone, although of course there might be other good reasons to do so. Third, the patients might find instead that they still had great resentment toward the person who mistreated them, even now that they properly understood the form of mistreatment to which he had subjected them. They might find that those feelings toward him were stronger than they ought to be, given what the mistreatment had actually been and given the length of time since it had taken place. In that case, they may be told that they ought to forgive this person. Alternatively, they might find that although they now recognize that the mistreatment was not what they had always taken it to be, their hard feelings over what this person actually did are not at all out of line. In that case, for them to forgive this person would be the gift that forgiveness therapists take all forgiveness to be. These same concerns apply to other considerations that receive emphasis in the reframing stage. Specifically, reframing includes mining "the offender's personal history" (Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998, p. 25; Hebl & Enright, 1993, use the phrase "developmental history" instead), considering his "personality as a result of his particular developmental history" (North, 1998, p. 24), presumably in search of the " 'wounded boy or girl' within the adult" (Fitzgibbons, 1998, p. 66). In one presumably typical reframing session: An example was given of an abused wife who understands her husband as he was growing up. She understands his own abuse and sees him as emotionally wounded. The group was challenged to reframe relative to the one who hurt them. (Hebl & Enright, 1993, p. 662) The first point is that these considerations too might function as excuses, in the mind of the victim. The victim had always taken what was done to her to be a monstrous act, her father was indulging a taste for having someone completely in his power, to do with whatever he might wish. Now we press this story of her father's own abuse or sad background upon her, and it casts what he did in a different light. She comes to see it as something he did because of what happened to him, some further consequence of his own mistreatment, which he was helpless or nearly helpless to avoid. If this is how the reframing works for the patient, we have moved her to excuse her father, not to forgive him. The therapists emphasize that they bring about forgiveness through reframing, but there is no assurance that they are right about this. The second point is that none of these excuses are necessarily good excuses. It may be that the patient is induced not only to excuse but also to excuse when she should continue to hold the wrongdoer

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exactly as responsible as she has been holding him. If that happens, what we press her to do is to accept that this behavior, at least when committed against her, should be excused more readily than it actually should be. That carries risky messages. Conclusion The research on forgiveness by Robert D. Enright and his colleagues may be as important to the treatment of emotional and mental disorders as the discovery of sulfa drugs and penicillin have been to the treatment of infectious diseases.—Fitzgibbons, 1998, p. 71 Not all patients who are treated with penicillin or sulfa drugs are necessarily getting the treatment they should be given. Some do not have infectious diseases at all, despite their symptoms, but a problem of a different kind. Some do have infectious diseases but also have allergies to these drugs, so that their administration can be fatal. Using the drugs to the patient's benefit requires being careful about what exactly the ailment is and about considerations in what we might call the patient's broader physiology. There are similar limits to the use of forgiveness therapy, surely, and I have suggested that it is not always used with the appropriate care for those limits. If it is forgiving we seek to produce, it is important to be right about the source of the patient's symptoms, namely, that they do derive from hard feelings the patient is entitled to have toward someone who mistreated him, rather than from hard feelings that are misplaced or exaggerated or out of date, or stem from a different aspect of the mistreatment altogether. No doubt the diagnosis is often right, and it is hard feelings toward the wrongdoer that cause the disruption in the patient's life. Then forgiveness therapy is at least an option, but it will still be important to be sure it is the right option; it does not appear that forgiveness therapists are as careful about this as they should be. For one thing, it might not be a change to positive feelings that is needed in order to ease the pain and disruption in the patient's life, but only an end to negative feelings or a reduction in their intensity. For another, there is (of course) more to the patient than this one problem. Other features of the patient's psychology, personality, and personal morality can make forgiveness therapy only one part of the treatment to be used, and still other such features can make the therapy hard on the patient rather than the help it is meant to be. These are all matters to consider, before forgiving. References

Austin, John Longshaw (1966). A plea for excuses. In James Opie Umson and Geoffrey James Warnock (Eds.), Philosophical papers. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Enright, Robert D., Suzanne R. Freedman, & Julio Rique (1998). The psychology of interpersonal forgiveness. In Robert D. Enright & Joanna North (Eds.), Exploringforgiveness. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Enright, Robert D., & Joanna North (Eds.) (1998). Exploring forgiveness. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Fitzgibbons, Richard (1998). Anger and the healing power of forgiveness: A psychiatrist's view. In Robert D. Enright and Joanna North (Eds.), Explaring forgiveness. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Freedman, Suzanne R., & Robert D. Enright (1996). Forgiveness as an intervention goal with incest survivors. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 64, 983-992. Hebl, John H., & Robert D. Enright (1993). Forgiveness as a psychotherapeutic goal with elderly females. Psychotherapy 30, 658-667. Lamb, Sharon (1996). The Trouble with blame: Victims, perpetrators, and responsibility. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. North, Joanna (1998). The 'ideal' of forgiveness: A philosophers exploration. In Robert D. Enright & Joanna North (Eds.), Exploring Forgiveness. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.

five Forgiveness in Counseling: Caution, Definition, and Application Mono Gusto/son Affinito

The ultimate goal of this chapter is to support the value of forgiveness in the counseling setting and to provide some guidelines for its effective application. But first there are concerns to be met based on the general failure of precision in using the term. Therefore, an analysis of misleading ideas about forgiveness will be undertaken, leading to a clear pragmatic definition which will provide the basis for a new model of forgiveness counseling. Because there is the danger that hasty forgiveness will fail to uphold justice—another term that suffers from loose definition—an analysis of the meanings of justice as they apply to forgiveness counseling will be included. Related to these concerns is the context in which counselors practice, which may well contribute to biased application of forgiveness, for example, by supporting individual comfort to the neglect of community, or simplistically misusing some biblical injunctions. "Forgiveness in counseling" is, therefore, a title deliberately chosen rather than "counseling forgiveness." The former appropriately recognizes that clients will bring forgiveness issues with them; the latter proposes forgiveness as policy. While practitioners should be sufficiently aware of forgiveness theory and practice to provide professional help when called upon, to advocate forgiveness without sufficient definition and training may be to practice outside one's level of competence and, therefore, to verge on the unethical. Unfortunately there is a dearth of training materials available. My own Helping with Forgiveness Decisions (Affinito, 1998) is currently out of print and being rewritten. Enright and Fitzgibbons's Helping Clients Forgive (2000) advocates forgiving and provides examples of its effectiveness, with a minimum of instruction on how to help clients reach the point of electing to forgive. And choosing not to forgive is essentially ignored as an option. Those who read in depth for the purpose of training themselves will find many positive examples of forgiveness, testimonials to its virtues. Cases 88

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where forgiving has led to negative consequences, if there are such, are not likely to be published or identified as forgiveness-related and are therefore unavailable for evaluation. This potential bias in available materials can well contribute to premature advocacy of forgiveness. Recently I was present at a group supervision session where an intern, discussing a marital therapy case, asked, "How can I make them forgive each other?" The supervisor tried to help her do that. Her question and the response demonstrate a three-fold bias: (1) forgiveness is always to be desired, (2) counselors have the power to induce forgiveness, and (3) forgiveness is a technique that can be taught. None of these are true. 1. Smedes (1984), in presenting the case against forgiveness, concluded that "the question is not whether forgiving is dangerous, but only whether it is a safer bet" (p. 175). The ethical and practical function of the counselor is, I believe, to help clients decide exactly that—what is the "safer bet"—in responding to an injustice. The emphasis is on practical and moral decision making, not advocacy. 2. People cannot be cajoled or induced to forgive. Deciding whether to forgive and putting the decision into action requires intensive emotional and cognitive work. The specific resolution varies based on the social, personality, and moral characteristics of the decision maker and the injustice that raised the issue of forgiveness in the first place. Aside from the dangerous potential for shaming and revictimizing the sufferer or for failing to deal effectively with injustice, cajoling simply does not work. 3. Forgiveness is not a technique, though procedures can be described to lay the groundwork for healthy, moral decision making. This is the essence of counseling, helping clients to arrive at practical and emotionally releasing decisions consistent with their moral base. Recently, Jaron Lanier (1999) referred to a "recurring phenomenon that began with Freud and Marx." He said, "Those men were so entranced by the early peek they got at a rational understanding of obscure and forbidding topics that they were overtaken by messianic zeal. They thought they knew more than they did, and decided to move from being observers and theorists of reality to social engineers. Tragedies large and small resulted when those well-meaning men and some of their less well-meaning followers tried to change people to fit premature theories" (p. 43). Counselors should ponder these dangers in recommending forgiveness. Workers in the field of domestic abuse, for example, are familiar with victims returning to their abusers because they have been advised to "forgive" the perpetrator. Physical and emotional injury, child abuse, and death of both victims and abusers have resulted (e.g., Beattie & Shaughnessy, 2000; Wallace 1999). Some counselors have worked, as I have, with parents and grandparents who "forgave" the behavior of drug-addicted youth, resulting in not only failure to treat the addiction, but, in some cases, the murder of the "forgiver."

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Applying forgiveness theory prematurely based on positive evidence, without adequate consideration of negative instances, is not a benign error. Similarly, it behooves philosophers and theologians to recognize their limitations in recommending applications to therapy. In this volume, Jeffrie G. Murphy describes Ralph, a composite case, who responds with guilt and fear when a clergyman insists that he must forgive his unrepentant abusive father (2002, p. 47). The clergyman has revictimized Ralph, who, in presenting the situation to Murphy, reveals his present distress. In assuring Ralph that his resentment is an acceptable response, Murphy has upheld the justice of Ralphs anger. The professional counselor reading this wonders, however, if validating the resentment is the end of the story or whether Ralph is reflecting an energy-consuming tension that might be relieved with further counseling, achieving freedom from the control of his father's offense, and restoration of energy for positive moral living.

Definition

The most troubling problem with forgiveness is the lack of definition. In previous paragraphs I have chosen often to place the word "forgive" in quotation marks. This represents the fact that the meaning of the word varies with the person who is using it. Philosophers, theologians, psychologists, psychiatrists, counselors, self-help advisers, and authors of testimonial autobiographies all fail to define their terms with sufficient precision to meet the needs of counselors. Since 1985, I have searched for definitions in the growing body of forgiveness writings. Rarely are they stated in the practical and objective terms required to measure the success of a therapeutic intervention. Most often no definition is given at all. Such is the fate of a word so fully incorporated into the language. Searching for implied meanings we find, in varying degrees, issues of reconciliation, trust, mutuality, love, relief from anger and resentment, and the forgoing of retributive justice. From these it is possible to summarize some contributing ideas, as follows. It may be interpersonal or intrapersonal, but forgiveness is never directed toward an object or event, since these cannot be held morally responsible for making offensive choices (Pingleton, 1989). Only Casarjian (1992) deviates from this point, including a chapter called "Forgiving Your Body." For the majority of forgiveness writers, forgiving is not defined in such a way as to include freeing the guilty party from blame. One exception is Susan Forward (1989), who has defined forgiveness as having two facets: giving up the need for revenge, and absolving the guilty party of responsibility. Given her definition, she objects to counseling forgiveness, arguing that the injustice needs to be recognized, labeled, and confronted. While her definition is idiosyncratic, her concern does remind us of the hazards of forgiveness interventions that fail to consider the issue of justice. Krog (2000), in struggling with the issues raised by South Africa's Truth and Reconcilia-

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tion Commission (see also Tutu, 1991), quotes her husband, "The act of forgiveness involves a refusal to blame" (p. 261). For most who write on the topic of forgiveness, this view is erroneous. But it is this very view of forgiveness as release from blame that raises fears that forgiveness is the antithesis of justice. On the contrary, if we were to recognize that there was no blame in the perceived affront, then there would be no forgiveness issue, but rather a need to explore the personal sensitivity of the offended person. Except for Forward and Krog's husband, common to all the definitions is first a recognition that an injustice has occurred—that the forgiveness process begins with an identifiable personal offense which is not excused or condoned. All recognize that the potential forgiver has a right to anger and resentment. Most agree that reconciliation is not necessary to the definition. Hargrave's (1994) emphasis on reconciliation is an exception. "Essentially," he says, "forgiving is relationship reconstruction, giving up one's claim to the injustice and reestablishing the relationship based on love and trust" (p. 79). Working with family situations, his definition is designed to fit his particular client group. What Forgiveness Is Not

Probably because forgiveness has accumulated centuries of connotative meaning, the initial impulse is to assume that we know the intent of the person speaking the word. But when using the term, especially in writing or other public presentations, we discover that members of the audience have heard something quite different from our intention. Therefore, the definitional effort has been focused on eliminating inappropriate intrusions into the meaning of forgiveness. (See most recently Affinito, 1999; Casarjian, 1992; Enright & the Human Development Study Group, 1991; Enright & Fitzgibbons, 2000; Simon & Simon, 1990; Smedes, 1996.) There is general agreement that forgiveness is not excusing, forgetting, condoning negative and inappropriate behavior, absolution, a form of selfsacrifice, a clear-cut one-time decision, approval of injustice, pretending everything is just fine when you feel it is not, assuming an attitude of superiority or self-righteousness, simply allowing angry feelings to diminish across time, pardon, or justification. It does not preclude taking action to change a situation or protect one's rights, nor does it require verbally communicating directly to the person who has been forgiven. In addition, Enright and the Human Development Study Group (1991) have distinguished forgiveness from legal mercy and leniency and from mourning. He is particularly concerned with his fear that forgiveness may become confused with self-centering (pp. 129-131). In their recent book, Enright and Fitzgibbons (2000) include a chapter in which they counter arguments that forgiveness is a weak and inferior response to injustice, a form of injustice, passive, logically impossible, and that some offenses are unforgivable (pp. 267—276).

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Constructing a Useful Working Definition for Counselors

A working definition of forgiveness in counseling must satisfy the practical requirements necessary in any counseling. The goals of the client should be met, usually with a reduction in anxiety and other emotions that interfere with the ability to live life productively, joyfully, and with good mental health as that may be defined. Forgiveness issues are by definition interpersonal, so practical and moral decisions have to be made concerning reactions to the person(s) involved in the offense and others affected by it. Specifically, forgiveness counseling must recognize the fact that the victim of injustice will normally experience anger, resentment, and hurt, and often shame and guilt, even when someone else was clearly the offender. This implies a recognition of the "right" to these reactions, as well as validation of the emotional and cognitive consequences of the offense; acceptance of the desire to punish the offender as a morally viable option; the desirability of reducing obsessive preoccupation with the offense and its results, freeing the victim from the energy-consuming consequences of the injury; careful evaluation of possible responses to the injury, their feasibility, and their potential benefits and costs to individual peace or justice; acceptance that cognitive work, except in rare cases, will precede emotional results; awareness of the client's limited power and authority to punish injustice; and awareness of the counselor's limited power and authority to advocate reactions to injustice. Some of these requirements are met in the definitions provided by Enright: "Forgiveness is a forswearing of negative affect and judgment, by viewing the wrongdoer with compassion and love [italics added] in the face of a wrongdoer's considerable injustice" (Enright & the Human Development Study Group, 1991, p. 123), and "Forgiving is a willingness to abandon one's right to resentment, negative judgment, and indifferent behavior toward one who unjustly injures us, while fostering the undeserved qualities of compassion, generosity, and even love [italics added] toward him or her" (Enright, 1995, p. 2). He is clear that forgiveness is a reaction to injustice, entitling the victim to resentment and negative judgment. The suggestion, however, that the right to judgment will be abandoned has the potential for creating exactly the immoral situation that many fear will result from advocating forgiveness, that injustice will be condoned whether implicitly or by refusing to deal with the issue. Based on my personal experience as a practicing psychologist, Enright's requirement that forgiveness demands "viewing the wrongdoer with compassion and love," and "fostering the undeserved qualities of compassion, generosity, and even love" is too restrictive, and even hard to evaluate as an outcome. My client Gloria, for example, the victim of childhood sexual abuse, realized, after a long therapeutic process of dealing with the injustice and fruitlessly seeking confession and reconciliation, that she could not spend time with her family of origin. She literally got sick to her stomach when she was with them. Still, she wanted to maintain a family connection, so she resolved to send them holiday and birthday cards and to visit them on special occasions. On these visits she would be accompanied by her hus-

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band and would stay for a very short time. Working out a comfortable and distant relationship with her family did a great deal to solidify her marriage, which had been getting shaky under the influence of her agitation. By applying these principles, she was able to shape a solution that was right for her (Affinito, 1999, p. 184). Gloria ceased to be obsessed with the effects of the abuse and was able to move on with her life and improve her relationships with others, but it would be a stretch to say she felt compassion and love for her abusive parents. By my definition of forgiveness, Gloria's solution qualifies. After many revisions, and anticipating future refinements, this is the definition that currently works best for me. Forgiveness is the decision to forgo the personal pursuit of punishment for the perpetrator(s) of a perceived injustice, taking action on that decision, and experiencing the emotional relief that follows. My definition differs from Enright's in seeing the emotional relief as a secondary gain of the process of arriving at a forgiveness decision, not as the essential first case. Nor does my definition necessarily require compassion and love for the offender, though that may occur. I see the issue of just reaction to an offense as central to the definition, recognizing that the most common, if not universal, first reaction to injustice is anger and the desire to punish. Pursuing the Theme of Justice

As I define it, forgiveness is a process of reacting to injustice. If counselors are to help with the making of forgiveness decisions, then a working understanding of injustice and just reactions to it is required. Forgiveness can be seen as a practical balance between justice and mercy— one that leads to nondestructive reactions to injustice as reflected in the works of Bishop Tutu (1991) and Donald Shriver (1995). Both men propose forgiveness as a pragmatic means of recognizing the extreme injustices of past ethnic conflicts while working toward positive solutions and a reduction in self-perpetuating vengeance. Our job is made difficult by the fact that justice is not easily defined. Wolgast (1987), for example, says, "Justice is not an original notion from which injustice is derived but vice versa, and this fact is what makes it so difficult to say what justice is" (p. 132). As a consequence, it is easier to identify and react to injustice than it is to work proactively for justice. There are at least three approaches to justice, varying in the extent to which they are proactive or reactive, past or future oriented, limited or general: (1) retributive justice, (2) restorative justice, and (3) pervasive justice. Retributive justice

Masterson (1981) refers to the talionic impulse, "that deepest and most ancient of human impulses to exact revenge by taking pleasure in inflicting on

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others the hurt one has experienced" (p. 182). I have sat with clients who created the most horrendously delicious visions of tortures they would like to inflict on wrongdoers knowing they had no intention, or even ability, to carry them out. There are clients who have proposed realistic means of vengeance, seriously considering putting them into action. The underlying belief is that one can "get even," that retribution will restore a sense of balance and fairness. The fact is that the injustice has forever changed the situation. If it is the hope that one can return to a pretrauma state of balance, then the prognosis is very poor. If, however, the goal is to create a new state of balance, then retribution may be effective. My client, Joyce, chose to cut her offending son out of her will (Affinito, 1999, p. 117 ff). It was a vengeful decision that reduced her own tension and might have resulted in permanent estrangement. Perhaps because of their initial closeness, there was a reconciliation after a period measured in years, but it was not a restoration to pre-injustice status. "Something has died," she reported (p. 118). Vengeance is primarily an emotional impulse, motivated by events in the past. Punishment, on the other hand, is a goal-seeking behavior that defines the anticipated end result and the conditions required to meet it. Encouraging clients to consider very practical matters transforms the issue into one of considering punishment as a problem-solving mechanism with an eye on the future. Do they have the power and authority to carry out the punishment, as well as the means for doing so? What might be the ultimate effect on their own lives, the people they care about, and justice in general? The issue for our clients, then, is to arrive at practical and moral decisions about punishment that will free them from the control of the offender and the offense and allow them to restructure their lives, restoring or recreating the sense of predictability and justice. To do that requires careful analysis of possible reactions. When one does have the personal power and authority to accomplish it, punishment may be appropriate. A woman in one of my workshops expressed a sense of guilt for having punished her teenage son. He had borrowed her car, agreeing to return it with a full tank of gas. When he brought it back empty, she grounded him for two weeks, after which he could borrow the car again but would not be allowed to have it in the future if he failed to live up to his end of the bargain. Having been taught that forgiveness is always the correct route, she wondered whether she had committed a wrong in punishing him. My view is that the punishment was appropriate. The general expectation was that more responsible behavior would result. And her actions met what are, in my opinion, the three major criteria for effective punishment: (1) the reason for the punishment is made explicit; (2) there is a clear definition of the end of the penalty; and (3) the requirement for avoiding future punishment is defined. If punishment is the chosen option, then my forgiveness definition is met by ceasing to punish after the three conditions described above have been met. Forgiveness does not require that there be no penalty for wrongdoing.

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If punishment, or even vengeance, is to meet counseling requirements, it must be in keeping with the moral standards of clients and their community—which are not necessarily the same as the therapist's. My client Joyce, for example, wrote a poem about the pleasures of vengeance and decided to act on her talionic impulse by removing her son from her will. This flew in the face of my own impulse toward forgiveness, but my equally strong respect for the integrity of the client prevailed. I led her through a process of carefully evaluating the possible results of her actions, which culminated in her following through on her plan. As mentioned earlier, her actions bore practical and morally acceptable fruit. Her choice of vengeance differed from the punishment option I might have preferred in that she had no plan for terminating the punishment and no expectation that her son's behavior would change as a result of it. She simply enjoyed the pleasure of disinheriting him and the consequent emotional release. If the punishment issue is not resolved, the effect may be perpetual selfpunishment on the part of the client, expressed perhaps in guilt or shame or in obsessive experiencing of anger and resentment. To leave the talionic impulse unconsidered is to fail the client. Accepting the reality and even appropriateness of the talionic impulse allows for its evaluation in terms of the power, authority, moral appropriateness, and practicality of applying punishment. The decision to punish does not mean that punishment should be perpetual. In fact, as long as clients are punishing, their own lives are controlled by the need to stand guard over the process. In some situations, it may simply be impossible for the offended to address and punish the transgressor, who may, for example, be dead or geographically unavailable. The murderer of Wilma Derksen's daughter, for example, was never found, leaving no option for punishment either under the judicial system, or personally. In such cases, the impulse to punish the offender can only reverberate and imprison the victim in helplessness, effectively resulting in revictimization. Some other method has to be found to satisfy the need to take action. Wilma Derksen told her story in her book, Have You Seen Candace?(1991); she became an activist for helping families and others affected by the murder of loved ones, founding Pathways, a publication that offers a forum for family members of murder victims.1 Others may choose to lobby for punishment for those who commit offenses similar to the ones they themselves suffered. Some have found personal satisfaction in working to influence the broader system. MADD (Mothers against Drunk Drivers), provides one example, as does VOMA (Victim Offenders Mediation Association), many of whose members, victims themselves, work to encourage restorative justice through mediation.2 The need to regain control and balance lies at the root of this work. Restorative Justice

For many victims there is no avenue for avenging the injustice or otherwise punishing the offender(s) in any effective way. The restorative justice

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movement (Umbreit, 1994, 1995; Zehr, 1995) attempts to address this for those who have suffered from crimes against the state, with increasing success in gaining recognition of the rights of people who are victims of those offenses, but the personal power to punish is minimal and indirect. So too is the power to reduce punishment minimal. Members of Murder Victims' Families for Reconciliation report widespread bias within the criminal justice system against hearing opposition to the death penalty (Murder Victims' Families for Reconciliation, 2000, p. 1). In our American culture, victims of crime have traditionally been left out of the judicial process; the focus is on the accused offender. The restorative justice movement (Umbreit, 1994, 1995; Zehr, 1995) began with lobbying for more attention to and effective integration of victim views into the system. The opportunity for victims to testify at presentencing hearings has been one result of this movement. The personal goal is restoration of a sense of control and fairness. The movement has broadened not as an effort to abolish punishment, but to do restorative work within its context. Zehr's "Restorative Justice Yardstick" helps to summarize the goals of restorative justice: "1. Do victims experience justice? 2. Do offenders experience justice? (e.g. Are they encouraged to understand and take responsibility for what they have done?) 3. Is the victim-offender relationship addressed? 4. Are community concerns being taken into account? 5. Is the future being addressed?" (1995, pp. 230—231). Because the mediation process applied in restorative justice work requires the consent of both the victim and the offender, it is expected that there will be changes for both parties. Restorative justice, a relatively new movement in the western world, has deep historical roots. Until the emergence of strong, centralized states during the past millennium, with the related redefinition of crime as offenses against the king/state, community leaders intervened not with an eye to retribution, but with an understanding that retaliation could result in a cycle of vengeance that would threaten public safety. Restorative justice prevails currently, for example, in contemporary Japanese culture and among indigenous populations in North America and New Zealand, where the emphasis is on community survival and peace (Van Ness & Strong, 2001). Restorative justice is initiated by past offenses, but the focus is on practical achievement of future justice. Both victims and offenders will, to the extent the process works, be restored to health within a moral context. Pervasive Justice

Zehr juxtaposes what he calls biblical and modern justice (1995, pp. 151—152). For example: "(1) Justice divided into areas, each with different rules" (contemporary) vs. "Justice seen as integrated whole" (biblical); or (9) "Justice as maintenance of the status quo (contemporary) vs. "Justice as active, progressive, seeking to transform status quo" (biblical). His comparison of biblical and modern justice is fruitful, but I prefer the more secular term "pervasive" to refer, as Susan Engh suggests, to a systemic concern for

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culturewide justice, as defined by fairness and equality, a concern for the human rights of all people (S. Engh, personal communication, March 2001). In researching my 1999 book, I collected many stories of victims of crime who chose—often after a long period of painful processing—to respond with working toward pervasive justice. Paul Stevens, for example (Affinito, 1999), after years of anger and hate following the murder of his daughter, found peace in becoming a prison chaplain and advocating against the death penalty (pp. 145—146). My own clients have not generally suffered criminal injustice, but some have elected to focus on pervasive justice as a resolution to their personal pain, choosing to support groups that lobby for laws against domestic abuse, for example, or working for affordable housing in their communities. judgment and Guilt

Judgment is an integral part of justice. To confront offenses either against or by our clients, we need to be prepared to encounter judgment and consequent guilt. In 1961, O. H. Mowrer warned against psychology's tendency toward facile absolution of guilt while ignoring its moral value. But while early forgiveness theorists did not espouse being nonjudgmental, some of what they said encouraged that view, thus easing the way into a late twentieth-century view of relativism and humanism and the importance of being nonjudgmental. Smedes (1984), for example, suggested that people behaved unfairly "despite their best intentions" (p. 12) and "even if their intentions were pure" (p. 30). Jampolsky (1985) spoke of cleansing our mind "of its negative thoughts of fear and guilt—all those condemning judgments that make us feel vulnerable, separate, and fragmented" (p. 82). Oversimplifying the Christian culture's "Do not judge, so that you may not be judged" (Matt. 7:1, New Revised Standard Version), led to the easy conclusion that forgiving meant dropping all blame. The view that forgiveness abolishes judgment persists despite efforts of forgiveness writers to make clear that to forgive does not mean to absolve. Smedes clearly stated, "You do not excuse people by forgiving them; you forgive them at all only because you hold them to account and refuse to excuse them" (1984, p. 72). In a later book, he responded to what he called the "Who am I to judge?' fallacy" saying, "The moment we say, 'Who am I to judge?' we resign our membership in the family of rational human beings. And we are reneging on one of the most important tasks assigned to rational human beings: to size up people's actions the best we can and to assign responsibility for them. Which is to say that imperfect people have not only the right but an obligation to blame people" (1996, p. 78-79). We cannot wrestle effectively with the justice issue in our personal counseling if we cannot first identify blame and declare it unacceptable. Working in supervisory settings, I have witnessed the tendency of some therapists,

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especially as they begin their careers, to enter into a "taking sides" alliance, too quick to blame the "other" and at the same time to absolve their own client of guilt. I have also seen clients, often steeped in Christian heritage, who suffer guilt at the very idea of blaming someone else. Guilt assessment deserves a studied place early in the forgiveness process, especially when the issue is self-forgiveness. The Religious Influence

Our attitudes of judgment and guilt are influenced by religious positions, even if we ourselves are not religious. Understanding the complexity of religious positions is, therefore, crucial to grasping the implications of forgiveness counseling. At its best, religion contributes to an avoidance of vengeful escalation of violence and the promotion of physical or psychological strength of conscience, with courage to identify injustice when it occurs and to consider appropriate modes of its prevention and correction, a firm spiritual base, and caring—sometimes self-sacrificing—devotion to pervasive justice. At its worst, it encourages self-righteous vengeance on those who disagree, an easy conscience that puts personal comfort above difficult moral decisions, an unthinking adherence to beliefs imposed by others, vigilant attention to the appropriateness of others' behavior, and, consequently, rigid self-righteous judgment of those who don't behave "rightly." Dennis Prager, an outspoken critic of easy forgiveness, cites the recent tendency for Christian groups to rush to forgive the perpetrators of such horrendous crimes as the murders of high school students in West Paducah, Kentucky, or Timothy McVeigh's terrorist bombing. He criticizes the argument, given by some, that "victims should be encouraged to forgive all evil done to them because doing so is psychologically healthy" as "selfishness masquerading as idealism" . . . "the argument being, 'though you do not deserve to be forgiven, and though you may not even be sorry, I forgive you because I want to feel better.'" The easy forgiveness doctrine, he says, "undermines the moral foundations of American civilization, because it advances the amoral notion that no matter how much you hurt other people, millions of your fellow citizens will immediately forgive" (1997, A22). He has placed the hazard of forgiveness without justice clearly in the context of communal danger exacerbated by religious belief. His critique seems to imply that there is a single Christian position supporting nonjudgmental forgiveness. But he goes on to present a contrary assumption as if it were universal Christian doctrine: It is Christianity's central moral tenet that "forgiveness, even by God, is contingent on the sinner repenting, and that it can only be given to the sinner by the one against whom he sinned" (Prager, 1997, A22). If Prager is right, then the victim of evil is condemned to perpetual bondage to the evildoer who refuses to repent, or perhaps, being dead, cannot repent. But it is not a universal Christian belief that forgiveness by humans, or even by God, is contingent upon repentance.

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In fact, referring to the New Testament story of the Pharisee and the whore (Luke 7:36-47), Paul Tillich argues that it is not repentance that creates forgiveness, but forgiveness that creates repentance. Forgiveness, he says, has the character of in spite of (Tillich, 1940, p. 8). Tillich's position recognizes that we are all fallible and that those who have wrestled with their own imperfections will be able to reach just forgiveness resolutions more easily than the righteous who cannot see their own faults. The practical fact is that requiring victims to hold on to their anger unless the offender asks forgiveness holds them in thrall to the offender and condemns them to perpetual pain. Prager's critique reflects a couple of popularly oversimplified biblical injunctions. One is "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," and the other is "turn the other cheek." Perhaps because they are so quotable they become aphorisms for action, both within and outside of religious traditions. In the Hebrew Testament one finds, "Fracture for fracture, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, the injury inflicted is the injury to be suffered" (Lev. 24:20) and "Show no pity. Life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot" (Deut. 19:21). The Christian Bible adds a "but": "You have heard that it was said, 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' But I say to you, Do not resist an evil-doer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also" (Matt. 5:38). Without appropriate context, these injunctions seem starkly simple, but they are not. Obviously current western law and practice do not allow for the cutting off of hands and feet, or the putting out of eyes, as punishment for wrongdoing. Its application must, therefore, be metaphorical. The oversimplified interpretation is that the punishment must be at least as bad as the crime, but Robert Solomon, for example, refers to "the Old Testament instruction that revenge should be limited (italics his) to 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe'" (1990, p. 293). The talionic law may best be interpreted as a limit on punishment rather than a demand for it. Given that none of us is morally perfect, the danger to the community is that we would all end up with missing parts. Demanding an eye for an eye, it has been said, would leave the whole world blind. "Turn the other cheek" probably lies at the base of the easy and hasty forgiveness that Smedes warned about or that Prager responded to with dismay. In the extreme, it seems to decree that we should not fight injustice, but accept patiently anything that others may dish out, not only to ourselves, but even to others. But it fails to take context into account. Based on understanding the sociology of Jesus' time, Wink (1992) has suggested that the maintenance of dignity in the face of adversity is the lesson being taught. He quotes from Matt. 5:38-42, "If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also." In that society, to use the left hand was forbidden, so to hit the right cheek would require a backhand with the right hand, a traditional way of admonishing inferiors. But a strike on the left cheek could be done only with a direct blow or a fist, methods reserved for

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responding to equals. Turning the left cheek forces the striker, then, to treat one as an equal. Wink's may not be the universal interpretation of the "turn the other cheek" injunction, but it does point out that simple aphorisms are questionable guides for life inside or outside the counselor's office. To be effective in forgiveness counseling, the therapist must be ready to work with the context of the client's religious, cultural, and moral positions. While Hyde (1984) claims that for most of Hebrew scriptures there is in this life no hope of forgiveness—that it could be anticipated only with the future coming of the messianic age—Droll (1984, p. 9) cited Jewish sacred books among those which laud forgiveness, and Donnelly (1993) quotes the Talmud, "If a (person) has received an injury, then even if the wrongdoer has not asked forgiveness, the receiver of the injury must nevertheless ask God to show the wrongdoer compassion" (p. 8). Another author (Bangley, 1986) was vehement: "Sometimes I hear it said that the God of the Old Testament is a God of anger and wrath, and that it took Jesus and the New Testament to introduce a warmer and more forgiving side to God's nature. Nonsense! Nothing could be more incorrect. The God who is busy in the pages of the New Testament is the same God who is at work in the Old Testament. . . . Yes, there are moments in the Old Testament when God is reported to be exasperated by human behavior. Who could blame him? But behind that divine displeasure is a constant, caring, loving, and forgiving nature" (p. 42). About forgiveness and vengeance, a Moslem friend added, "The Koran tries to find a mid-point between the vengeance of the Hebrew tradition and the forgiveness preached by Jesus. We are taught that punishment is OK, but forgiveness is better." "All our prayers begin with a plea for forgiveness," her friend added (personal communication). McDonald (1984), however, believes that "the harsh justice of the Islamic Allah has no significant place for real forgiveness" (pp. 32-33). There are wide differences in Islamic practices, just as there are in the Judeo-Christian tradition. It would be comforting to believe that we can make objective statements about religious views, but clearly these are areas where complexity reigns. It seems prudent to recognize that religious differences obviate applying any hasty assumptions about their influence on clients. Mercy Revisited

If, as I believe, forgiveness is a balance between justice and mercy, then mercy needs to be considered in the context of justice. Hasty "mercy" may reflect unthinking avoidance of the issues raised by injustice. It may actually be unmerciful by failing to bring the forgiven to task in a way that encourages growth, a goal of most therapy. Eugene Fisher (1986), for example, a Christian writer who joined the debate about President Reagan's visit to the Bitburg cemetery where Nazis were honorably buried, argued, "Christian teaching and Christian theological categories were themselves part of the problem" of anti-Semitism (p. 57). "Jews, then," he says, "best show their love and

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compassion for Christians in not 'letting us off the hook,' in reminding us, by the testimony of their very existence, of Christianity's need for repentance" (p. 59). Whether in a therapeutic setting or in the broader social context, ignoring inappropriate or immoral behavior on the part of another is basically to discount that person as an ethical human being. Similarly, to ignore our own need for self-examination is to perpetuate moral weakness. Early in my exploration of forgiveness, I was introduced to a highly respected motivational speaker on the subject of forgiveness. I was shocked as he beatifically told me that he tells Jews they should stop fighting the Holocaust, forgive the perpetrators, and get on with their lives. His position not only revictimized Jews by failing to respect their right to seek justice, but it failed as well to respect the potential for non-Jews to grapple with their own ethical obligations. Self versus Community

The effort to be nonjudgmental contributed to another phenomenon in the forgiveness movement, namely the focus on the welfare and comfort of the forgiver to the neglect of justice for the community, which dovetails nicely with the contemporary therapeutic emphasis on personal peace and health. Smedes (1984), writing from a Christian base, supported "our need to forgive for our own sakes" (italics his: p. 30). Although he clearly warned against "the muddle-headed softness of the easy forgiver" (p. 172), the forgiveness culture of the time was better prepared to respond to forgiving for our own sake. In 1979, Gerald Jampolsky produced a packet of cards, called To Give Is to Receive: "Mini Course for Healing Relationships and Bringing about Peace of Mind" each of which he attributed as a quote from a Course in Miracles.3 Specific content from a few of the cards gives a sample of the message: card #10, "Forgiveness Is the Key to Happiness;" card #11, "All That I Give Is Given to Myself;" card #13, "Today I Will Judge Nothing That Occurs." Inspiring and focusing on love, the message was positive and easily interpreted as emphasizing the comfort of the individual reader. In 1983, Jampolsky pursued the same theme, describing forgiveness as "an inner correction that lightens the heart. It is for our peace of mind first. Being at peace, we will now have peace to give to others, and this is the most permanent and valuable gift we can possibly give" (p. 110). Again, the primary emphasis rested on the message, "peace of mind first"; a series of popular publications in the Course in Miracles tradition supported the value of forgiveness in producing healthy results for forgivers. Bernie Siegel, in his influential book, Love, Medicine, and Miracles(1986), reported the story of the amazing good health of "Wild Bill," a long-term concentration camp inmate who showed little of the deterioration seen in his fellow prisoners (pp. 194—195). Wild Bill's report of immediately forgiving those who gunned down his entire family was seen as the miraculous cause of his good physical and mental health.

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In 1992, Casarjian wrote, "Regardless of our unique story, forgiveness holds the promise that we will find the peace that we all really want" (p. 10). And, in 1995, Borysenko declared on tape, "Peace of mind is our only goal, forgiveness our only function," and asked, "What good does that grudge do for you?" The professional culture of the time contributed to our hearing the emphasis on personal peace and happiness. Intended or not, the message received from these writers was that to forgive is always the appropriate and moral choice because of the wonderful benefits provided the forgiver. It is not my intention here to contradict the value of forgiving for the forgiver. In fact, I am convinced that the one person who is sure to gain from forgiving is the forgiver. The issue is whether the needs of the community are being met as well. While emphasis on individual welfare was foremost in forgiveness literature, another movement was growing, drawing psychologists to consideration of community. When Shweder, Mahapatra, and Miller (1987) contrasted the rights-based, individualistic culture on which our theories are based with duty-based, communal cultures in which the group is central, the very concept of identity was challenged. The former approach tends to treat the individual as the unit of identity, while the latter views the community as the unit. In 1988, Sampson disputed the assumption that individuals should be the focus of theory and practice and urged consideration of community, and Seligman (Bule, 1988) attributed a source of depression to the isolating individualism of the "me" generation. Even the "self-esteem" movement has been charged with reducing individuals' communal responsibility (Damon, 1995). At the same time, religious positions on forgiveness were presenting contrasts between communal and individual purposes. Murder is unforgivable in Judaism, Prager reports (1997, p. 217), because it goes to the heart of God's relationship with humans. In the Hebrew Testament, God relates to the entire community, and anything that disrupts that unit is evil, murder most disruptive of all. It is the Christian Bible that emphasizes the hairs on individual heads (Luke 12:7). For much of early Protestantism, and in many traditions today, preservation of community is the purpose of forgiveness. The penitent confesses publicly to the whole congregation which, either in general meeting or through delegated committees, decides what penance or guidance is needed to reinstate the sinner to full membership. But Christian practice varies widely. In the 1970s, for example, the Roman Catholic and Anglican traditions moved from a tradition of penance and absolution by the priest, God's agent, with the effect of maintaining the sinner's membership in the community to confession as counseling in search of a clear conscience for the individual (Hyde, 1984). Each person is now expected to take responsibility for the morality of his or her own life. For these traditions, forgiveness changed from a community function to an individual one. The counselor or client who searches for easy answers in religion will find them only by being blind to alternatives. The following pragmatic model re-

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quires a thorough examination of alternatives, their practical and moral costs and benefits. From Definition to Practice: A Pragmatic Model

Enright and Fitzgibbons fret about the dangers of pragmatism, that forgiveness may become identified "only with its usefulness in therapy," and urge a differentiation between "what forgiveness is from what happens once a person does forgive" (2000, p. 324). I find it difficult to divorce the counseling process and outcome from the practical and moral impact on the broader society. Doris Donnelly writes, "Forgiveness frees not only the one who forgives but also the network of persons from their supportive roles in the strenuous and dehumanizing effort of taking sides—and forgiveness frees the victims as well!" (1993, p. 41). In my experience, this freedom expands exponentially as each of these persons influences others, not necessarily through conscious intention, to greater integrity and consequent wider and, indeed, pragmatic morality. Only if the end of a therapeutic process is selfish focus on the immediate pleasure of the client can I conceive that forgiveness would be identified "only" with its usefulness in therapy. My definition of forgiveness as "the decision to forego the personal pursuit of punishment for the perpetrator(s) of a perceived injustice, taking action on that decision, and experiencing the emotional relief that follows" can be translated into a model for forgiveness counseling. Giving Voice: Perceiving Injustice

Giving voice to the hurt and anger is an essential first step that encourages and allows the probing of the perception of injustice, with all its related emotions, validating the right of the clients to their experiences. Wilma Derksen (1998), whose 13-year-old daughter Candace disappeared and was later found murdered, says that "surviving victims can not rest or be comforted until we find a way to tell our stories." Antjie Krog, a reporter covering the trials of the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission (2000), found the following thought clarifying as she listened to the testimony of terrible experiences: "But more practically, this particular memory at last captured in words can no longer haunt you, push you around, bewilder you, because you have taken control of it—you can move it wherever you want to. So maybe this is what the commission is all about—finding words for that cry of [the sufferer]" (p. 57). Those who testified at the hearings were for the most part unable, from any practical point of view, to exact punishment, and the commission in general may have failed (Krog, 2000, p. 385) to repair and heal the trauma of the victims. But the victims were heard. Ralph, as described by Jeffrie Murphy earlier, was denied that right by the clergyman who counseled him to forgive;

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he was deprived of the validation he deserved and hampered in his further progress toward considering the practicality and implications of the punishment option for his recovery. Among other errors, the clergyman committed the wrong of treating forgiveness as if it were an end in itself, rather than a process for bringing about just resolution and healing. In this voicing phase, to recommend forgiving to a sufferer who is not ready to consider it implies some inadequacy on his or her part and is, therefore, shaming, especially in the religious context where there is a long history of recommending forgiveness as the "right" response. As in Ralph's case, shaming is very likely to exacerbate the pain, anger, and sense of betrayal. A recent phone call from a reader of my book (Affmito, 1999) revealed another kind of failure to validate. According to the caller, she had told a therapist of her anguish over the fact that her father had all her life "jokingly" insulted her. As she heard the therapist's response, it was that she had nothing to be so concerned about, compared to the painful situations so many other people suffer. I do not know, of course, whether the callers report of the therapist's words was accurate, but she had come away from the encounter feeling that her own emotions were invalid. During the early voicing of the pain and anger, it may become apparent to the counselor that there has been no real injustice committed against the client, but rather there is a sensitivity arising from the client's own personality. One of my clients, for example, was enraged and hurt that her son's former girlfriend had married another man long after the girlfriend and the son had broken off their relationship. My client deserves the same hearing and respect for her pain, but this is not—on the surface, at least—a forgiveness issue, though there will still probably be the same need to address the impulse to exact vengeance. In this kind of situation the counselor may be tempted to recommend forgiveness, which would be just as shaming and premature as if there had been a serious offense. It may also be that underlying the voiced complaint is a real offense of some kind; all the counselor's skills should be applied to get to the bottom of the issue for the purpose of gaining relief for the client. That the first task for the therapist is to validate the right to the rage and hurt doesn't mean to "side" with the client against someone else or to encourage immediate action. Room should be made for the client to spend the rage in talk and fantasy for the time being—to postpone action until there has been an opportunity to explore all options. The goal is to reduce the obsessive rage or resentment sufficiently so that the client can move on to a more cognitive, decision making perspective. Gathering Data

Although this may sound like a coldly objective way to state it, the fact is that decision making requires fact gathering. When emotion has cooled down sufficiently, examination of the offense can begin. This includes an analysis of

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the offense itself, the moral code that was broken, and the impact it had not only on the client, but also on the larger community. The client's part in the hurtful event calls for examination as well. This may range from accepting responsibility for one's part in an interpersonal relationship—even, perhaps, for having allowed oneself to be victimized—to exploring ways that one might have avoided the offense. The purpose is not to blame the client (unless it is appropriate) but to help him or her to regain power. If guilt is a major component, it needs to be evaluated for its appropriateness. Sometimes the client really has sinned, a fact which therapists have often chosen to overlook, in spite of some early efforts to make the point (e.g., Mowrer, 1961). Sometimes the guilt is inappropriate, in which case the examination of the event with its moral ramifications is an aid to appropriate assessment of responsibility. What the data will be depends on the specific situations brought by clients. If the examination is to be complete enough to lead to good decision making, it should incorporate all aspects: moral, individual, and community. It should include an analysis of the offender's possible motives, not with the purpose of excusing the offense, but to bring the offender down to controllable size. Attribution theory tells us that people are more likely to attribute unmitigated power to someone about whom they know little, while understanding the perpetrator's fallibility frees the victim from the perception of an all-powerful evil person. Unless an offender is understood as a fallible human being, he or she looms unrealistically large and evil in the eyes of the victim. Regaining control requires rehumanizing the offender. It may also happen that humanizing offenders facilitates the experience of empathy for them. Seeking complete analysis is not a romantic ideal. Pieces that are left unattended will reappear later to activate uncontrolled emotion and interfere with decisions and their consequent activation. As in any other situations, the best decisions are based on full assessment of the relevant data. Validating expressed emotions, clarifying the facts and the morality of the offense, understanding the offender as completely as possible, and assessing the client's own cognitive, behavioral, and moral reactions provide the material for deciding whether and/or how to punish. Making Action Decisions

In the context of the definition I have presented, deciding what to do about punishing is an ultimate goal of forgiveness counseling, exceeded only by the behavioral application of choices made. In this phase it is especially important to avoid following recipes prescribed by self-help books or other wellmeaning advisers. Several years ago I was a participant on a call-in show on forgiveness on a public radio station. One woman left her car to go to a pay phone to call in her criticism of forgiveness. She had, she said, worked with a therapist on the issue of her childhood sexual abuse by her father. On the advice of her therapist, she reported, she had written a letter to her father

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forgiving him for what he had done. The response was angry letters not only from her father, but also from her mother and sisters, who essentially cut her out of the family. The response is not surprising. To forgive is to accuse, and in writing her "forgiveness" letter, she had charged a family that was unprepared to deal with the indictment. Before taking action, it is important to measure the benefit against the cost. Clearly the caller had not done that. What the specifics of any case may be can be spelled out only individual by individual. Some general rules may apply. As in the caller's case, it is wise to be prepared for a negative response from the "forgiven" who is, in the process, being accused. Or, like Gloria who felt nauseated in the presence of her family, facing the offender may create emotional, even physical negative reactions that the client is not ready to face. In other circumstances, though deciding not to punish might provide relief for the victim, it might fly in the face of his or her moral judgment, as for Wiesenthal (1997), who chose to devote his life to seeking punishment for the Nazi offenders even as he sought understanding of the whole concept of forgiveness. Choosing Punishment

In contemplating punishment, clients must consider whether they have the power or authority to carry it out. This may seem obvious, but witnessing the pain of those who consistently demand punishment (often vengeance) with no control over its possible enactment, illuminates the vanity of impractical punishment decisions. This is especially true when the offender is in the hands of the legal system. It is in this context that the mediation activities of VOMA (cited earlier) are helpful. Generally, the purpose of punishment is to prevent undesirable behavior, with emphasis on two words: "undesirable" and "behavior." It is important for clients to decide whether behavioral regulation is their major goal, as compared, perhaps, to a change in emotional relationship with the offender. Of further importance is considering whether the focus is best placed on reacting to events in the past, or encouraging positive healthy development in the future. While each case is different, there are some guidelines that can be applied in considering the punishment option. (1) It should be possible to specify the expected end result of the punishment. That is, be clear about the effect one expects as a result of the punishment. (2) It should be within the control of the potential punisher to carry it out. (3) The criterion for termination of the punishment should be defined. (4) The punisher must be prepared to pay the price of the punishment. (5) Careful consideration should indicate that this is the best possible option for gaining the desired result. Joyce, for example, some time after cutting her son out of her will, did enjoy a reconciliation. The woman who deprived her son of the use of her car for two weeks had to put up with his angry sulking. Presumably, however, the

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gas-buying behavior improved in the future. In either of these situations, there is no way of knowing whether a less punitive approach might have been less stressful yet still effective. Noting that these are both family situations, a long history of relationship may have contributed to a successful end result. It is wise to avoid attributing the successful outcome simply to the punishment. The same guidelines apply when clients seek self-forgiveness where appropriate guilt is identified. Self-forgiveness may differ from other-forgiveness in that the individual can demand of him- or herself full confession, apology, and restitution. Atonement may be sufficient within the client's moral base, perhaps requiring a working through with a member of the clergy or other appropriate representative of the clients faith community. These criteria are intended clearly to discriminate punishment from vengeance, an emotional reaction that, centering on the past, seeks only pleasure in witnessing the offender's pain. Choosing Not to Punish: The Mercy Option The decision not to punish may follow punishment whose goals have been met. This option may also apply without any prior punishment. The nonpunishment option may be chosen by men like Bishop Tutu (1991) or Donald Shriver (1995) in the tradition of those who recognize the danger to community of self-perpetuating vengeance (e.g., Van Ness & Strong, 2001). Individuals, especially those working on situations with family or friends, may similarly recognize that punishment will create unacceptable damage to their community. Nonpunishment generally does not mean nonaction. Positive action may range from a healing conversation with an offending friend to a mediated visit with an imprisoned murderer. As in the choice of punishment, there are some guidelines that can be applied in considering the nonpunishment option. (1) It should be possible to specify the expected end result of the action taken. That is, be clear about the effect expected as a result of the chosen action. (2) It should be within the control of the potential forgiver to carry out the plan. (3) The criterion for determining the effectiveness of the action should be defined. (4) The forgiver must be prepared to pay the price of the action taken. (5) Careful consideration should indicate that this is the best possible option for gaining the desired result. As in the case of punishment, it is wise to avoid attributing results to a simple choice of the nonpunishment option. Just as the examples of Joyce and of the car-lending mother do not prove the greater effectiveness of punishment, so too to attribute "Wild Bill's" health to his quick forgiveness of the Nazi murderers fails to consider the myriad of factors involved in his situation. He may, for example, have learned the futility of remaining stressed about something which could not be undone, and chosen to focus on what he could control. Perhaps he was better able than some to divorce grief from anger.

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The choice is individual. As in all therapy, we cannot know what the result would have been if different options had been chosen. All we can do is provide the best counseling possible geared to an effective resolution for the client. Emotional Relief Cannot Be Timed

There is no fixed elapsed time between decision/action and emotional relief, but there are possible measures one might take to help in the process. Support groups or supportive friends may, for example, ease the stress of waiting. "Practicing" forgiveness on a daily basis in controlling road rage or waiting in grocery lines may increase the sense of control over life. For some, prayer or meditation are useful, or practicing the productive use of anger. (See Affinito, 1999, pp. 183-197.) The point is, there is no recipe for forgiveness counseling. It is a long, hard process of decision making. As Enright and Fitzgibbons (2000) maintain, forgiveness is more than just an act, without emotional and moral depth. "The act of forgiving eventually may form a part of the person's identity as he or she practices forgiveness, knows it is good, and realizes that forgiveness is not some quality that exists independently of the self or event outside the self but is part of who one is. At this point, forgiveness ceases to be only an act that one performs and becomes part of the moral self" (p. 256). It is my position that the process of arriving at a forgiveness decision as outlined in my definition accomplishes exactly this. Advocating Forgiving

Within the context of my definition, I confess to being an advocate of forgiveness, it requires a careful consideration of the issue of justice within the context of the client's well-being in relation to his or her morality and larger community. The person who gains most from forgiving is the forgiver, with energy released to build a healthier, more loving, life. Probably the only reason to reject forgiveness is in order to serve justice by choosing to punish wrongdoers. Murphy (2002) questions whether someone with a strong commitment to retributive justice should be doing forgiveness counseling. I would argue that retributive justice is destructive when it contributes to self-perpetuating vengeance. On the other hand, there is a case against forgiveness, as in the work of those who serve justice by pursuing punishment for offenders who threaten the social good. Two questions are appropriate here: What is gained by resentment without action? What is gained by wishing perpetual misery on repentant sinners? I suspect that someone who harbors a sense of satisfaction in someone else's misery, for whatever reason, may not be the best qualified to counsel those with forgiveness issues. At the same time, those who cannot tolerate punishment as an option are equally disqualified.

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Cautions

To conclude that there can be no relief unless the offender confesses, asks forgiveness, and atones is poor therapy and of questionable morality, because it leaves clients in a state of helpless dependence on the person or persons who offended them in the first place. In effect it becomes a secondary offense. One of the costs of the offense has been loss of control for the victim, a control which cannot be regained if the sufferer depends for resolution on the behavior of a nonrespondent or perhaps even dead, gone, or unknown offender. If a goal of counseling is to increase mental health, facilitate the ability to deal realistically and comfortably with the problems of ourselves and our life situations, and live more adequately and productively as responsible members of the community, then forgiving is worthy of consideration as an option. It requires the ability to place blame squarely and accurately where it belongs, accept responsibility for our own behavior and moral position, and assess carefully the impact of our forgiveness decision not only on our own peace of mind but also on justice.

Notes 1. Pathways, edited by Wilma Derksen, is available from 134 Plaza Drive, Winnipeg, Manitoba, R3T SK9, Canada. 2. Mothers against Drunk Driving (MADD), P.O. Box 541688, Irving, Texas 75354-1688 (tel. 214-744-6233); Victim Offenders Mediation Association (VOMA), 143 Canal Street, New Smyrna Beach, FL 32168. 3. A Course in Miracles is a motivational course developed by the staff of the Foundation for Inner Peace (New York: Viking Penguin). It is described as follows by Jampolsky (1979): "A Course in Miracles consists of a 622 page text, a 478 page Workbook for Students with 365 lessons and an 88 page Manual for Teachers. The Course extensively develops the material presented here, plus additional related concepts, all in a spiritual context." The Foundation for Inner Peace address is P.O. Box 598, Mill Valley, CA 94942-0598.

References

Affmito, Mona Gustafson (1998). Helping with forgiveness decisions: A brief guide for counselors. Providence, RI: Manisses Communications Group. Affinito, Mona Gustafson (1999). When to forgive. Oakland, CA: New Harbinger Publications. Bangley, Bernard (1986). Forgiving Yourself Wheaton, IL: H. Shaw. Beattie, L. Elisabeth, & Mary Angela Shaughnessy SCN (2000). Sisters in pain: Battered women fight back. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky. Borysenko, Joan (Speaker) (1995). Meditations for forgiveness (Cassette Recording No. 278). Carson, CA: Hay House. Bule, James (1988, October). "Me" decades generate depression. APA Monitor, 18. Casarjian, Robin (1992). Forgiveness: A bold choice for a peaceful heart. New York: Bantam Books.

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Damon, William (1995). Greater expectations: Overcoming the culture of indulgence in America's homes and schools. New York: Free Press. Derksen, Wilma (1991). Have you seen Candace?Wheaton, IL: Tyndale House. Derksen, Wilma (1998). Naming the violence. Pathways. September, p. 7. Donnelly, Doris (1993). Seventy times seven: Forgiveness and peacemaking. Erie, PA: Pax Christi, USA. Droll, David M. (1984). Forgiveness: Theory and research. University Microfilms International. University of Nevada, Reno, 8424574. Enright, Robert D. (1995, March) The Psychology of Interpersonal Forgiveness. Paper presented at the National Conference on Forgiveness, Madison, WI. Enright, Robert D., and Richard P. Fitzgibbons (2000). Helping clients forgive: An empirical guidefor resolving anger and restoring hope. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Enright, Robert D., and the Human Development Study Group (1991). The Moral Development of Forgiveness. In Handbook of Moral Behavior and Development, edited by W. Kurtines & J. Gewirtz (Eds.). Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum. (Volume 1, pp. 123-152). Fisher, Eugene J. (1986). The forgiveness debate (Anthony Phillips's meditation). Christian Jewish Relations, 19(3), 57-59. Forward, Susan (1989). Toxic parents: Overcoming their hurtful legacy and reclaiming your life. New York: Bantam Books. Hargrave, Terry D. (1994). Families and forgiveness: Healing wounds in the intergenerationalfamily. New York: Bruner/Mazel Publishers. Hyde, Clark (1984). To declare God's forgiveness: Toward a pastoral theology of reconciliation. Wilton, CT: Morehouse-Barlow. Jampolsky, Gerald G. (1979). To give is to receive; Mini course for healing relationships and bringing about peace of mind. Triburon, CA: Foundation for Inner Peace. Jampolsky, Gerald G. (1983). Teach only love. New York: Bantam Books. Jampolsky, Gerald, Patricia Hopkins, & William N. Thetford (1985). Good-bye to guilt: Releasing fear through forgiveness. New York: Bantam Books. Krog, Antjie (2000). Country of my skull: Guilt, sorrow, and the limits of forgiveness in the new South Africa. New York: Three Rivers Press. Lanier, Jaron (1999, May/June). Interface-off. The Sciences, 39(3), pp. 38-43. Masterson, James F. (1981). The narcissistic and borderline disorders: An integrated developmental approach. New York: Bruner/Mazel Publishers. McDonald, H. Dermot (1984). Forgiveness and Atonement. Baker Book House, pp. 32-33. Mowrer, O. Hobart (1961). The crisis in psychiatry and religion. Princeton, NJ: Van Nostrand. Murder Victims' Families for Reconciliation (2000, Fall/Winter). Lawsuit challenges discrimination. The Voice 12. Murphy, Jeffrie G. (2002). Forgiveness in counseling: A philosophical perspective. In Sharon Lamb & Jeffrie G. Murphy (Eds.), Before forgiving: Cautionary views of forgiveness in psychotherapy. New York: Oxford University Press. Pingleton, Jared P. (1989). The role and function of forgiveness in the psychotherapeutic process. Journal of Psychology and Theology, 17(1), 27—35. Prager, Dennis (1997). The sin of forgiveness. The Wall Street Journal, Eastern Edition December 15. p. A22. Prager, Dennis (1997). In Simon Wiesenthal, The sunflower. On the possibilities and limits of forgiveness. New York: Schocken Books. 216-220.

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Sampson, Edward E. (1988, January). The debate on individualism: Indigenous psychologies of the individual and their role in personal and societal functioning. American Psychologist, 43(1), 15-22. Shriver, Donald W., Jr. (1995). An ethic for enemies: Forgiveness in politics. New York: Oxford University Press. Shweder, Richard A., Manamohan Mahapatra, & Joan G. Miller (1987). Culture and moral development. In Jerome Kagan & Sharon Lamb (Eds.), The emergence of morality in young children (pp. 1—82). Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Siegel, Bernie S. (1986). Love, medicine, and miracles. New York, Harper & Row. Simon, Sidney B., & Suzanne Simon (1990). Forgiveness. New York: Warner Books. Smedes, Lewis B. (1984). Forgive and forget: Healing the hurts we don't deserve. New York: Harper & Row. Smedes, Lewis B. (1996). The art of forgiving: When you need to forgive and don't know how. Nashville: Moorings. Solomon, Robert C. (1990). Justice and the passion for vengeance. In Robert C. Solomon & Mark C. Murphy (Eds.), What is justice? Classic and contemporary readings. New York: Oxford University Press. Tillich, Paul (1940). Shaking the foundations. New York: Simon & Schuster. Tutu, Desmond (1991). No future without forgiveness. New York: Doubleday. Umbreit, Mark S. (1994). Victim meets offender: The impact of restorative justice and mediation. Monsey, NY: Willow Tree Press. Umbreit, Mark S. (1995). Mediating interpersonal conflicts: A pathway to peace. West Concord, MN: CPI Publishing. Van Ness, Dan, & Karen Heetderks Strong (2001, January/February). Crime Victim's Report, 4(6), 81, 92-93. Wallace, Harvey (1999). Family violence: Legal, medical, and socialperspectives, 2d Ed. Boston: Allyn and Bacon. Wiesenthal, Simon (1997). The sunflower: On the possibilities and limits of forgiveness. New York: Schocken Books. Wink, Walter (1992). Engaging the powers: Discernment and resistance in a world of domination. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Wolgast, Elizabeth H. (1987). The grammar of justice. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Zehr, Howard (1995). Changing lenses: A new focus for crime and justice. Scottdale, PA: Herald Press.

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Forgiveness and Self-Forgiveness in Psychotherapy Margaret R. Holmgren

Both forgiveness and self-forgiveness are now receiving significant attention in the literature on counseling, and in my judgment, rightly so. There is much to be said in favor of therapists helping their clients to forgive themselves and others. Nevertheless, some authors have raised questions about the appropriateness of forgiveness and self-forgiveness, both in general and in psycho therapeutic practice. Jeffrie Murphy (2002), in particular, has raised important questions about whether therapists should always help their clients to forgive and self-forgive. (All further references to Murphy in this chapter are to this work.) With regard to interpersonal forgiveness, he asks whether there are cases in which the client would be better off and exhibit more selfrespect if he were to maintain a posture of resentment toward the offender, or cases in which the wrong done to the client is so heinous that it is simply unforgivable. With regard to self-forgiveness, he asks whether there may be cases in which the clients wrong is so extreme that self-forgiveness would be morally inappropriate. In cases of this sort, he also questions whether the therapist, who supposedly acts for the benefit of the client, should advocate self-forgiveness anyway, to improve the client's state of mind. These questions are important. They are also complex, as answers to them require an understanding of both the morality of forgiveness and the moral parameters of the therapist-client relationship. The conclusion that Murphy reaches with regard to interpersonal forgiveness is that no universal prescription can be given. In some cases it will be appropriate for the therapist to help the client to forgive, and in other cases it will not. With regard to selfforgiveness, he seems to adopt a similar position. In some cases it will be appropriate for the therapist to advocate self-forgiveness, but in other cases, when the violation is especially serious, it may be wrong for the therapist to encourage the client to forgive himself, even if the client's state of mind could be improved in this manner. 112

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In this chapter I offer a different set of answers to these questions. I argue that genuine forgiveness and self-forgiveness are always morally appropriate and desirable goals of psychotherapy for those clients who are willing and able to achieve these states. However, it is important to recognize that these states can generally be attained only after we have worked through a process of addressing the wrong. If we attempt to forgive ourselves or another prematurely, before the necessary work has been done, our forgiveness will be incompatible with our self-respect and respect for others. It will therefore be morally inappropriate. Further, it will not be genuine. Clearly there is a moral imperative for the therapist to respect her client's autonomy, and therefore she is limited in her work with the client by what the client is willing to do. There may also be real limitations as to what the client is able to do. But I argue that within these limitations, it is always desirable for the therapist to help her client work through the process of addressing the wrong. Once this process is sufficiently complete, but not before, it is also always desirable for the therapist to help her client to reach a state of genuine forgiveness or self-forgiveness.

The Therapist-Client Relationship

In order to determine whether therapists ought to help their clients to forgive or self-forgive, it is necessary to have some understanding of what therapists ought and ought not do in their work with clients. Let us begin, then, with a brief examination of the moral parameters of the therapist-client relationship that bear on our discussion. First, the therapist has an obligation to respect her client's autonomy. As autonomous moral agents, we all have both the right and the responsibility to determine which attitudes we will adopt and which decisions we will make (provided, in the latter case, that we respect the rights of others as we do so). The client, then, must make the final decisions about what kinds of attitudes and behaviors he will adopt and about what kind of work he will do in therapy. Some clients will enter therapy with specific short-term goals that do not include fully addressing a wrong, and others who have no specific agenda may simply be unwilling to address a given wrong or to consider the possibility of forgiveness. The therapist will be limited in her work with the client by his decisions on these matters. But to the extent that the client is genuinely open to the therapist's guidance, she can help him to shape his own attitudes, decisions, and behavior patterns. Second, the therapist has an obligation to act as an advocate for her client and to draw on her professional resources to promote his welfare. The therapist is a health-care provider and as such enters into a fiduciary relationship with the client that is similar in most respects to the physician-patient relationship. Beauchamp and Childress (1994) describe the latter as follows: "The patient-physician relationship is a fiduciary relationship—that is, founded on trust and confidence; and the physician is therefore necessarily a

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trustee for the patient's medical welfare" (p. 430). In the same vein, Daniels (1985) says, "The physician is seen as having entered into a relationship with a specific patient which binds him to acting in the best interests of the patient" (p. 135). Fiduciary relationships are distinct from contractual relationships. In contractual relationships the provider of a product or service is only required to supply the consumer with what he asks for, at the price they have agreed upon. Contractual relationships are considered morally insufficient when there is reason to believe that the provider could take unfair advantage of the consumer if she were only required to give him what he requests—for example, in cases in which the provider possesses specialized knowledge not possessed by the consumer and in which the consumer is in a vulnerable position. Fiduciary relationships make possible the provision of services that can take place only in an atmosphere of trust. Psychotherapy in particular requires a high level of trust between the therapist and client if it is to be successful, and this level of trust can only be maintained if the client is convinced that the therapist is centrally committed to the client's best interest. In promoting the client's best interests, then, the therapist is responsible for doing more than simply giving the client what he wants. She is expected to draw on her professional resources to give him direction as to how his welfare can be enhanced. Just as the physician is the trustee of the patient's physical health, the therapist is the trustee of the client's mental health. But what, exactly, is good mental health? Murphy identifies what he takes to be the goal of counseling (presumably good mental health) in the following passage: "I assume that counseling in general has as its goal improving the lives and functioning of clients—making them more viable in the primary areas (if Freud was right) of work and love. The ideal, I suppose, is that they should become happy, or at least, to cite Freud again, that their neurotic incapacitating anxieties should be replaced by ordinary unhappiness" (Murphy, 2002, p. 42). Given this conception of the goals of therapy, Murphy later suggests that there might be "a general tension between counseling (as client-centered) and philosophy (as truth/rationality-centered)—or at least a tension between counseling and global moral concerns" (p. 50). He points out that this kind of tension could arise if the client could be made happier, more viable, or less anxious by adopting a morally inappropriate or philosophically indefensible attitude or belief. For example, it could arise if a client would be less anxious and more functional in the areas of work and love if he were to forgive himself for a very serious wrong, when self-forgiveness in this case may be morally inappropriate. These remarks raise an interesting question that should be explored in much more depth than I can undertake here. However, I am inclined to believe that a conflict between counseling and global moral concerns will arise only if we adopt a shallow and inadequate conception of mental health. Even with regard to physical health, the substantial majority of authors have agreed that the concepts of health and disease are inherently value-laden. We cannot define physical health without reference to the value we place on various

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types of physical functioning. It should be even more clear that the concept of mental health is inherently value-laden. We cannot define mental health without reference to the value we place on various attitudes and behavior patterns, or on various mental orientations toward the world. Mental health is not easy to define, and I do not want to attempt a definition until I have acquired more of this commodity myself. However, it seems clearly mistaken to define mental health simply in terms of the reduction of anxieties and the enhancement of viability in the areas of work and love. Suppose there is a man who experiences chronic anxiety and performs poorly at work because he is afraid of being fired. He finds that he can reduce his anxiety and improve his performance if he robs convenience stores to build a cash reserve, and if he relieves his stress by verbally abusing his wife on the phone at regular intervals during the day. We would not describe such an individual as mentally healthy, nor would any therapist support this program as enhancing her client's psychological welfare. The inescapable fact is that we are moral agents, and functioning well means, at a minimum, functioning in accordance with our basic moral obligations, and with attitudes that are at least minimally decent from a moral point of view. In considering what constitutes her client's welfare, then, the therapist must respect her client as a moral agent. She does not promote his welfare by supporting him in morally unworthy actions and attitudes, however "therapeutic" they may be, any more than a parent promotes a child's welfare by supporting him in morally unworthy actions and attitudes. To respect her client's autonomy, the therapist must refrain from imposing her values on him and she must respect the limits he sets on what he is willing to do in the course of his therapy. But to the extent that the client is willing and receptive, a good therapist will encourage the client (either directly or indirectly) to respect himself as a moral agent. She will help him to develop and refine his own moral attitudes and to comply with his basic moral obligations. Further, she will do so in a nonjudgmental manner that conveys respect for the client and concern for his welfare and that does not undermine his trust in the relationship. I will argue below that there is no conflict between counseling and global moral concerns in the area of forgiveness. Genuine forgiveness and self-forgiveness do bring clients healing, release from debilitating emotions, and an improved ability to function, and just as important, they are always appropriate from a moral point of view. The therapist who helps her client to reach a state of genuine forgiveness or self-forgiveness enhances her client's mental health and at the same time respects his moral agency. Although I cannot argue the point here, I believe that the attitudes that are truly therapeutic— that give us lasting peace of mind and ability to function well—-are just those attitudes that embody the global moral concerns of respect and compassion for ourselves and others. A third obligation for the therapist is to respect her own moral integrity. She must be true to her own moral beliefs and refuse to undertake a course of action that she considers to be immoral. If she believes that it is wrong to

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bring a perpetrator of incest to a state of self-forgiveness, then she ought not do so. In this case, however, she owes it to clients to explain her position to them at the earliest appropriate point in their association, and it might be best if she could avoid working with this segment of the population. (I will argue below that a clear-headed therapist will not encounter this problem.) Finally, although their primary responsibility is to promote their clients' welfare, therapists also have specialized knowledge and experience that put them in a unique position to contribute to society as a whole. It is morally desirable for society to consult therapists regarding practices, policies, and general attitudes that will be beneficial to society as a whole from the point of view of mental health. It is also desirable from a moral point of view for therapists to consider these issues, and to support those practices that will enhance the general welfare. To summarize, then, the therapist has a fiduciary relationship with the client in which she acts as his advocate. She respects his autonomy by honoring his boundaries concerning what he is willing to do in therapy and by recognizing that he must make his own decisions and determine his own attitudes. Within these bounds, she draws on her professional resources to help the willing and receptive client make decisions and develop attitudes that best promote his mental health. This includes helping the client to respect himself as a moral agent. The therapist is also obligated to maintain her own moral integrity, and it is desirable for her to give some thought to the general practices and attitudes that will be most beneficial to society as a whole. In the remainder of the paper, I will argue that therapists can meet these responsibilities by helping willing and able clients to work through a process of addressing the wrongs they have suffered or perpetrated, and then by helping them to forgive or self-forgive. Internal Preparation for Forgiveness and Self-Forgiveness: The Process of Addressing the Wrong

My contention is that genuine forgiveness and self-forgiveness are always morally appropriate and desirable goals of psychotherapy for those clients who are willing and able to achieve them. However, it is important to recognize that these states can generally be attained only after we have worked through a process of addressing the wrong. It is at this point that both caution and clarity about forgiveness are required. If we attempt to forgive ourselves or others prematurely, before the necessary work has been done, our forgiveness will be incompatible with our self-respect and therefore morally inappropriate. It will be detrimental to ourselves and others, and it will not be genuine. I argue in this section that when a client has suffered or perpetrated a wrong, the first concern of the therapist must be to help him work through the process of addressing that wrong. At the same time, she must help him to avoid the pitfalls of premature forgiveness or self-forgiveness by encouraging him not to forgive or self-forgive until this process is sufficiently complete. By

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proceeding in this manner, the therapist promotes her client's welfare, enhances his self-respect, and respects his moral agency. She also helps to lay a foundation that will enable him to attain a state of genuine forgiveness or self-forgiveness. Let us consider interpersonal forgiveness and self-forgiveness in turn. Forgiveness

Bishop Joseph Butler (1986) explicates interpersonal forgiveness as the forswearing of resentment toward the offender. He describes what it is to forgive someone as follows: "to be affected towards the injurious person in the same way any good men, uninterested in the case, would be if they had the same just sense, which we suppose the injured person to have, of the wrong, after which there will yet remain real goodwill towards the offender." The person who forgives, then, transcends his initial attitude of resentment toward the offender and replaces it with an attitude of "real goodwill," in which he extends respect, compassion, and understanding to the offender and genuinely wishes the offender well. A brief comment is in order about the type of respect to be extended to the offender when we reach a state of forgiveness. We sometimes use the term respect to indicate a type of admiration. For example, we may respect or admire an outstanding musician, a person who exhibits great courage, or simply a person who does the right thing in a difficult situation. Offenders clearly do not warrant this type of respect for their offensive actions, and some of them will not be people we respect in this sense from a more general perspective. The type of respect at issue in forgiveness is the Kantian notion of respect for persons. According to Kant, all persons have intrinsic value and warrant respect in virtue of the fact that we are autonomous rational beings. We are moral agents, capable of moral choice, growth, and awareness, and as such we warrant fundamental respect for our personhood regardless of the actions we have performed and the attitudes we have adopted. Some people may suffer from mental illnesses or other conditions that actually render them incapable of moral choice. These individuals are not responsible for their hurtful behavior any more than someone who inadvertently strikes us in the middle of an epileptic seizure is responsible for her injurious behavior. Although we may have some work to do in adjusting to our injury, we do not properly speak of forgiving individuals in these cases. In order to be a candidate for forgiveness, an individual must be a moral agent, and as such will warrant Kantian respect for his or her personhood. Throughout this paper, I will be using the term respect in the Kantian sense. In some cases it may be appropriate for a client not to experience any initial resentment when he is harmed—such as cases in which the wrong is trivial, or in which the client has reached an advanced level of compassion for others. But in the large majority of cases that will arise in therapy, the client who has been harmed will have work to do in addressing the incident of

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wrongdoing. For the purposes of discussion, this work can be described in terms of discrete tasks. However, the therapist's work with the client is unlikely to proceed in such an orderly, discrete fashion. Nor need any of this work be explicitly directed toward having the client forgive the offender. I am not a therapist, but I would imagine that it would often be better not to discuss forgiveness with the client until most, if not all, of this work has been done. The manner in which the therapist proceeds to help the client address his victimization and the point at which she introduces the subject of forgiveness are clinical judgments that are best left to the therapist. I only want to suggest that the following tasks need to be completed if the client is to respect himself and truly forgive his offender. First, the client who has been wrongfully injured must recover his selfrespect and recognize that the act perpetrated against him was wrong. As Murphy points out, every act of wrongdoing carries with it the implicit message that the victim does not warrant a full measure of respect. In Murphy's words, the message is, "I count and you do not, and I may use you as a mere thing" (p. 44). The first undertaking for the therapist, then, is to help the client understand and appreciate the fact that he is a valuable person who deserves to be treated well and that the offensive behavior was not his fault. She must help him to recognize that the act perpetrated against him was wrong and to understand why it was wrong. Murphy raises some important questions about how the therapist might work with the client to help him establish his self-respect after the incident of wrongdoing. He recognizes that some clients derive self-respect from the religious belief that they are precious children of God, and that these clients may be able to overcome resentment toward an offender more quickly than others. But he asks whether this belief is rational and whether it should be presupposed by the therapist. He also asks how the therapist should counsel "those who lack such a religious vision and instead get their self-esteem in more secular ways, that is, in ways that are dependent to a nontrivial degree on how they are treated by others" (p. 45). Clearly the therapist should not presuppose that her client believes that he is a precious child of God. Many clients do not. If the client does happen to hold this belief, I see no reason why the therapist should not draw on it to help him secure his self-respect. The therapist's job is not to debate with the client the rationality of highly controversial philosophical beliefs. Instead, her goal should be to promote the client's welfare and to honor him as an autonomous being who must establish his own belief system. However, it is important to recognize that even if the client has no religious beliefs, there are many things the therapist can say to him to help him secure his self-respect. She can point out that he need not ground his self-respect in other people's attitudes toward him. Other people's attitudes and opinions vary radically, and they are often distorted by ignorance, prejudice, self-interest, substance abuse, mental illness, and a variety of other factors. Ex hypothesi, the wrongdoer's attitude toward the client was distorted; he did not deserve to be treated as the offender treated him. The therapist can help him to understand

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why this was so. She can suggest to him that all persons warrant equal concern and respect and have certain rights that ought not be violated by others, further insisting that the offender had no right to harm him. She can suggest to him that he has as much right to be on the planet as any other person, and that his needs, feelings, and interests matter very much. (These beliefs should pass any test of philosophical rationality.) If the client is psychologically incapable of grounding his self-esteem in anything other than other people's attitudes toward him, the therapist can at least encourage him to detach from the wrongdoer's defective attitude and to take more seriously the attitudes of other persons who have recognized his worth and treated him well. In any case, the therapist who helps the client to establish his self-respect after an act of victimization clearly promotes his welfare. It is important for him to have an accurate view of his own status as a person and to understand that he has certain rights that others must honor. It is equally important for her to encourage him not to forgive until he appreciates these points. As Murphy points out, it is bad for people to be rendered content in their victimization. If the client forgives his offender thinking that his interests really do not matter and that he probably deserved the treatment he received, then his forgiveness is incompatible with his self-respect and therefore morally inappropriate. Further, in this case his forgiveness is not genuine, as he is condoning the wrong rather than truly forgiving the offender for having committed it. Second, it is important for the client to acknowledge his feelings about the incident. The client who has been wrongfully harmed is likely to have a variety of legitimate emotional responses to the incident of wrongdoing—grief over his loss, anger toward the offender, feelings of betrayal, and other emotions, depending on the circumstances. It is important to his healing process that he allow himself to experience these feelings. (Other emotional responses, such as shame, self-loathing, excessive rage toward the offender, etc., will obviously not play the same role in the healing process.) The next job for the therapist, then, is to help the client to identify his feelings and to validate them, where appropriate, as normal, legitimate reactions to his victimization. These feelings serve to connect him with the reality of what has happened to him and to appreciate more fully the true nature of the wrong. The client's welfare and self-respect will be enhanced if he is honest about how he feels and if his feelings are validated. For a variety of reasons, the client may want to shut down his feelings and attempt to forgive his offender immediately. For example, he may believe that he has a duty to forgive or that forgiving the offender is the virtuous or Christian thing to do. He may believe that it is wrong for him to be angry at his father or mother, or at anyone at all. On some level, forgiving his offender may seem psychologically easier than experiencing his grief and anger in all of its intensity, or he may fear the consequences of acknowledging his true feelings. It is important for the therapist to encourage the client to avoid this sort of premature forgiveness. Not only does the client treat himself in a psychologically destructive manner by shutting down his emotions, he also fails to respect himself by deceiving himself

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about how he actually feels and by discounting his emotions as invalid and insignificant. This type of forgiveness is morally inappropriate, then, to the extent that it is incompatible with the client's self-respect. It is also not genuine forgiveness. To forgive is not to refuse to recognize one's negative feelings toward the offender. Instead it is to experience an actual change of heart in which these negative feelings are overcome and replaced on a spontaneous level by an attitude of real goodwill. If the client shuts his feelings down, he will not experience the true internal resolution of the issue that genuine forgiveness requires. Third, it may be important for the client to express his beliefs and feelings to the offender. He may need to tell the offender that it is not acceptable for him to be treated in this manner, that he feels hurt and angry about the incident, and so on. If the client does feel a need to speak to his offender, then it is important that he do so, unless this course of action would be harmful to himself or others. At this point, the therapist can help the client to make a good decision about whether to confront his offender, suggest to him different ways of expressing himself, and help him prepare for the various possible responses. If direct communication with the offender is not a good idea, she can also suggest psychotherapeutic techniques that can be practiced in a safe setting to help the client meet the needs that would have been served by direct communication. The therapist who helps the client in this manner clearly enhances his welfare and self-respect. Again, it is important for the therapist to encourage the client not to forgive until he has addressed this issue. If the client withholds something he needs to say, he fails to respect himself and fails to achieve the true internal resolution of the issue that genuine forgiveness requires. Fourth, the client faces the task of assessing his situation with respect to the offender, and the therapist promotes his welfare and self-respect by helping him to do so. The offender may have attitudes and behavior patterns that are likely to injure the client again in the future, and it is critical for the client to determine what steps he needs to take to protect himself from further victimization. It is also important for the client to take his own need for rewarding personal relationships seriously. If he has a personal relationship with the offender, he needs to consider whether there is a significant problem in the relationship that should be addressed or whether the relationship should be redefined or terminated. If the client is concerned about forgiveness at this stage of the therapy, the therapist can help him to understand that he can forgive the offender and at the same time decide to restrict or end the relationship between them. For example, a client could forgive his wife for repeated acts of verbal abuse and still decide to divorce her. He can understand the pressures that lead to her wrongful behavior, regard her with respect, continue to love her, and wish her the best, but at the same time decide that he no longer wishes to live in this manner. Here again, the therapist must encourage the client not to forgive until he completes this task. If he forgives the offender without considering his own needs for protection and rewarding personal relationships, he acts against his

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own best interests and fails to respect himself. Further, his forgiveness will not be genuine. By forgiving the offender blindly hoping that things will be different in the future, he extends an attitude of real goodwill to the person he hopes the offender will become rather than to the offender as she actually is, as genuine forgiveness requires. Finally, the client may face the task of determining whether he wants to seek restitution from the offender or to press criminal charges. Although restitution from the offender does not obviate the need for the client to work through his own internal healing process concerning the incident and cannot generate the same kinds of rewards, there will be some cases in which he is owed material compensation for his loss. As the client's advocate, the therapist can help him to understand in this type of situation that he has been wrongfully harmed and is owed restitution. To the extent that he is receptive, she can also encourage him to respect himself as a moral agent and to weigh objectively his own needs, the situation of the wrongdoer, and, when criminal charges are at issue, the needs of society as he makes these decisions. By helping him to recognize what he is entitled to and to make a morally sound decision, she promotes his welfare and enhances his self-respect. Again, if the client attempts to forgive before he addresses this issue, he fails to respect himself and fails to achieve the true internal resolution of the issue that genuine forgiveness requires. We have just seen that the client who has been wrongfully harmed must generally work through a process of responding to the wrong. The therapist who works to promote her client's best interests and to enhance his self-respect will help him to complete this process. At the same time, she will help her client to avoid the pitfalls of forgiving his offender before this process is sufficiently complete. Not only does the therapist enhance her client's welfare and self-respect by helping him in this manner, she also makes it possible for him to attain a state of genuine forgiveness, in which he attains a true internal resolution of the incident of wrongdoing without deceiving himself about any aspect of the wrong and without evading any of the issues he needs to address as a result of it. Further, throughout this process, the therapist honors the client as a moral agent by helping him to develop a morally appropriate respect for himself, as well as a basic respect for others.

Self-Forgiveness

The client who has wrongfully harmed another must also work through a process of addressing the wrong if he is to respect himself and attain a state of genuine self-forgiveness. This process is parallel to the process outlined previously and may be explained more briefly. It should again be understood that the way in which the therapist helps the client to achieve these results and the point at which she introduces the topic of self-forgiveness are clinical judgments that are best left to the therapist. For a client who feels very guilty about his offense, it may be best for the therapist to introduce the idea of self-

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forgiveness at the outset. A different approach will probably be indicated for a client who is cavalier about the offense or who fails to recognize that it was wrong. If the client feels terrible about himself and is overcome by guilt, the therapist must help him to recover enough self-esteem to address the tasks that follow. If he happens to hold this belief, she can remind him that he is still a precious child of God in spite of what he has done. In any case, she can tell him that he retains his intrinsic worth as a person, that all human beings make mistakes, and that it is possible for him to proceed with dignity and self-respect to address the wrong to the best of his ability. In addressing the offense, the client must first acknowledge to himself that the act was wrong and take full responsibility (where warranted) for having committed it. Further, he must recognize why the act was wrong and acknowledge to himself the victim's status as a person. It is important for him to understand that the victim has a moral status equal to his own, that she has her own needs, feelings, aspirations, and vulnerabilities, and that it was wrong for him to harm her. The therapist who helps her client perform this task acts in his best interest, provided that she proceeds in a nonjudgmental manner that exhibits genuine respect for the client and concern for the quality of his healing around this incident. There are two types of clients who might be inclined to forgive themselves without acknowledging the true nature of the wrong. The first is a client who is generally decent, but who rationalizes his behavior in an attempt to avoid responsibility for the particular act in question. A client who engages in premature self-forgiveness of this sort fails to respect himself by engaging in self-deception. He also deprives himself of the level of self-respect and healing that he could attain by honestly acknowledging the wrong, addressing it to the best of his ability, and then truly forgiving himself for having committed it. Here the therapist shows respect for the client and promotes his interests by drawing his attention to the fact that he is rationalizing. (Recall that in a fiduciary relationship the therapist draws on her professional knowledge to promote her client's best interests, rather than simply giving him what he asks for.) The second type of client is capable of dismissing wrong acts from his mind because he simply does not care that they are wrong. A client of this sort will be more difficult to work with, and again, the therapist is limited in her work by what the client is willing to do. However, to the extent that the client is receptive, the therapist promotes his interests if she can get him to respect himself as a moral agent and take responsibility for his own wrongdoing. The client will develop more fully as a person, have better interactions with others, and attain a higher level of self-respect if he can be helped to recognize himself as a moral being. In either case, the client who forgives himself before he acknowledges the nature of the wrong fails to attain a state of genuine self-forgiveness, since he condones his wrong rather than truly forgiving himself for having committed it. Second, the client must acknowledge the feelings that arise for him in connection with his offense—compassion for the victim, grief that he has injured

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her, guilt, revulsion toward the wrong and the attitudes that led to it, and so on. Again, it is important to distinguish between these legitimate emotional responses to the wrong and other inappropriate and destructive feelings the client may have, such as intense hatred for himself as opposed to revulsion toward his behavior and attitudes. The client's legitimate feelings serve to connect him with the reality of what he has done, and it is important that he allow himself to experience them. The therapist promotes his welfare by helping him to look at the incident of wrongdoing without shutting these feelings down and by providing support for him as he does so. If he attempts to forgive himself without acknowledging his feelings about the wrong, he will not attain the true internal resolution of the incident that genuine selfforgiveness requires. The third task for the client is to address the beliefs, attitudes, and behavior patterns that led to the offense. If he fails to do so, it is likely that he will perform a similar act in the future. Again, the therapist who helps the client to do this work serves his best interests. He will be better off if he learns to meet his own needs in a manner that is more functional and compatible with his self-respect. Here again, it is important for the therapist to encourage the client not to self-forgive before he makes a good-faith effort in this regard. If he ignores his problematic attitudes and behavior patterns, he is almost certain to experience more guilt and grief in the future. Premature self-forgiveness of this sort is not only incompatible with respect for both himself and others, it also fails to constitute genuine self-forgiveness. The incident will not be over for the client if he ignores the source of his problematic behavior, and he will not attain the true internal resolution that genuine self-forgiveness requires. The final task for the client is to make amends for the wrong. He must express his sincere regret for his wrong to the victim unless a direct apology would do her more harm than good. He must also offer restitution for any harm he has wrongfully inflicted on her or on others in the course of his wrongdoing. It is important for the client to consult the victim to find out what she needs or wants in terms of compensation for her loss. It is also important that he be honest with himself about how much compensation he owes. He must not shortchange the victim, but he must also not allow himself to be taken advantage of, humiliated, or degraded in the process of making restitution. The focus of restitution should be a positive contribution to the victim's life that compensates her as nearly as possible for the loss she has suffered. If it is beyond the client's ability to make full restitution for the wrong in the course of his life, then he must simply make a good-faith effort to do what can reasonably be expected of him under the circumstances. Although the client may not want to make restitution and may suffer a material setback if he does so, he has a moral obligation to compensate the victim for the harm he has wrongfully inflicted on her. To the extent that the client is willing and receptive, and to the extent that she can do so without undermining the client's trust in her, it is important for the therapist to

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encourage the client to respect himself as a moral agent and honor his moral obligation. Not only does this course of action enhance his self-respect at the deepest level, it also allows him to experience a true internal release from the incident. If he forgives himself before he apologizes to the victim and commits himself to the course of action he needs to undertake to make restitution, his self-forgiveness is incompatible with respect for himself and for the victim. Further, the incident will not be over for him and he will not achieve the true internal resolution of it that genuine forgiveness requires. Like the client who has suffered a wrong, then, the client who has perpetrated a wrong must work through a process of addressing the incident in question. The therapist who is concerned to promote her client's welfare and enhance his self-respect will help him to complete this process. She will also help him to avoid the pitfalls of forgiving himself before this process is sufficiently complete. By doing so, she makes it possible for him to reach a state of genuine self-forgiveness in which he attains a true internal resolution of the incident without deceiving himself about any aspect of the wrong and without evading any of the issues he needs to address in connection with it. Throughout this process the therapist encourages the client to respect himself as a moral agent. She helps him to honor his moral obligations and to develop a morally appropriate respect for himself and others. In this way she helps to lay a solid foundation for him to attain lasting peace of mind and to feel truly good about himself.

Genuine Forgiveness and Self-Forgiveness as Goals of Psychotherapy

We have seen that the therapist can best meet her fiduciary obligations to the client by helping the willing and able client to work through a process of addressing the wrong and by encouraging the client not to forgive or selfforgive until this process is sufficiently complete. Once this process is complete, the client has done what he needs to do to address the wrong. He can then step back and look objectively at the offender, whether himself or another. He can recognize that the offender retains his intrinsic value as a person in spite of what he has done and that he struggles with various needs, pressures, and confusions (as we all do), some of which may have been quite intense. He can come to understand why the offender did what he did, regard him with respect and compassion, and extend to him an attitude of real goodwill. At this point, if this perspective actually produces a change of heart in the client, he will have attained a state of genuine forgiveness or self-forgiveness. In this section I argue that genuine forgiveness and self-forgiveness are always appropriate goals of psychotherapy for those clients who are willing and able to achieve these states. Genuine forgiveness and self-forgiveness are always in the best interest of the client, and they are always appropriate and desirable from a moral point of view. Thus the therapist can maintain her own moral integrity and at the same time promote her client's welfare by

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helping him to forgive himself or his offender. Let us again consider interpersonal forgiveness and self-forgiveness in turn. Forgiveness

The client who reaches a state of genuine forgiveness will realize several benefits. He will benefit from the freedom and peace of mind he gains when the incident of wrongdoing is over for him and no longer rides on his mind. Making the transition from a traumatized, resentful victim to a person who is at peace and free of the past will also allow him to focus more effectively on his own positive pursuits. As a result, his life will be enriched and his selfesteem will be strengthened. If the client's offender is a family member or close friend, he will benefit from the release of conflict in the relationship and from being able to experience a more unadulterated love for the individual in question. Further, Enright's studies suggest that he will experience decreases in anxiety and depression and increases in self-esteem when he forgives (Enright, 1996). By way of contrast, living with a deep-seated or pervasive resentment for the offender will be debilitating for the client. His attention will be (at least partially) focused on the offender's wrongdoing rather than on his own positive pursuits, drawing him off center and infringing on his personal growth. He will have to live with anger and pain concerning the incident, and with ill will toward the offender. He will feel a lack of resolution about the incident, and he may become stuck in a victim mentality, in which he sees himself as relatively powerless and subject to persecution by others. Although the client stands to benefit from forgiving in all these ways, it is important that he not sacrifice his self-respect in order to forgive the offender. As we saw before, Murphy recognizes that the act of wrongdoing conveys the following degrading message to the victim: "I count and you do not, and I may use you as a mere thing." He goes on to say "Resentment of the wrongdoer is one way that a victim may evince, emotionally, that he or she does not endorse this degrading message; and this is how resentment may be tied to self-respect. This does not mean that the self-respecting person will never forgive; but it does mean that such a person might make forgiveness contingent on some change in the wrongdoer—typically repentance—that shows that the wrongdoer no longer endorses the degrading message contained in the injury" (p. 44). Murphy concedes that in some cases clients may be able to forgive unrepentant offenders without sacrificing their self-respect. However, he believes that there are other cases in which failure to resent is inconsistent with the client's self-respect, and that these cases "should be troubling to uncritical boosters for universal forgiveness" (p. 45). The uncritical boosters for universal forgiveness he has in mind seem to be Robert Enright and myself. However, I believe that Murphy and I are more in agreement than he recognizes. I am not an uncritical booster for universal forgiveness; I am an uncritical booster for unconditional genuine forgiveness. I believe that forgiveness is always appropriate and desirable from a moral

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point of view after one has worked through the process of addressing the wrong, but not before. As I argue above and have argued before, forgiving the offender before one has completed this process will be incompatible with one's self-respect and therefore morally inappropriate. It will also fail to constitute genuine forgiveness. Two of the cases that concern Murphy are cases that I have already discussed, and cases that we fully agree upon. First, I agree completely with Murphy that a situation is made worse, not better, when people are rendered content in their victimization. As I have argued, it is important that an individual not forgive his offender until he recognizes his own status as a person and recognizes that the act perpetrated against him was wrong. And second, I agree completely with Murphy that battered women should not forgive their offenders only to return to them for further abuse. Again, I have argued that an individual ought not forgive her offender until she has determined the steps she needs to take to protect herself and until she has considered her need for rewarding personal relationships. The client who has worked through the process of addressing the wrong will have completed these tasks and will not engage in premature forgiveness of this sort. Are there cases in which a client who has worked through the process described above would compromise his self-respect by forgiving the offender? I have argued that maintaining a posture of resentment after one has completed this process assigns far too much power and importance to the wrongdoer's confused opinions, and in doing so takes power away from the victim and undermines his self-respect. Enright has made a similar argument. Murphy responds as follows: "But surely this is not always the case. If the offender greatly wants to be forgiven by me and I am not much interested in forgiving him—at least until he repents—then it seems to me that in this case the balance of power is in my favor and not in favor of the offender" (p. 47). There is a sense in which Murphy is correct. If the client chooses to engage in an external power struggle with the offender, he may well gain the upper hand by refusing to forgive. But the question for the therapist and the client to consider here is whether it promotes the client's best interests and enhances his self-respect to engage in this type of power struggle. I would submit that the therapist does not promote her client's welfare or self-respect if she encourages him to spend his time and energy on such a pursuit. A power struggle of this sort focuses the client's thought and energy on the fact that the offender failed to respect him and did something wrong. It makes the wrongdoer's confused opinions and bad behavior the center of the client's attention. It further orients the client toward using resentment and rejection to manipulate the offender into acknowledging his worth, or at least toward attempting to dominate the offender in some way. These orientations will not enrich the client's life or serve him in any manner after he has completed the process of addressing the wrong, and the client does not evince a high level of selfrespect by adopting them. The therapist can truly empower the client and enhance his self-respect by encouraging him to step back from the power struggle with the offender. She can encourage the client to stop reacting to the

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wrongdoer's disparaging message about his lack of worth, and to take the more proactive stance of developing his own assessment of the incident. The client who has worked through the process just described will know that he is valuable and deserves to be treated well, and that the wrongdoer's actions and attitudes were inappropriate. If he then drops the focus on the wrong actions and attitudes and starts to think carefully about the wrongdoer as a person, he will recognize that the incident of wrongdoing really was not about him and his supposed lack of worth in the first place. Instead, it was about the wrongdoer's misguided attempts to meet her own needs. If the client looks at the offender with understanding, respect, and compassion, he will recognize that there is no need to engage in a power struggle of any kind. He can honor his own needs by maintaining healthy boundaries with the offender, and at the same time extend to the offender an attitude of real goodwill. Murphy offers a story that may help us to fix these ideas more clearly. The story is about Ralph, who was repeatedly sexually abused by his father when he was young. As an adult attempting to cope with the past abuse, Ralph changed his last name and broke off relations with his father. After years of separation, Ralph's father, without expressing any remorse for the serious harm he inflicted on Ralph, requests reentry into Ralph's life. His motive is to look more respectable to his new wife and children. Ralph's minister's approach to this situation seems to be for Ralph to disregard his own needs and feelings in order to fulfill his Christian duty to forgive. This solution is obviously incompatible with Ralph's self-respect. Murphy's suggestion is for Ralph to maintain his posture of resentment and rejection toward his father. Although this solution is preferable to the minister's, I believe that Ralph can attain a higher level of well-being and self-respect if he reaches a state of genuine forgiveness. If Ralph completes the process of addressing the wrong, he will know that he deserves respect, that his father's actions and attitudes were (and continue to be) terribly wrong, and that the truth of these points will not be affected by any kind of external power struggle. He can then drop his focus on his father's wrongful actions and attitudes and look at his father as a person. As he does so, he will realize that the sexual abuse really was not about his own lack of worth. Instead it was about his father's misguided attempt to feel as if he had some power and control, and quite possibly, to come to terms with similar abuse that was inflicted on him at some point in the past. Likewise, he will see that his father's current request is not about Ralph's lack of worth. It is simply a misguided attempt to gain the love and approval of his new family. Once Ralph has addressed these wrongs through the process suggested above, he can look at his father from this more objective point of view. He can regard his father with understanding, respect, and compassion; forgive him for his past and present wrongs; and extend to him an attitude of real goodwill. It is also critical for Ralph to honor his own needs, and as his advocate, his therapist must encourage him to do so. However, it is important to recognize that Ralph can honor his own needs at the same time that he extends an attitude of real goodwill to his father. For example, suppose that Ralph does not

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want to be used as a mere means to making his father look good in front of his new family. Further, he believes that given his father's current attitudes, he will almost certainly experience more pain if he reunites with his father at this time. These are very legitimate desires and beliefs, and they should certainly be honored. Ralph has every reason to be wary of his father, and to be unwilling to be used by him. The key point to recognize here, however, is that Ralph can set appropriate boundaries with his father to honor his own needs at the same time that he opens his heart to his father and forgives him. Ralph can feel real love and compassion for his father and wish him the best in his new family relationships but at the same time tell his father that he does not want to reestablish contact with him at this time. To forgive another person is not to do exactly what the other person wants you to do, at whatever cost to yourself. It is not to abandon all thought of your own needs, to ignore the reality of the other person's current attitudes and behavior patterns, or to reestablish contact or an intimate relationship with that person. Rather, to forgive someone is to extend an attitude of respect, compassion, and real goodwill to an individual in spite of what he is doing or has done. Ralph can establish any boundaries he wishes to set with his father to honor his own needs, and at the same time regard his father with understanding, respect, and compassion. At this point Ralph has nothing to gain from maintaining a posture of resentment and rejection. He evinces more respect for himself by setting his boundaries and then opening his heart to forgive his father. In this way he can let go of the focus on his father's wrong actions and attitudes and focus instead on his father's worth as a person, as well as on the other things that are truly worthwhile in his own life. If the arguments presented here are correct, then regardless of whether the offender repents and regardless of what he has done, the therapist promotes her client's welfare and self-respect by helping him to reach a state of genuine forgiveness. The question that remains to be considered is whether there are cases in which genuine forgiveness is morally inappropriate. If the therapist is to respect her own moral integrity, she cannot encourage the client to adopt a morally inappropriate attitude. Nor would she promote the client's self-respect or honor his moral agency if she were to do so. There are three deontological arguments that have been advanced to show that genuine forgiveness is sometimes morally indefensible. The first argument is that forgiving an unrepentant offender is incompatible with the victim's self-respect. We have just addressed this argument. The second argument holds that forgiving an unrepentant offender is incompatible with respect for morality. In order to respect morality, we must refrain from condoning acts that are morally wrong. Until the offender repents, she implicitly endorses her own wrong, and by forgiving her at this point, we condone the wrong as well. Therefore it is morally inappropriate to forgive an unrepentant offender. This second argument is easily refuted by distinguishing between the wrongdoer as a person and the wrong act she committed. When the client forgives an unrepentant offender, he condemns the offender's wrongful actions and attitudes but extends an attitude of real goodwill toward the of-

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fender as a person. In Augustine's terms, he hates the sin but not the sinner. Murphy, however, calls this distinction into question. He says, "It is hard to see how the distinction between sin and sinner can be drawn ... so long as the sinner remains psychologically identified with the sin. However, if he breaks the identification through repentance, then the distinction may be easily drawn; and this may be another reason why a strategy of making forgiveness contingent on repentance might sometimes be rational" (pp. 46—47). If it is actually impossible to distinguish between an unrepentant sinner and a sin, then it may be inappropriate to forgive an offender before she repents. However, it seems both possible and morally important to distinguish between a person and her actions and attitudes. A human being is not identical to the actions she performs or the attitudes she adopts. Last spring break I skied some double black ski runs, but I am not the skiing of these runs. I am rather the human subject of experience who felt scared, exhilarated, and very pleased to reach the bottom of the hill. I also currently hold an attitude of resentment toward the way in which a particular program is being administered, but I am not this attitude. Rather, I am the autonomous, experiencing subject who is struggling with this attitude and who will hopefully outgrow it in the near future. If we hold that an individual is identical to her current attitudes, then the concept of moral growth is rendered incoherent. For moral growth to take place, there must be a subject of that growth who first holds one attitude and then later replaces it with another attitude that is more morally appropriate. Further, it is critically important for the retributivist to recognize that if we hold that an individual is identical to her current attitudes, then the notion of moral agency also becomes conceptually incoherent. For the retributivist to hold that resentment or retributive hatred is the morally appropriate response to an unrepentant offender, he must hold that the offender is a moral agent who is responsible for her own wrong actions and attitudes. However, if an individual is identical to her current attitudes, then she cannot choose to hold those attitudes, nor can she choose to change them. Instead, she simply is those attitudes. In order for moral agency to exist, there must be an agent or subject who chooses which actions to perform and which attitudes to adopt. His Holiness the Dalai Lama (Gyatso, 1995) articulates the problem with equating the sin and the sinner and then hating the sinner in the following passage (although it should be noted that the Buddhist position on the mind is highly sophisticated, significantly different from Western conceptions, and in no way represented by my remarks in this chapter: "You can also reflect on how, if inflicting harm on others is the essential nature of the person who is harming you, there is no point in being angry since there would be nothing that you or that person could do to change his or her essential nature. If it were truly the person's essential nature to inflict harm, the person would simply be unable to act otherwise" (p. 79). To fail to distinguish between a person and an action or attitude is not only to engage in conceptual confusion, it is also to commit a moral error. It is to objectify that person in a manner that is morally inappropriate. For

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example, the therapist is not identical to the action of providing therapy. Rather, she is an autonomous, experiencing subject with needs, feelings, and aspirations of her own. If the client regards her simply as "provider of therapy" or "provision of therapy," he objectifies her in a manner that is very similar (but not identical) to regarding her as a mere means to his own ends. He fails to recognize and respect her personhood, and therefore his attitude toward her is seriously inadequate from a moral point of view. If we fail to distinguish between the unrepentant sinner and the sin, we commit the same type of moral error. By regarding the offender as somehow the same thing as the offense or offensive attitude, and then extending an attitude of resentment toward the conglomerate, we objectify the offender and fail to recognize her status as a person. Regardless of whether the offender repents and regardless of what she has done, she retains her personhood. She is both a subject of experiences and a moral agent with the capacity for moral growth, and as such, she warrants compassion and respect. It is therefore fully appropriate to extend to her an attitude of real goodwill. It is also worth noting that we do not engage in the conceptual confusion described above when we truly care about each other, and when our own egos are not implicated in the wrongful acts or attitudes. For example, the parent of a teenage child does not hate that child when she adopts a wrongful attitude or behavior pattern, nor does he continue to hate the child until she renounces this attitude or behavior pattern to adopt one that is more appropriate. Further, no sane individual would suggest that it was morally obligatory for him to do so. The parent does not find it impossible to distinguish between the child and the child's attitude. Instead the parent continues to love the child unconditionally, at the same time that he condemns the attitude. He cherishes the child as a person and does everything he can to help her outgrow the wrongful attitude and to develop attitudes and behaviors that are more appropriate and rewarding. The third deontological argument advanced to show that genuine forgiveness is sometimes morally inappropriate is that forgiving an unrepentant offender who is guilty of serious wrongdoing is incompatible with respect for the offender as a moral agent. In order to respect the offender as a moral agent, we must regard her as responsible for her own wrongdoing, and an unrepentant offender who is responsible for serious wrongdoing deserves retributive hatred. Further, justice demands that we give persons what they deserve. This argument can be refuted in much the same way as the second one. It is true that moral agents are responsible for their own actions and attitudes. However, it is much more difficult to justify the claim that unrepentant offenders deserve permanent resentment, or more formally, retributive hatred. This proposition is rooted in the same type of moral and conceptual confusion that we have just described. It is certainly appropriate to hate the actions of someone who is guilty of serious wrongdoing and to hate the attitudes that led to such acts. But the unrepentant offender is distinct from these actions and attitudes, and by equating her with them we objectify her and fail to re-

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spect her personhood. Like all persons, the offender is a subject of experience and a being with the capacity for moral growth, and, as before, warrants our compassion and respect. Therefore it is always morally appropriate for a client who is willing and able to do so to extend an attitude of genuine forgiveness to his offender. Justice does demand that we hold moral agents responsible for their choices, and that we require them to bear the burden of their wrongful behavior when this behavior creates burdens that someone must bear. Justice also often permits us to take action to protect ourselves from those who threaten our significant interests. But justice does not require that we hate sentient beings. If my reasoning has been correct, then genuine forgiveness is always an appropriate goal in psychotherapy for those clients who are willing and able to achieve this state. Once the client has worked through the process of addressing the wrong, reaching a state of genuine forgiveness serves his best interests and evinces and enhances his self-respect. Further, genuine forgiveness is always appropriate and desirable from a moral point of view. Thus the therapist who helps the client to reach a state of genuine forgiveness fulfills her fiduciary obligations to the client, respects his moral agency, and maintains her own moral integrity. Let us now turn to the question of whether genuine selfforgiveness is always an appropriate goal of psychotherapy as well.

Self-Forgiveness

In the case of self-forgiveness, it is more readily apparent that the therapist promotes her client's welfare and enhances his self-respect by helping him to forgive. The client who has worked through the process of addressing the wrong has done his best to deal with his wrong honestly and responsibly. Provided that he continues to work on the attitudes that led to his wrongful behavior, and provided that he continues to honor his moral obligation to make restitution to the victim, it is clearly in his best interest to forgive himself for the wrong. To remain in a state of self-hatred or self-contempt at this point would be debilitating. It would destroy the quality of his own life and undermine his ability to relate and contribute to others. The therapist will promote her client's welfare and enhance his self-respect if she can help him to regard himself with respect and compassion and turn his attention to his own positive pursuits. The main worry about genuine self-forgiveness is that it may be morally inappropriate. Again, there are three deontological arguments that might be advanced to challenge the morality of forgiving oneself. These arguments are parallel to the arguments used to challenge the moral appropriateness of interpersonal forgiveness, and may be addressed in much the same manner. The first is that genuine self-forgiveness is incompatible with respect for the victim. It might be argued that the client who forgives himself fails to respect the victim in that she is the one who has been wrongfully harmed, and therefore it is her prerogative to do the forgiving, not his. This argument is not

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persuasive. It is certainly the victim's prerogative to decide whether or not she will forgive the client, but the client is responsible for determining what his own attitudes will be. It is up to him to determine how he will regard himself in light of his own wrongdoing. The client can honor the victim's decision about whether or not she will forgive him, whatever it turns out to be, and at the same time decide to regard himself with respect, compassion, and real goodwill. It might also be argued that genuine self-forgiveness is intrinsically incompatible with respect for the victim when the wrong is very serious. To forgive oneself under these circumstances would be to dismiss the victim from one's mind too readily, after seriously damaging her welfare. This argument is not persuasive either. In order to respect the victim under these circumstances, the client must honestly acknowledge the full extent of his wrong and express deep and sincere remorse for having harmed her so severely. He must do everything that can reasonably be expected of him to help compensate for her loss. And he must continue to show great respect for the victim and concern for her welfare throughout his life if she is receptive to this kind of contact with him and if she is not seriously abusive to him in return. In no instance should he dismiss the victim from his mind. However, to respect the victim of his serious wrong, the client need not hate himself. To fix his attention on the fact that he did wrong and to dwell on this fact in a state of selfhatred or self-contempt serves no moral value after he has completed the process of addressing the wrong. Respect for the victim is a positive attitude that is focused on the victim. It is not a negative attitude centered on the client and his past moral performance. He respects the victim by transcending his focus on himself, by recognizing her status as a person, and by showing sustained and profound concern for her needs and feelings. The second deontological argument is that forgiving ourselves is incompatible with respect for morality. The argument holds that by forgiving ourselves, we condone our own wrong acts. Again, this argument is easily refuted by distinguishing between the person and the action that he performed. In reaching a state of genuine forgiveness, the client extends an attitude of respect and compassion toward himself as a person at the same time that he condemns his own act of wrongdoing. The client who has worked through the process of addressing the wrong has acknowledged that the act is wrong, understands why it was wrong, and has done his best to correct the attitudes and behavior patterns that led to his offense. There is no sense in which he condones his wrongful behavior. The third and final argument is that genuine self-forgiveness is incompatible with respect for oneself as a moral agent when the wrong is very serious. Again, the argument is that in order to respect ourselves as moral agents, we must hold ourselves responsible for our past wrongful behavior. When this behavior has been truly heinous, we deserve retributive hatred unto death. As we have already seen, this argument objectifies the wrongdoer, in this case the client, by failing to recognize and respect his personhood. Although heinous actions and attitudes warrant our hatred, persons do not. Whatever the client

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has done, he is a sentient being and a being with the capacity for moral choice, growth, and awareness. As such he warrants compassion and respect. Once he has done his best to address his wrong, it is appropriate for him to extend to himself an attitude of real goodwill. Further, if the client is to respect himself as a moral agent, he must exercise his moral agency in a responsible manner. In order to exercise his moral agency responsibly, the client must make choices and adopt attitudes that have moral value. To dwell on one's own past record of moral performance, either with a sense of self-hatred and self-contempt or with a sense of superiority, is an activity that is overly self-involved and devoid of any real moral value. The client will exercise his moral agency much more responsibly if he removes his focus from the fact that he did wrong and concentrates instead on the contributions he can make to others and on the growth he can experience in the moral and nonmoral realms. I conclude, then, that genuine forgiveness and self-forgiveness are always appropriate goals of psychotherapy for those clients who are willing and able to achieve these states. The therapist's first concern must be to help her client complete the process of addressing the wrong, and to help him to postpone forgiveness or self-forgiveness until this process is sufficiently complete. In all cases, after the client has completed the process of addressing the wrong, reaching a state of genuine forgiveness or self-forgiveness will promote the client's welfare and enhance his self-respect. Further, after the client has completed the process of addressing the wrong, genuine forgiveness and genuine self-forgiveness are always appropriate and desirable from a moral point of view. Therefore the therapist can fulfill her fiduciary obligations to the client, respect his moral agency, and at the same time respect her own moral integrity by helping the willing and able client to achieve a state of genuine forgiveness or self-forgiveness. At least with regard to forgiveness and self-forgiveness, there is no tension between counseling and global moral concerns.

The General Practice of Pursuing Genuine Forgiveness and Self-Forgiveness in Psychotherapy

A final point to consider is whether it is desirable for the therapist to support the general practice of helping clients to achieve states of genuine forgiveness and self-forgiveness in psychotherapy. Given her professional training, the therapist is in a unique position to help us determine which practices are most beneficial to society as a whole from the point of view of mental health. Although a thorough discussion of this question is beyond the scope of this paper, the arguments advanced so far support a general practice of helping persons to reach a state of genuine forgiveness or self-forgiveness. With regard to self-forgiveness, it seems reasonable to expect that everyone will benefit if therapists regularly help their clients to address their wrongs and then to reach a state of genuine self-forgiveness. Offenders clearly benefit from attaining a state of genuine self-forgiveness, as they are liberated from the

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debilitating states of guilt and self-hatred. It also seems clear that the interests of victims will be served if offenders are routinely helped to work through the process of addressing their wrongs in therapy. In this case victims will be acknowledged and respected by their offenders, and they will receive both apology and restitution for the harm wrongfully inflicted on them. Finally, it seems plausible to believe that the interests of society will be served if offenders are regularly helped in psychotherapy to work through the process of addressing the wrong. By acknowledging the wrong, addressing the attitudes that led to the wrong, and making restitution to those they have injured, offenders take responsibility for themselves and arguably become less likely to commit violations in the future. With regard to interpersonal forgiveness, I have argued that victims of wrongdoing will benefit if their therapists help them to address the offense and to reach a state of genuine forgiveness. They will be released from the debilitating states of hatred and resentment, experience more positive emotional states, and be able to focus more fully on their own positive pursuits. They will also be empowered to form their own assessments of both the offender as a person and the act of wrongdoing, rather than merely reacting to the offender's implicit claim that they do not warrant a full measure of respect. It also seems clear that society as a whole will benefit from a general practice of therapists helping their clients to reach a state of genuine forgiveness. This practice will produce more peaceful, respectful, and compassionate relationships among citizens. Will offenders benefit if the persons they have harmed are regularly helped to forgive them? They will certainly feel better and have more pleasant lives if they are forgiven. However, Murphy suggests that they may have more incentive to repent if they have to earn the victim's forgiveness, rather than receiving it unconditionally. I am not a psychologist, and I lack the expertise to address this question in any definitive manner. But speaking for myself, I find it easier to examine and correct my wrongful behavior in an environment of respect, compassion, and acceptance than in an environment of hatred, resentment, and rejection. My hope and expectation is that if we can systematically regard ourselves and others with the former set of attitudes, it will be easier for offenders to come to terms with their own wrongdoing. And more importantly, if we routinely regard offenders with respect and compassion, it will be easier for those who feel as if they might commit an offense in the future to seek help from their fellows. If so, then society as a whole will again benefit from a general practice of helping victims to reach a state of genuine forgiveness in psychotherapy. Note I have benefited a great deal in thinking about these issues from discussion with Jeffrie Murphy and Robert Enright. I am also deeply indebted to Lu Klatt, LISW, for a very careful reading of this paper from the perspective of a therapist and for many valuable, insightful suggestions that I have incorporated into the text. Discussions with my colleague Joseph Kupfer and with Maura Peglar, LISW, have also had a very significant influence on my thinking about this topic. For a more complete develop-

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ment of my position on the morality of forgiveness and self-forgiveness, see my articles, Holmgren 1993, 1998. Finally, I would like to thank Sharon Lamb for several helpful comments on an earlier draft. References

Beauchamp, Tom L., & James F. Childress (1994). Principles of biomedical ethics. 4th ed. New York: Oxford University Press. Butler, Joseph (1986). Fifteen sermons. Charlottesville, VA: Lincoln Rembrandt Publishing. Daniels, Norman (1985). Just health care. New York: Cambridge University Press. Enright, Robert D. (1996). Counseling within the forgiveness triad: On forgiving, receiving forgiveness, and self-forgiveness. Counseling and Values, 40(2), 107-126. Gyatso, Tenzin, the Fourteenth Dalai Lama (1995). The world of tibetan buddhism: An overview of its philosophy and practice. Translated, edited, and annotated by Geshe Thupten Jinpa. Boston: Wisdom Publications. Holmgren, Margaret R. (1993). Forgiveness and the intrinsic value of persons. American philosophical Quarterly, 30(4), 341-352. Holmgren, Margaret R. (1998). Self-forgiveness and responsible moral agency. The Journal of Value Inquiry, 32, 75-91. Murphy, Jeffrie G. (2002). Forgiveness in counseling: A philosophical perspective. In Sharon Lamb and Jeffrie G. Murphy (Eds.), Before forgiving: Cautionary views of forgiveness in psychotherapy. New York: Oxford University Press.

seven Forgoing Forgiveness Bill Puka

Before we forgive someone their offenses, we should consider the costs of doing so against the benefits, comparing this response with other ways to go. In this chapter I do so. The main pros and cons of a forgiveness critique are used to devise several alternative responses that avoid them and offer additional benefits as well. One such alternative is compared with forgiveness in detail. It looks forward in the relationship toward compensation and renegotiation, not backward toward restoration. To begin, I summarily credit the praise afforded forgiveness in our culture and, more recently, in contemporary psychotherapy and philosophy (Enright & Fitzgibbons, 2000; Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998; Holmgren 1993). Rather than being a simple virtue, forgiveness is a complex psychology dividing into several cognitive systems that evolve in several developmental phases much like the grieving process does. Its personal power is not limited to dispelling harbored resentments and fermenting self-liberation, though these are remarkable feats. Its interpersonal poignancy is not limited to bridging rifts and bringing heartfelt reconciliation. Rather, forgiveness can provide a general orientation to problems we confront in relationships, forestalling long cycles of resentment and self-stultification. It promises the increased sense of personal empowerment and expansiveness that comes from taking a situation in hand. Through the tenderness of its ministrations, forgiveness boosts self-esteem and self-respect. It garners a sense of "doing good" and of "being a good person" as a result. And this is not even to mention how it actually does good and expresses goodness admirably. Do these reputed assets establish forgiveness as a favored response to being wronged or to handling conflicts in relationships generally? Do they recommend forgiveness as a preferred psychotherapeutic tool? Not really, and the reason why is simple. There are many options to choose from: many "psychological techniques," interpersonal strategies, virtues, and abilities that 136

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promise the fruits of forgiveness or fruits comparable. Some promise more besides. Forgiveness may work well in some ways, in some contexts, and for some people. But even here there may be much better ways to go. The present discussion takes a much broader perspective on forgiveness than the psychotherapeutic context; thus, differences in prominent accounts of forgiveness do not concern us here. (Some of the distinctions put forward in this volume among forgiveness, pardoning, or excusing, for example, also are secondary here; we focus on forgiveness as it is in daily thought and life, not on "true forgiveness" in some intellectually partisan sense.) Surprisingly, taking this broader everyday perspective focuses us more pointedly on forgiveness itself. This is because prominent forgiveness advocates blur this focus as they go—whether depicting developmental forgiveness, psychotherapeutic forgiveness, or forgiveness as a general virtue. Rather they depict a variety of processes that often precede, accompany, intersperse with, and follow forgiveness. Some seem prerequisite to it, though this is unclear from the evidence presented. Forgiveness is prominently included in each chapter here, but only as a component or two, or as a thread running through. (Often the thread wears quite thin.) The thematic or integrating role of forgiveness in these processes seems injected by the authors or the characters they describe, without considering divergent interpretations. Most components or steps of forgiveness do not include any aspect of forgiveness or resemble forgiveness. (Expressing anger would be an example.) They often conflict with forgiveness in form, content, and intent. By contrast, a process of forgiveness should show forgiving qualities growing on a continuum or developing and integrating with each other in series. In depicting a "forgiveness process," the substance of forgiveness should not be confused with its background conditions, intervening variables, and the like. Also, inherent features of forgiveness (sufficient and perhaps necessary to the orientation) should not be conflated with typical but dispensable ones. Such confusions are illustrated below. The alternatives I offer overlap with many of the features in prominent "forgiveness" accounts. However, they exclude the actual forgiveness components, illustrating the advisability of doing so. If forgiveness is a preferable treatment or response component, by contrast, then eliminating it would either be worse, no better, or no great improvement. This is what prominent forgiveness advocates must demonstrate. An obvious point should be kept in mind as we proceed. Alternatives to forgiveness need not be withholding (unforgiving) or ungenerous. Their case would be unpromising from the start otherwise. Consider the scenario in which a friend has suffered a great setback. Instead of commiserating, we send her or him on an exciting vacation. We are unsympathetic here. We are not being "ungenerous" with our compassion simply because we are being generous through our pocketbooks; rather, we are focusing elsewhere. We are responding in a way that might be more likely to remedy the situation than share its sorrows. Still, withholding, like intolerance, can be a plus, depending on the context. Intolerance of rape is obviously called for, as is a withholding

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attitude toward one's body during the attempt. Nurturing a forgiving attitude at this juncture of such an offense, by contrast, is inappropriate and harmful. In Utilitarian ethics (which encompass "psychological effectiveness"), we are advised to do the best thing we can wherever possible. We try to maximize the good. In daily life, most situations present us with two or three main options. The best course seems to involve choosing the best among them. Forgiveness usually is pitted against a refusal to forgive or even forget. Here forgiveness seems clearly the better choice. But rarely should we confine our choice to the options presenting themselves. The best course is the best course, whether related to the choice posed or not. Responsiveness is usually called for in a situation, but sometimes not. Ignoring what "the world" presents to us so that we might pursue more fun possibilities often is the best course. While psychotherapists might argue that a "Let's talk this issue out" approach is best, I would like to argue that "Let's dance a tango and then fly to Venice" can sometimes be preferable. Flaws aside, providing this outsidethe-box perspective makes any "maximization" ethic of great value to us. Maintaining this perspective when scrutinizing a conventionally established virtue is of even greater value because it raises the burden of proof for champion as well as challenger.

The Faults of Forgiveness

To rate the alternatives to forgiveness I propose, we need first to set its assets as standards for comparison. A good alternative should liberate users from the yoke of harbored resentment, empower them in harmful situations and their lives generally, and bring reconciliation in fractured relationships. It should at least offer similar advantages within similar functions. An alternative should also involve fewer costs and dangers. Because any alternative has its own pros and cons, preferring it to others rests on weighing the seriousness of deficits in each and the significance of its benefits. No reliable method exists for doing so, but some attempt will be made. Psychologically, the drawbacks of forgiveness are obvious. Our attempt to forgive can cause us to suppress or repress lingering resentments rather than deal with them. This compounds the problems to be confronted by a course of psychotherapy, setting back its overall progress. Suppression can express or fuel denial, pushing back attempts to overcome ego-defensiveness in therapy. Rather than increasing our empowerment, forgiveness can cause a decreased sense of efficacy in controlling a situation. This can demoralize us, lower our self-esteem, and make us more vulnerable to depression. One need not be a psychotherapist to see the self-deflating potential of being a "sucker" in a relationship or situation. Yet these are only dangers, and diffuse ones at that. Even when botched, forgiveness does not itself shape these scenarios (as sufficient cause). Intervening factors must fall in line. If forgiveness is rendered ably, with therapeutic guidance, many such dangers can be avoided. Any approach can be mis-

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used as well, forgiveness included. Thus it is the inherent defects or drawbacks of forgiveness (if any) that should worry us most. One of these drawbacks is the enormous time and effort it can require— not the forgiveness itself, but the whole process leading up to and through it. This is hard to see in therapy, as in ethics. After all, forgiving someone can be a valuable learning experience, nurturing important personal outlooks and skills. Assuming that good psychotherapy takes several years, adding a longterm regimen of forgiveness alongside seems quite feasible. Its developmental phases are of a piece with the psychotherapeutic growth process. But if we view the great length of psychotherapy as testament to its crude mediodology and grasp on psychopathology, adding a forgiveness regimen to it seems outlandish. It adds the insult of a second regimen to the injury of the first, which drifts aimlessly, stagnates, and even regresses over the course of treatment— and at great financial cost. There are many other perhaps less time-consuming ways to develop the ethical traits it promises and learn the lessons it involves. We can nurture them directly, along with those traits that are more centrally targeted in current social and moral education programs. (So far as I know, forgiveness has never been proposed as a curricular focus for such programs.) Even more acute forms of forgiveness, aimed at discrete violations, can place great "burdens of commitment" on us. (This is important if it is admitted that forgiveness is but one element in so-called forgiveness development.) It is no easy thing to throttle our rage and then peel off our layers of resentment regarding a serious offense. It is not easy to warm up to an offender, nurturing a sense of understanding and mercy toward him or her. Forgiveness provides legitimate rage and resentment with virtually no place to go. (Here I refer to the forgiveness component, and not the release of anger component, of a so-called forgiveness regimen.) "Merely just" or righteous responses, by contrast, channels these emotions into demands and stands. A forgiveness advocate can claim that these other responses are part of a true forgiveness, just as disbelief, anger and the like are part of a true grieving process. Fine, one can say anything. But the reality is that disbelief and anger are prelude to grieving—typical prelude, but prelude nonetheless. They are not themselves forms of grieving in any way. Likewise, demanding accountability and compensation is no part of forgiving even if we claim that these "steps" first move anger to the side and then "trigger sympathy" (at the sight of an offender prostrate and penniless.) More serious and inherent problems arise for forgiveness on the ethical side. This includes the self-responsibility component of the psychological processes noted above. The most obviously defective tendency of forgiveness is self-exploitation. Exploitation In forgiving, it is not enough to forgo our just deserts and bear the consequences of an offense. We also must proactively do our victimizer good turns, from good motives. It is hard to see how being harmed could put these added

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ethical responsibilities on us or take away those of ethical self-respect. It is hard to see how putting such added responsibilities on ourselves is an appropriate reaction to the offense given and harm done. Whether our forgiving act is self-liberating, self-enabling, and self-elevating—whether it restores a cherished relationship or not—it may still mistreat us. Do we not deserve an apology when betrayed or harmed, along with some recompense? (Forgiveness is not conditioned on it and need not demand it— we need only consult our experience to see this.) Should we not sustain our sense of being wronged if we do not get the redress owed? And are we not complicit in our victimization if we let an offense pass or continue an abusive relationship? Out of fairness to ourselves we should fight an injustice in an ongoing fashion or discontinue the relationship. Of course, if an apology with recompense is forthcoming and our victimizer pleads for forgiveness as well, we might grant it. But what are we really forgiving here? (What are we really doing, in fact?) If someone has done all they could to "take back" the wrong they did us (resolving to forestall future offense), what offense remains in them? What is there left to forgive? In some cases, the pluses of a (forgiving) action can outweigh the deficits. A victim might acknowledge that she is in effect mistreating herself through forgiving, but might also exclaim, "Look at all I'm treating myself to in return." Still this need not make forgiveness right, merely justifiable. That is, it is always wrong to mistreat ourselves, but under some circumstances doing so might be the least harmful option available. The sticking point is the wrong or injustice involved. Wrongs are not simply a matter of bads or harmful consequences. They cannot simply be outweighed, along a continuum of benefit, by the good feelings gained from "using ourselves" in this way. Even just or generous compensation does not cancel out a wrong. Violating someone's trust or dignity is a wrong in itself. Its victim is wronged even if she "doesn't mind" or does it to herself. We certainly can give ourselves permission to mistreat ourselves and get away with it without complaint. But we should not give or use that permission. I assume also that we have duties to ourselves. These derive in part from the general prohibition against using an autonomous person as a mere object. An ethically adequate stance toward oneself must maintain the perspectives of subject/agent and object/subject simultaneously. We cannot assume that because we are freely using the same self being used that we are respecting our autonomy as recipient. Our recipient self, rather, is being used as a mere means whose assumed consent to this treatment is ethically illegitimate if "autonomous" otherwise. Kant (1964) himself saw that this way of thinking might render generosity an inherent form of injustice and so dismissed it outright. But why is generosity not unjust if there are not more others than the self in a situation, or no better reason to help one other person than to help ourselves? The choice of "other" is arbitrary here and discriminates against ourselves. (Psychotherapists are well aware that many of us find it easier to love and do for others than for ourselves.) Our sense that such kindness is noble and that self-interest is undue selfishness seems

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based on a perhaps Christian prejudice against self-pride and toward sacrifice for its own sake. A forgiveness advocate might argue, "But true forgiveness involves venting one's anger, getting apologies, holding offenders to just account, and the like first. So our eventual acts of forgiveness are not self-exploitative." Yes, fine. But why exactly are these prerequisites to nonexploitative forgiveness any part of forgiveness? Is it because you or the forgiver see it that way, possibly in retrospect? What other conceptual renderings of these processes, or their division into several processes, have been tried? And why are the ultimate forgiving acts recommended preferable to other actions we might take at that point, including letting the matter drop? unresponsiveness

A second ethical concern is whether forgiveness might fail to respond appropriately to the situation at hand. Forgiving someone is responsive to some aspects of a wrong done and its perpetrator. These are what it pardons, after all. Forgiveness also is expressive of personal understanding and a generosity of spirit that we might strive toward generally and in this case eventually. But at best these are secondary responses, not directly attached to the action itself or its objectionable quality. Forgiveness more or less ignores the wrong as wrong. And this puts it out of kilter on all fronts—ethical, psychological, and interpersonal. Forgiveness may (or may not) heal a fractured relationship, but it forgoes a transformative process that a relationship should go through before healing. It forgoes various positionings that a betrayed friend or injured colleague should maintain relative to the offending party, moving from victimization upward. Some of these will itch and be painful, like the healing of a physical wound. And some may seem to make the offense worse before it gets better. When accusations are made and borne, bitterness expressed and heard, both parties can feel worse. So can the initial rejection of admissions made— "That's not sufficient; it's too little too late." These "negotiations" must preceed healing, it seems. Psychologically they clear away aspects of the infection and the infecting agent of offense. A sincere apology requires truly admitting to ourselves what we have done. Admitting to the victim is not enough. Sincere forgiveness requires a similar flirtation with the options and a clearing away of shadows. Only when we have freed our bad feelings, allowing them to vent, can a pardon come fully from the heart. But venting bad feelings is not a form of pardoning, and the nasty interactions compatible with the reposition process I imagine here may preclude pardoning completely. Presumption and Hegemony

A third ethical concern is raised by the sometime arrogance of forgiving. Forgiveness indeed can be met with derision or offense even when asked for. This

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reaction seems the height of perversity, treating full-hearted generosity with shameless disdain. But ridiculing reactions may reflect a dark side of forgiveness that grateful reactions miss. It may be a hidden arrogance in forgiveness, not nobility, that fuels its personal empowerment, and this may be worrisome in therapy. Forgiving someone presumes the power and authority to forgive. This elevates the forgiver relative to the entreating recipient. In asking forgiveness of us, others put themselves in a disabled position and we realize this potential for them when forgiving. (Some forgiveness advocates hold that forgiveness requires a sense of equality, but this runs in the face of common experience.) Contrast this "uplifted" response with one that uplifts. "You do not need my forgiveness; all the resources and ability you need to handle this situation reside in you." In forgiving, we do not show this sort of respect or generosity. Instead we "save our entreator's soul" by fiat—with a wave of our hand. At least we can forgive in this way. True, forgiving requires great inner struggle, often battling demons of hatred and resentment. We may have only the kindest of intentions, hoping to relieve guilt and regret with a forgiving balm. But while these inner processes deserve credit, the way we are showing them (in orienting to and treating our recipient) bears scrutiny. The very concept, "fore-give" signals presumption and preemption. It does not require negotiation or mutual decision, but can preclude them. No necessary sharing of perceptions is involved, no course of communication that comes to mutual understanding, no necessarily joint evolution of a solution. We sometimes are free to add these practices to our forgiving process, but we do not need to. A forgiver summarily pardons the offense involved, sometimes before "getting into it," and its offensiveness is then supposedly gone. Sometimes we do not even think to add relational features to our forgiveness. Consider forgiving someone in the privacy of our hearts—or in the co-conspiracy of a therapy session. Here we are doing something with ourselves only, for ourselves. It can be a masturbatory virtue in which we may use another as a fantasy object. (Many forgiveness advocates recognize these points and shape their conception of "true forgiveness" to handle them. But here I am talking of actual forgiveness.) Even when asked, how can we grant a request to forgive? What makes us think that it is within our purview? We can say, "Let's just forget it," or "Let it pass." We can promise to overlook the offense or not hold it against someone: "You and I are fine." But we cannot really forgive what the offender did, or that he did it. We can not forgive its being done to us or the harmful impact it had. A time machine would seem necessary for that, but, paradoxically, it would in fact preclude forgiveness. So are we then forgiving the rift between us, or our offender for having created it? A joint process would seem necessary for that—for repairing or advancing the relationship. Behind the sincere self-effacement of the forgiving act, then, lurks a kind of structural smugness. (Recall the composer Salieri in the film Amadeus, forgiving his fellow asylum inmates for their mediocrity as he wheeled past.) As

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a narrativist might effuse, being divine, forgiveness resists our attempt to arrogate its power and brands us with the sin of pride. Religious instances often are held up of innocents forgiving their condemning enemies or executioners as they go off. ("Forgive them for they know not what they do.") This seems the noblest of acts when we focus on the compassionate self-expression involved. But doing so ignores the ongoing miscommunication involved. Typically the offenders in question have not asked for forgiveness; it is the last thing they want. They see what they are doing as right and noble, thus there is nothing to forgive. The act of forgiving them does not appeal to their conscience, nor even try. It does not show the slightest consideration of their perspective on the matter. Rather, it presumes to judge their possibly righteous position unilaterally as a crime. To allow forgiveness to be thrust on them in this way, the offenders would tacitly be accepting this judgment. They do not. Alternative Responses

The alternatives I now present are designed to be less limited in scope and appeal than forgiveness. Thus they start with an edge. Four alternatives are noted—ranging from minimalist to lush. Only one is analyzed comparatively in any detail. Focus Facing Up

In the Focus Facing Up approach, the victim vents her legitimate anger, resentment, and incredulity on the offender. This is done in the least harmful way possible. The aim is primarily to show him what he has done, spurring his regret. She then may either depart, to continue her diatribe later, or continue, trying to mollify her rage in the attempt. Eventually she discusses different ways of interpreting the offense with the offender. This acknowledges that she may be exaggerating the wrong and harm done, but also that she may be underrating it. The victim now waits for signs of penitence, including apologies and explanations. Where they are not forthcoming, she makes a request and demands them if necessary, asking that the offender face up to what he has done and take his medicine. She also expresses her doubt that any form of compensation can be sufficient and that she does not trust her offender to come through. Finally, she specifies a schedule of compensation that he might undertake. If he keeps to schedule she relents, beginning to credit his efforts and accept the prospect of reconciliation. If he does not, she perhaps breaks off the relationship (or forgoes further encounter), noting that his failures are responsible. But he still owes her for what he did. It would be remarkable if such a hard-nosed response could rival forgiveness. It certainly trumps forgiveness on the justice or righteousness dimension, helping the victim pursue "proper revenge." But it has the potential for additional harm to both offender and victim. (In the latter case, a few might

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see her coldness as "bringing herself down to his level," allowing the offense to offend twice. That is, it makes her act less humanely than she normally would.) Being so hard-nosed could lead to guilt and a sense of self-doubt or self-deflation. This could lead eventually to blaming herself or excusing the offender for his crime. This approach is less likely to bring out the best in either party or foster reconciliation between them. In fact, its demanding quality may sabotage the attempt, causing the offender to be defensive and self-justifying. Most striking, this approach lacks generosity of forgiveness on any level. It is far from admirable, and it lacks poignancy at every turn. While it is difficult still to assess the overall pros and cons here, let us assume that this response can not rival forgiveness. Doing so provides a benchmark against which to assess other alternatives. However, we must recognize that any "merely just" response to an offense can be amended by acts of generosity elsewhere. We hold our offender accountable because of his offense. This makes sense. But then we show understanding and helpfulness to others, because they need it and are innocent of offense. There is no reason to think that we must cover all moral bases in a single response to a single individual. If holding accountable is the appropriate response to offense, then understanding and charity is the appropriate response to need or suffering. And we should bifurcate our response, not mixing up the two contexts. Even devout Christians recognize the bizarre quality of meeting offense with kindness—turning the other cheek or being a good Samaritan to robbers. But we can indeed turn the other cheek of ethics here by putting the generosity of forgiveness in the hands and hearts of those who call out for help and understanding. Everyone gets what they deserve in both ethical senses, fairness and benevolence. Great good is done where it is most needed and with typical poignancy. And we can feel very good about ourselves for what we have done. Despite the drawbacks remaining, this bifurcated approach can cause the minimalist Facing Up approach to rival forgiveness, or come close. But again, this requires more detailed analysis. Focus Compensation

In the Focus Compensation approach, I assume that the offense committed is recognized as regrettable by both offender and victim. I assume also that the offender is seeking to be "let off the hook." Seeing this, the victim suggests that she does not have the power to erase or excuse the offense. It is also inappropriate that she be asked to take the lead in setting things right. She notes, however, that gestures of apology are welcome, especially if they reflect clear and concerted attempts to compensate for harms done. This provides credibility to expressions of regret and requests to be forgiven; they "earn" an offender the "right" to ask. And if his earning is sufficient, it eliminates the need to ask. To match the poignancy of forgiveness, this alternative requires artful communication. The victim must show her devastation in being betrayed or violated. The penitent offender must show true pain at the sight of

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the pain he has caused. Then pledges must issue from both sides regarding their sincere openness to reconciliation. While more likely to rival or surpass forgiveness than "facing up," this alternative remains unilateral in form. The victim holds all the cards and sets all the ground rules. If reconciliation is achieved it is hers, not theirs. Let us move straightaway then to a variant of this alternative that removes this shortcoming. Focus Partnering

Through Focus Partnering, the response works from both sides as a form of interaction. The offender starts by merely informing the victim that he deeply regrets his offense, but recognizes that his mere presence may be noxious to the victim. He may ask if he should stay away for a certain period before coming back to hear her out, apologize, and try to make amends. He makes it clear that he deserves to be told off in no uncertain terms, perhaps even screamed at. He admits also that no apology is sufficient and there may be no way to make up for what he did. At a subsequent encounter, the offender again asks permission to communicate with the victim. Apologies and explanations flow in profusion and a request is made to make amends. If the victim is open to this, some ways of compensating are suggested and solicited. In this scenario, the victim shows an initial reluctance to talk, making her devastation and the rift created clear. But she does not hastily vent her anger on the offender. She agrees to an eventual meeting to talk. There she communicates to the perpetrator the negative impact of his offense and the range of reactions she had to it. She expresses her anger, resentment, and disbelief that he could do what he did. Then she holds him to account. He begins by saying that there is no justification and likely no sufficient explanation of his behavior. But he tries his best to convey his own insights into his offense. He agrees with the victim that his explanations are poor and incomplete and conveys her dissatisfaction. The offender solicits other negative feelings she may have, all the while listening intently, showing understanding, and bearing the brunt of her negative feelings. The offender asks whether the victim is now open to considering ways he might show his regret and prove his resolve to make amends. He then proposes things he might do and asks for the victim's suggestions. She listens intently, expressing some dissatisfaction and skepticism and some willingness to go along. They then jointly set the conditions for making amends. She also acknowledges that it is not impossible for things to be set right and for their relationship to continue—though she cannot imagine it at present. From here, the victim monitors the offender's attempts to compensate. She expresses recognition or appreciation when they are sizable and tries to be won over by them. The victim might even ask help from the offender in pursuing this cause. The pair continues from there, perhaps to reconciliation, perhaps not.

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This alternative response evolves the sort of generosity and benevolence found in forgiveness. But its basis is not self-discretion. Rather, legitimate self-expression and joint understanding ground it, along with just deserts when the offender carries through. A wider range of goals is achieved in this focus than in forgiveness—holding the offender to account, venting anger, and the like. Both parties are afforded the opportunity to do good and be generous, which opens the door to poignant interchange. Should their efforts succeed, forgiveness would be rendered unnecessary. We turn now to an alternative response that takes a totally different tack. It suggests how rich the field may be for supplanting forgiveness with better responses. Focus Elsewhere

In the Focus Elsewhere approach, the victim vents about having been sorely mistreated, with a focus on "cooling down" or "getting over." The key aim here is in easing the offense's grip so that its injury is not repeated and perpetuated through victimization. In dealing with the offender, she gives short shrift to the offense, suggesting that he do the same. They agree to partner in the attempt. The victim offers an assessment of where things stand now and seeks one from the offender. She then notes where they stood before, citing how much has been undone by the offense and how much might never be recovered. This serves many purposes, including "just revenge" or "rubbing it in." It is important that they get a joint view of where they are now starting back from and that the victim sets these parameters initially. Since they can not undo the past, the victim suggests that they look ahead instead and start moving forward, either apart or together. Victim and offender discuss plans for setting out with a clear sense of limits. (There is no going back, no chance at full restoration.) Still, they focus on how to turn disadvantage to advantage. What has this rupture taught them? In what ways had they fallen into relationship previously, falling into mutual trust as well, rather than building it? And how can they proceed more carefully now, according trust as it is merited? This approach sidesteps the formidable problems involved in recovering lost relationship or lost innocence. It is duly partnered and thus likely to produce a variety of promising strategies for moving ahead. It pulls for optimism and builds on any that comes forward. It also has the potential to either recapture what should be maintained or create something better. The victim holds onto her sense of injury here, starting out. "Looking forward" does not imply "looking away" or "ignoring." No therapeutic regimen of self-transformation is required, and no transformation that occurs is found chiefly in imagination or fantasy. The focus is on practice, and joint practice at that. Focus Elsewhere provides many avenues for sublimating the initial dynamic of anger and resentment. This helps prevent it from festering in the victim and wrecking further havoc on the situation. Where this does not happen, specific plans can be laid to deal with it as a pair. The offender is held to ac-

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count through indirection, in piecemeal fashion, making responsibility-taking more palatable. The victim can reap compensation (of a "get-back" sort simply) by placing limits on their plans. "What you did to us makes this necessary." And trust can build between victim and offender as it is earned. Making the Case

We now take up one of these cursory comparisons with forgiveness in detail. Hopefully this provides an inkling of how a full account would go forward in this one area. I believe the final alternative, Focus Elsewhere, is strongest; thus I'll "argue for" Focus Partnering instead. Showing the superiority of a less than optimal alternative to forgiveness makes the case for alternative responses stronger. Our standards for comparison fall into four main groups: (1) the positive goals of forgiveness that Focus Partnering must approach or accomplish; (2) the flaws in forgiveness that Focus Partnering avoids; (3) defects in Focus Partnering that must be rebutted; and (4) additional assets that Focus Partnering achieves while forgiveness does not. The Focus Partnering approach achieves the chief goals of forgiveness as follows. Self-Liberation. This focus allows us to liberate ourselves from harbored resentments in a straightforward, proven way. We vent our legitimate grievances in a context designed to get them heard. This improves on the inner "mental-enactment" liberation provided by forgiveness in most contexts. It offers actual liberation—interpersonally effective liberation. Focus Partnering also preempts the many dangers of denying, suppressing, or harboring resentments. We do not forsake our interests or feelings for the sake of "being done with it" or reconciling. Sympathetic Understanding. Focus Partnering nurtures a joint sense of understanding through negotiation between the victim and offender. Different perceptions are shared and consensual interpretations reached. This is the sort of interplay most likely to spur empathy between them. Both understanding and empathy are earned here through joint effort. They thus have greater meaning and worth for both victim and offender. By contrast, forgiveness can occur without any mutuality or negotiation and is often considered most noble in this form. A recipient need only accept the pardon granted, if that; he need not understand why it is granted or learn from its bestowal. He need not even admit his offense or grasp the harm he caused. (Forgiveness advocates might not wish forgiveness to proceed in this way, but it does.) Self-Empowerment and Esteem. Though Focus Partnering shares power between the victim and offender, the victim stands up for herself from the first. And she continues to do so all along the way. She pursues her expectations across the full range of legitimate claims—interpersonal responsibility, self-respect, accountability for harm, and just recompense. Indeed, in Focus Partnering, the victim has the offender stand up for her as well. The

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forgiveness orientation is less self-assertive and more other-enhancing, for the most part. Still, the staunchness of this focus does not preclude giving and generosity, far from it. The victim shows herself open to suggestions from the offender, willing to listen and talk with him, and willing to try out various prospects. She even reaches out to him for help in increasing her generosity of spirit as they go, but her generosity partners with offender merit. Both just and benevolent orientations are fully served in this focus. As the offender repairs the rift he has created in their relationship, the victim's generosity rises accordingly. The generosity of this focus shows itself in the way in which it can be grounded on some improvement in the relationship. This in turn fosters trust. As compared to being forgiven his offense, earning his way back invests the offender in the resulting relationship. The victim is less likely to be taken advantage of as a consequence. Each of these factors is likely to boost self-esteem for the victim. She does not give in or give up, yet she gets to give. Forgiving, by contrast, surrenders control, especially in an unresolved situation. (The fairness factor is inevitably unresolved.) This all but guarantees that the victim takes advantage of herself. Doing so ferments self-doubt and self-disappointment: "Why do I do these things to myself?" Forgiveness, by its faults ironically, makes a stronger showing than it should in this area. As noted, forgiveness can be issued unilaterally and preemptively. Thus it can seize control of a situation for the victim more firmly than partnering can. It is certainly self-empowering to resolve a conflict by pronouncement—with a wave of the hand. But this additional "divine" quality of forgiveness seems anything but desirable. Benevolence. While Focus Partnering allows for generosity, forgiveness clearly overflows with it. Holding someone to account and demanding one's due are not generous-minded practices, whether they lead to forgiveness or not. They judge, they accuse, they make the offender squirm. And they may set off cycles of defensiveness and mutual recrimination. Asserting what is right and fair often conflicts with kind-hearted sentiment. For this reason Focus Partnering can not compete with fairness on this dimension judged on its own, but it can claim an ethical edge overall. What Focus Partnering forgoes in do-gooding, it more than makes up for in fairmindedness and self-responsibility. To see this, imagine rating these two alternatives across the main categories and standards of ethics. While Focus Partnering makes a strong showing in each, forgiveness all but defaults (or can default) in the areas of fairness. Recall that benevolence has two sides, kindly intent and good effect. Focus Partnering promotes great benefits even when it is being demanding and showing self-regard. Recall also that yielding benefits can not compensate sufficiently for doing wrong. This includes the wrong of letting oneself be taken advantage of, or assisting in the process. Forgiveness does not simply surpass just deserts in "going that extra mile," but forgoes it. It veers to one side of the path, leaving the other untrodden. Poignant Reconciliation. Forgiving someone or being forgiven can be a deeply moving, life-changing experience. A tearful, long-wished-for reconcil-

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iation can hold more meaning and value than perhaps any other encounter in human affairs. This is another divine quality in the character of forgiveness. This admitted, being forgiven also can be experienced as a joke by the recipient of such forgiveness. Much of the drama here may come from taking things too seriously. Surely much of the drama comes artifactually, from the coalescence of "many things leading up to" something or from the surprise sprung. The climactic, peak experience achieved is less about forgiveness itself than the way the encounter played out, in which it was embedded. Much of the meaning and value we ascribe to the forgiving reconciliation derives from a presumed mutuality in the reconciling process. In forgiveness, however, this mutuality is often more presumed than actual. In Focus Partnering, by contrast, it is the focus. Mutual negotiation is not likely to produce a moving peak experience, crystalizing perhaps years of process and effort preceding it. It is work, not drama. It resolves itself gradually with many frustrations along the way. However, it promises many insights and emotional movements, achieving real understanding and relationship as it goes. Forgiveness itself cam rarely boast of such accomplishments. It may do nothing for a relationship except create a false impression that one exists or has been resurrected. The deficits avoided in Focus Partnering include exploitation, unresponsiveness, and presumptive hegemony. Focus Partnership seems designed to avoid the deficits of forgiveness. Joint decision making is an ideal antidote for unilateral choice. Calling an offender to task is ideally responsive to the offensive part of an offense. So is seeking compensation. And obviously if we "get ours" in all these ways, we are not allowing ourselves to be exploited. These points need not be belabored. It is still worth emphasizing that while forgiveness seems to surpass "mere justice," it only does so on one of two major dimensions. Like any form of benevolence, it has goodness covered. But it doesn't really go beyond the call of duty because duty has two many faces-one turned toward goodness, the other turned toward fairness. Forgiveness often flouts duty or responsibility while stretching its benevolent wings, going too far and not far enough simultaneously. There are some possible deficits of the Focus Partnering approach. Consider a worst-case scenario for Focus Partnering: Initially the victim is unyielding, unwilling even to talk to her offender. He is made to grovel despite his gestures of apology and offers of recompense. Her unresponsiveness to his overtures are meant to hurt him, to drive in the needle of guilty conscience, to "make him suffer as I suffered." Rather than eventually responding to his initial overtures, she makes him come begging again, seeking her permission simply to discuss the terms. This discussion is used to "let him have it" with a barrage of angry and exaggerated accusations. Defensiveness results, leading to heated argument and greater alienation between them. The victim could have been at least understanding initially, if not generous. She could have volunteered motivations that she herself has harbored in the past that might precipitate such an offense. Instead, she is defensively self-aggrandizing. She insists on an accounting, on making the offender "feels her pain." Through

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focus partnering, though the offender hears her complaints, bears the brunt of her bitterness, and apologizes abjectly, the victim is still not satisfied. She still lacks the generosity of spirit to excuse the offense, demanding her pound of flesh instead. This scenario seems appropriately if exaggeratedly negative, raising far more faults with a compensation strategy than were raised against forgiveness above. I present these faults summarily because each may seem weak on their own. And I respond summarily to them as well. First, Focus Partnering must concede the problems noted as dangers. Some of them are serious dangers, such as taking out resentments on an offender under the guise of simply asking for an explanation. In my experience, this danger is more serious than, say, the self-recrimination following the hasty forgiving of an offense. Especially within an ongoing regimen of forgiveness, the act of forgiving helps us "forget" our anger and retire our resentment. Jumping the gun in forgiving someone leaves vestiges of self-doubt and blame. But these typically dissipate if not obsessed upon. The "demand" quality of just deserts, by contrast, fuels anger and resentment and the likelihood of acting out on it. I offer three grounds for tolerating these dangers and preferring Focus Partnering. The first is that we can not forgo justice, engaging in self-exploitation. And Focus Partnering seems among the best of the justice alternatives. It is far preferable to take precautions against these dangers in a response than commit the great sin of injustice. Ethics is an inherently dangerous business, especially on the justice side. Taking a righteous stand is taking, in part, a negative stand. It inevitably tramples on some people's feelings. Fighting for justice, even in defense of justice, is still fighting. Expressing resentment, legitimate or not, is a noxious affair, filled with unsavory intentions and likely harms. Likewise scolding is bad, inducing guilt and shame are bad, and punishing is bad whether it is legitimate or not. Moreover, each of these ethical measures are liable to misuse and abuse. History is filled with misguided and punitive moralism of this abusive sort—indeed, with murderous and perhaps genocidal moralism. No wonder a benevolence focus is so perennially admired in ethics and called for time and again by the most enlightened, mature, and well-intentioned among us. Moralism is the fault here, not justice, and it can be targeted directly. We can fashion righteous duties and rights to be as gentle and kindly as possible. We can supplement moral education with explicit warnings against moralism. Specific strategies can be offered for "combating" it. This is preferable to deserting justice for forgiveness. There is a ready remedy also to the underwhelming generosity of Focus Partnering. Be more generous. We can always add generosity to the way we reconcile with our offender even if this means going outside the reconciliation process. It is usually most appropriate to ply our generosity elsewhere, outside the now-damaged relationship. Second, the potential harms of seeking compensation are light—at least light enough not to constitute wrongs. Thus in an injurious situation, risking them is usually justifiable. Of course, we can not assess the relative credibility

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of this second rationale without knowing the offense we are dealing with. But in general, being taken to task seems "small change" relative to an offense grave enough to call for forgiveness. It is also "small change" relative to conspiring in one's own further exploitation. A third more controversial ground is that the victim should rightly take some revenge on the offender, or at least feel free to. The offender "merits" it as part of just punishment and compensation. True, such "retributive punishment" itself borders on revenge. And "revenge" has about as bad a reputation as one can find within the ethics arena. But I believe this reputation is undeserved and opposition to it disingenuous. In a nutshell, here is why. All parties to this one-sided ethics debate accept just punishment. Regardless of the grounds they choose to justify such punishment (deterrence, rehabilitation, correction), they invariably opt for methods that inflict unnecessary suffering on the offender. When asked to justify this tendency, they seem to recognize that suffering some of the pain they have caused is necessary to truly understand what they did. It seems morally incumbent on us to "help" an offender to understand this, thus stirring up regret and the desire to make amends. Visiting this suffering on the offender also assures victims that he understands his crime and its impact and probably feels guilt and repentance as a result. The more typical (Kantian) assumption is that an offender wills punishment on himself by choosing to violate rules of cooperation he clearly accepts. Our correctional system merely carries through for him, executing his will where he falters. This redirects his action, in a sense, to meet the golden rule—allowing him to be treated (by himself) as he is willing to treat others. I have never seen a satisfactory overall argument for retribution. And I am very compelled by the view that we have no grounds for hurting an offender but the perverse hope of "sinking to his level." Still, there seems an inherent, intuitive validity to the notion that has never been satisfactorily explained away. An offender deserves to be offended back and to suffer. And those he has offended should be the carriers of this justice. Conclusion: Unique Advantages to Focus Partnering

Focus Partnering affords two main sets of advantages that forgiveness cannot claim. First, unlike unilateral forgiveness, it fulfills all the expectations and responsibilities of just regard and deserts, allowing the requisite rights and liberties to be exercised. These ethical measures also provide a psychological boon, allowing victims to vent frustration and resentment, to attain satisfying explanations, to hold those responsible to account, and to be proactive in a system of victimization. Second, the Focus Partnering alternative to forgiveness allows us to cover the full range of pressing concerns, especially major ethical concerns. At the last, an adequate response to offense must be fair—with all that fairness implies regarding self-respect and the like—as well as benevolent. Foremost, it must be minimally fair. Otherwise it is objectionable, perhaps intolerable, in a way that undergenerosity is not.

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References

Enright, Robert D., & Richard P. Fitzgibbons (2000). Helping clients forgive: An empirical guide for resolving anger and resolving hope. Washington, DC: APA Press. Enright, Robert D., Suzanne R. Freedman, & Julio Rique (1998). The psychology of interpersonal forgiveness. In Robert D. Enright & Joanna North (Eds.), Exploringforgiveness(pp. 46—62). Madison: University of Wisconsin. Holmgren, Margaret R. (1993). Forgiveness and the intrinsic value of persons. American Philosophical Quarterly, 30(4), 341-352. Kant, Immanuel (1964). Groundwork for a metaphysic of morals, H. J. Paton (Trans.). New York: Harper & Row.

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Women, Abuse, and Forgiveness: A Special Case Sharon Lamb

In the first edition of The Sunflower: On the Possibilities and Limits of Forgiveness, Eugene Fisher, one of the guest essayists in this amazing collection, writes that when the dying Nazi asks forgiveness of the Jewish concentration camp prisoner, he commits yet another sin. Fisher suggests that the enormity of the crimes against the Jews makes it unethical to put a burden of responsibility to forgive on any Jew. In this intriguing book, Simon Wiesenthal asks philosophers, authors, Jews, Buddhists, and Christians to turn over the question in their minds about whether a remorseful Nazi ought to be forgiven for his crimes against humanity and individual Jews. Some of the writers advocate forgiveness for the peace of mind of the Jew or for the greater good of civilization. Some, though, say that the suffering of the Jews was so great, the damage so huge, and the crime so horrific that it is understandable why a Jew could never forgive. Herein we have some of the strongest arguments against forgiveness— some sins are too great; some requests for forgiveness do more damage than good; and there are special cases or groups to whom, given historical circumstances and the particularity of their position in a culture, we ought not to advocate forgiveness. In this chapter, I examine women as one such group, a special class of victims and potential forgivers. I consider them not in relation to crimes of oppression per se but in relation to acts of violence and abuse perpetrated by men. In choosing this topic, I realize that the crimes against Jews and the crimes against women are not completely parallel. I also want to note that the majority of crimes of abuse and victimization against women have not been equal in horror to the crimes of Nazis against Jews, that some women victims have only experienced mild abuse whereas some have experienced torture. I use the Nazi example so that I may discuss women as a class of people, like Jews, who may have some particular reasons not to forgive. I also want to make the point that for the purposes of this chapter I refer to nonrepentant wrongdoers, those who have not apologized, shown remorse, or made reparation. I choose to limit my discussion to these hardest 155

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cases for forgiveness to challenge one aspect of forgiveness counseling that most proponents of forgiveness agree on. This is their claim that forgiveness is more than a self-help strategy; it is a gift, though not a pardon, to an offender. While it would go too far to say these authors are disingenuous in their claims, their writing and examples demonstrate that in many ways, to advocate the use of forgiveness in psychotherapy, their arguments must be based on the good it does the individual rather than the good it does for society or for another person. In so arguing, they do portray forgiveness as a form of self-help. If forgiveness theorists do indeed see forgiveness as a form of selfhelp, it makes sense to look at whether there might be better strategies for self-help for women who have been abused. Concerning women, and particularly women who have been abused, the idea of offering forgiveness toward unrepentant perpetrators in an effort to help a woman free herself from anger is dangerous and plays into deep stereotypes of women's "essential" nature, stereotypes that have been harmful to women in the past. Opening the heart to a perpetrator who is unrepentant, although not a pardon, is extremely close to one and too consistent with the perpetrator's own worldview that allows him to excuse his behavior. I am concerned about recent trends in psychotherapy that put an unfair burden on women to forgive their abusers. There is a cultural context and history of women as an oppressed class that makes urging them to forgive different from urging men to forgive. For a person to forgive another for the harm that person has perpetrated, the victim not only needs the self-esteem to do so (Holmgren, 1993), but also the autonomy, or what I prefer to call agency. I would like to explore how cultural pressures to be "nice and good," as well as the devastating effects of abuse, combine to make such agency less likely. And if forgiveness is coerced in anyway, if it is not an expression from an autonomous agent, there may be something about it that works against a woman's psychological and moral best interests. Advocating Forgiveness in Therapy

As in many psychotherapy movements, proponents advocate the use of a strategy or technique, or, in this case, a set of goals or steps to pass through that will relieve a person of suffering. The suffering to be relieved is sometimes referred to as anger (Enright & Fitzgibbons, 2000), resentment (Fitzgibbons, 1986), ruminative thoughts, the inability to let go, or, even more pointedly, the desire but inability to forgive. While supporting the idea that improved mental health is a crucial benefit of forgiveness, theorists specifically argue against what they call a "selfhelp" version of forgiveness (Enright, 1998; North, 1998). One of the leaders in the advocacy of forgiveness as a therapeutic tool, Robert Enright, tries to differentiate forgiveness from self-help, writing that forgiveness is "more than a gift to the self" (Simon & Simon, 1990); it is more than just making our-

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selves feel good. Enright and others claim that forgiveness is also more than just doing away with negative feelings such as anger toward the offender or a wish to retaliate (Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998; Flanigan, 1992; North, 1998; Yandell, 1998). To these theorists forgiveness is more than ceasing to be angry, forgetting, and tolerating; it definitely is not excusing, pardoning, or reconciling. But what is left to the definition once you peel away all these associations? What is left is a vaguely expressed view that is perhaps best described in imprecise terms like "love" or, a "gift," thus making it difficult and curmudgeonly not to support an act of love, a freely chosen gift to another. Although most forgiveness advocates see forgiveness as helpful to the forgiver, they also emphasize that the force of forgiveness is ultimately otherdirected. Enright writes that forgiveness is not only the giving up of resentment, hatred, or anger, but also the taking up a stance of love and compassion, even when the forgiver understands that the offender has no right to such benevolence (Enright, Eastin, Golden, Sarinopoulos, & Freedman, 1992; Enright, Gassin, & Wu, 1992). And although Beverly Flanigan (1992) emphasizes forgiveness as a path to mental health, she also see it as a transaction in which a wounded person "reopens his heart to take in and reaccept his offender" (p. 11). All argue that such an opening of the heart does not require that the offender acknowledge the wrong, show remorse, or make amends. And all argue that opening the heart to the offender does not mean pardoning, excusing, or even forgetting the crime. All do indeed hope that such compassion will make the offender repent and do better in the future. Once again, this interpersonal and social perspective is one that countries or cultures or religious groups might want to support for social good; it is hard not to support. But traditionally psychotherapy has focused on the individual in society and directed its purposes toward changing the individual. Almost all these definitions of what forgiveness actually is involve an internal change in the forgiver that is other-directed (an offering of "moral love," a reopening of the heart). DiBlasio and Proctor (1993), theorists who use forgiveness as a psychotherapy tool, see forgiveness as "an act of the will . . . to let go." For phenomenological theorists, forgiveness is not so much a decision but a surprise to the victim: "Experientially, however, the moment of forgiveness appears to be the moment of recognition that forgiveness has already occurred" (Rowe et al., p. 235). Where these authors fail in their attempts to describe forgiveness as something more than self-therapy, however, is when they claim that forgiveness is other-directed even when the other is not repentant, even when the other does not admit to his wrongdoing, and even when the other is dead. Thus, although these authors would vehemently disagree that forgiveness is merely a path to mental health, this is an essential way in which they persuade others of its benefits; they cannot argue that it restores relationships (as in reconciliation) or persuades another to do better next time. As a gift, it has no strings attached. Without the self-help argument, they can only persuade a person to forgive because forgiveness is a virtue and because it helps society, but not because it will benefit the individual.

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Those who advocate unilateral forgiveness may be somewhat disingenuous when they claim it is not primarily for the self. Why else would they argue forgiveness needs so little from the offender, and why else would Enright develop what is called a "therapy" program to teach forgiveness to only the wounded, one-sided programs very different from mediation or reconciliation programs? While definitions proclaim forgiveness as "interpersonal" and a "gift," much of the discussion on forgiveness in psychotherapy clearly show it to be something we do for ourselves and our own mental health. Studies that involve teaching forgiveness or helping clients to forgive report gains in physical and mental health (Coyle & Enright, 1997; Freedman & Enright, 1996; Pettit, 1987; Salovey, Rothman, Detweiler, & Steward, 2000). Positive emotions can also motivate health-relevant behaviors and elicit social support (Salovey et al., 2000). Psychologists also report the restoration of a feeling of personal power (Fitzgibbons, 1986; Smedes, 1984). Coyle and Enright (1997) who studied men hurt by their partner's abortion decision show that after forgiveness intervention the men feel less grief and anxiety, but not less anger. In a study of an intervention with college students who had been hurt by their parents, there were improvements in self-esteem, hope, and attitude toward the parents, though not in present anxiety or depression (Al-Mabuk, Enright, & Cardis, 1995). These studies of forgiveness intervention do not isolate what it is about the process of forgiveness therapy that actually makes a difference in people's lives. But they seem to imply that the worth of forgiveness is in its ability to relieve or prevent symptoms or in how good it makes a person to feel. Theorists often use personal case histories and individual stories to support this view (see several chapters in McCullough, Pargament, &Thoresen, 2000, as well as Enright and Fitzgibbons, 2000). Flanigan (1992) and Freedman and Enright (1996) all write of the enormous sense of release that is felt once someone chooses to forgive. McCullough and Worthington (1994) warn that if a person does not forgive, it is possible "the hurt incurred by the client will continue to affect the client" (p. 3). They even go so far as to argue that before counselors advocate forgiveness, they should make sure that the client's "motive for forgiving is to achieve the positive benefits of forgiving and not revenge or self-righteousness, which only exacerbate negative emotions" (p. 8). This warning points again to a self-help motive in forgiving. Many of the examples these theorists use of people who have not forgiven or who need to forgive are people who are clearly in need of some mental health help, the implication being that these are the people most in need of forgiving. They are usually people who are obsessed with their trauma or wrongdoing and think about their perpetrator day in and day out. For example, Joanna North (1992) describes a woman who was assaulted and robbed on her way home at night. At first she felt angry—and rightfully so. Later we see that the incident has "affected every aspect of her life. . . . She feels anxious, nervous, depressed, suspicious, and mistrustful. . . . She has allowed the original attack to dominate her whole existence, indeed, we might say to de-

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fine her very existence. Its effects live on and thrive, because she cannot let go of the pain, cannot forgive the man who attacked her" (p. 18). Within this short description, we see the author imply that forgiveness offers a person a way not to feel "anxious, nervous, depressed, suspicious, and mistrustful," that it is a path toward mental health. It is also implied that anger can lead to these other more debilitating emotions. The description even controversially implies that this woman has made a choice to feel bad: she has "allowed" it to happen and is responsible in this way for the effects of the attack on her own mental health. This latter point is not altogether inaccurate because we often do hold people responsible to get help or seek out some form of therapy if they are disturbed in such a way that they might hurt someone else. In this light, if we apply this same moral principle to the self, it makes sense to hold someone morally responsible for seeking out therapy so that they do not hurt themselves further. Reinforcing this obligation to the self plays down the passivity of the victim and encourages a victim to see herself as an agent so that she might recover some of the agency she has lost because of the attack. (See Lamb, 1996, 1999 for a full discussion of victims and agency.) There is a problem, however, with a view that holds a victim responsible for her inability to forgive; it implies that she is not only responsible for seeking help to rid herself of negative emotions but that she is essentially responsible for her emotions. The last line from North's description is ambiguous on this point; the effects of the attack live on in her client because "she cannot let go of the pain, she cannot forgive." If "cannot" means "unable to," that is perhaps most accurate. But forgiveness advocates perceive forgiveness as a choice and speak of not forgiving as a "refusal to let go" (DiBlasio, 1998, italics added). There are several different psychological explanations for why this woman has become depressed, anxious, and mistrustful that hold her slightly less responsible and have little to do with her inability to forgive. Perhaps she was uncomfortable with the amount of anger that she felt after the attack and felt guilty and ashamed about such strong feelings. Surely her socialization as a woman has taught her that anger is an unacceptable emotion. (See Lutz, 1990, or Cox, Stabb, & Bruckner, 1999, for a discussion of anger and women.) Perhaps she had been attacked as a child, and this recent attack brought back old feelings and memories that were never resolved and now need to be addressed. If so, the current perpetrator is bearing the weight of other perpetrators' attacks. Perhaps the victim's reaction is physiological. Research shows that with sudden and traumatic attacks, when a person feels her life is in danger, there is a biological reaction that is hard to get rid of afterward (Foa, 1997; van der Kolk, 1999). Forgiveness advocates imply that these sequels of abuse and trauma are perpetuated by the client's inability to forgive. They also imply that victims' reactions are excessive—the attack "dominates" a woman's life and invades "every aspect" of her existence. Who is to say, however, how much grief is normal after a loss or how much anger, fear, and mistrust is appropriate after an attack? While psychologists generally try

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to relieve people of their discomfort, there are some situations in which discomfort (anxiety, depression, fear) is appropriate and beyond the control of the individual, at least temporarily. Those theorists who advocate forgiveness often make judgments that the person who can't forgive, can't let go, and can't give up resentment have gone too far in their resentment. In this way, advocates of forgiveness seem afraid of anger and strong feeling. "Release from anger" and all other negative emotions is central to their definitions. I agree that when a person is consumed with anger he or she is usually not happy about it. But is forgiveness the only way to be released from anger? A victim might find release from anger by embracing it. Some therapeutic modalities suggest that the deep experiencing of emotion rather than resistance to it can bring release and relief. In the play Death and the Maiden by Ariel Dorfman, the main character harbors fears, anxiety and thoughts of revenge against the man who captured her and only finds satisfaction in her revenge. Care (2002) brings up the interesting idea that individuals have different temperaments for forgiving, different constitutional capacities for resenting and forgiving. While forgiving may bring about peace of mind to one, only retaliation may bring satisfaction to another. Rowe and his colleagues (1989), who have researched forgiveness through in-depth interviews with adults, have found that even when apologies were forthcoming, these apologies did not typically enable people to forgive. Forgiveness, instead, was something people did for themselves. Suzanne Freedman and Robert Enright (1996) designed a therapy group for incest survivors who said they would "never forgive." However, it is important to note that they each entered a therapy program specifically advertised as designed to help them to forgive. Six of the women went through the therapy process and six were wait-listed, going through the process after the first six. All of the participants in the end chose to forgive, and all of them felt better afterward. Psychological tests indicated that they felt less anxiety and less depression. But we will never know whether it was forgiveness that did the trick, for all of them also went through a process that most good therapies would provide. They all were made to feel that their anger was fully justified and were encouraged to express and own this anger rather than project it onto another. They also all were encouraged to think about the perpetrator as a human being, and why he did what he did. That they all successfully went through these stages of therapy tells us that we don't know what was die key to their recovery. Perhaps it was an earlier pre-forgiveness stage that did the trick. Maybe it was even the stage that allowed the women to feel and own their anger in a safe place that brought about the outcomes of less anxiety and depression. Maybe it was the stage of therapy that asked the women to understand the perpetrator; in so doing they may have been better able to blame themselves less and the perpetrator's act may no longer have seemed personally directed at them. Not everyone who has been wronged harbors intense negative feelings indefinitely toward their perpetrators. Through time passing, understanding the randomness of an attack, and even through other life experiences, an old

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wound can be forgotten or occluded and a perpetrator removed from a powerful position in the psyche. The forgiveness psychotherapist might argue that the person who forgets an old wound or an old perpetrator is unhealthily defending against the wound, but there are mature and immature defenses. Denying his or her pain would be an immature defense and one less likely to be successful. Understanding and accepting pain is more mature. Maturity offers a variety of nonforgiving solutions for dealing with people who have wronged us and dealing with past traumas. Forgiveness psychotherapists ask that the potential forgiver try to view the perpetrator as separate from the bad act. But why focus on the perpetrator, especially one who hasn't shown remorse? One can attain mental health by seeing oneself as separate from the act, and as separate from the victim who once suffered. One can see oneself as the person who is now "different," who has moved beyond but who still remembers. Some might argue that this is one aspect of forgiveness, but it is not forgiveness by definition and it does not require a conscious decision to forgive. An individual can experience a lessening of symptoms through the natural processes of responding and reacting to wounds. Anger lessens, grudges disappear, the offender seems different, less capable of having done that prior act. Sometimes a bad act loses its significance because good deeds, warmer feelings, and a sense of a changed character crowd it out. Sometimes a person grows, deepens, softens, gains insight, and comes to feel differently about the offender. Thus there are other ways to help the self overcome anger and other ways to loosen the bond to the person who has caused the harm than through forgiveness. Forgiveness as a Gift to Society

Before considering women as a special case for nonforgiving, one other claim made by forgiveness advocates needs to be addressed. This is the claim that forgiveness, and for that matter, love and compassion, make a better world for everyone and encourage better behavior in wrongdoers. Whether or not it helps the self, it is the moral thing to do. For the purposes of argument, let us say that forgiving does not even provide release and that there is evidence that people who forgive might never feel better. Then why might a person want or need to forgive? For a start, religious reasons. We are all familiar with the Christian view that we forgive others because we would want to be forgiven ourselves, because we are all imperfect, or because we act like Christ when we forgive others and follow his teachings which advise Christians to love their fellow human beings and forgive. Christians write that forgiving has spiritual effects and restores a person's relationship with God (McCullough & Worthington, 1994). But then are we not doing something for ourselves, making ourselves into the kind of person we want to be by acting like Christ, reconfirming our own goodness? Thus we reconfirm that quality of self-help.

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What about the reason to help civilization—if we all acted with more compassion, the world might be a better place. But couldn't compassion come about without forgiveness? Surely there is the possibility that someone might feel empathy toward a perpetrator and still not forgive him. While empathy and compassion are noble sentiments that encourage good acts, I'm not sure forgiveness is the best pathway. What about forgiveness as a way to help the other person move toward a place where he might be repentant or remorseful, where he might be able to look at himself and his character and make changes. Empathy has great power to help someone in that way, and compassion toward perpetrators is crucial if we want to help them engage in self-reflection and make some difficult changes in character. But those, once again, can be offered without forgiveness. Most forgiveness advocates claim that a person can forgive someone they never see, even someone who is dead. How would this kind of forgiveness help the world at large? A transaction with someone not listening or not responding is indeed something we do only for ourselves. When forgiveness is offered to someone who is nonrepentant, who may be listening but is listening for some words that might support his own view that what he did was not wrong or not so bad, the forgiver's act serves as a form of pardon. Does it not say to the pardoner, "I don't care what you do about your own bad deeds from now on, because I understand why you did them and forgive you for that"? When a perpetrator does not apologize, show remorse, or make reparation, what is the purpose of the forgiver opening her heart to him? To help him to change? But if he refuses to see the harm he has done or take responsibility for it, doesn't the forgiver give him reason to believe he is pardoned? Under these circumstances, could we call forgiveness anything but self-help? Perhaps. We could call it a shot in the dark that it may, against many odds, reform a wrongdoer. Compassion toward wrongdoers is lovely and can be a motivator for the wrongdoer's self-examination and change. But there is something about forgiveness advocates that says to me that they don't like complex feelings and won't tolerate ambivalence. This is clear in their refusal to see compassion without forgiveness as a viable alternative to forgiveness. The purpose of most therapy is to understand ambivalence and not to do away with it. Can't a wronged person feel both resentment and compassion? The Special Problem of Anger for Women

Women in our culture have particular problems with ambivalent feelings, especially with negative emotions like anger. Women in particular are in danger of forgiving prematurely or overlooking offenses (Forward, 1989). Socialization practices teach young girls to place a high priority on the resolution of conflict, healing wounds, and repairing relationships. Gilligan (1982) has pointed out women's tendencies to preserve the relationship even at the ex-

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pense of their own individual rights, citing this as a different moral virtue, one of "care." The demands on individual victims to forgive are bound up with traditional notions of what it means to be a "good girl" or "good woman" in which anger and resentment are suppressed (Becker, 1997), and the needs of others are put before the needs of the self. Krestan and Bepko (1992) have argued that wives of alcoholics, recently under criticism for being "enablers" of their husbands' alcoholism, are simply doing what they were brought up all of their lives to do: take care of their husbands, protect them, and try to meet their needs. Nietzsche (1969) warned against forgiveness as "sublimated resentment." Along these lines, women's forgiving can be a way of avoiding confrontation, confrontation with the injurer but also with their own anger. This kind of forgiving has been called "pseudo-forgiveness" (Enright, Eastin, Golden, Sarinopoulos, & Freedman, 1992), and while forgiving may protect a valued relationship, it may also damage it by not requiring accountability from the injurer and not acknowledging remaining anger which may emerge in subtler ways later on (Forward, 1989). Women who do forgive their husbands their battering are often abused again and continue to fail to protect themselves and their children. This is an aspect of the battered women's syndrome (Walker, 1984). Trainer (1981/1984) developed the idea of "role-expected forgiveness," which is the act of lower-power individuals offering forgiveness to higherstatus individuals without any attitudinal or emotional change toward the offender. She found that such role-expected forgiveness led to increased anger in the forgiver over time. However, McCullough & Worthington (1994) argue that Trainer's scales are weak. Furthermore, the idea that an individual can know whether or not status plays a part in their willingness to forgive is naive. But Carol Tavris (1982) offers the point of view that a woman's anger becomes a problem when she is in a position subordinate to the person she is angry at. Likewise, forgiveness may be an easy way out of this problem. Women who forgive too easily may not be showing enough self-respect— the philosopher P. F. Strawson argues that if we do not resent the violation of our rights, then we do not take our rights very seriously (1974). And Jeffrie Murphy in "Forgiveness and Resentment" (1988) sees proper resentment as a way to support the moral order. Feminist movements to "take back the night" and teach the public that a woman "never deserves to be hit" have helped women recognize rights they did not even realize they had. Bonnie Burstow (1992), writing about sexual abuse survivors, brings up the issue of anger. She writes that "by treating forgiveness as necessary, therapists effectively pathologize anger, close down the survivor's own process, and reinforce social messages" (p. 140). Karen Olio (1992), also writing about sex abuse survivors, identifies the myth advocated by some therapists that "forgiveness makes you a better person." She adds that this myth reflects a fear and misunderstanding of anger as something damaging to the victim without distinguishing anger itself from various options for expressing it.

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Arguments for forgiveness that aim at a release from anger are aimed also at a kind of conformity over what "mental health" in women has been defined as. Psychological research has long showed us that women who are angry and resentful are viewed by the mental health profession as unhealthy (Becker, 1997; Burstow, 1992). Gender conformity then is "met" when a woman forgives her wrongdoer and lets go of resentment, even at the cost of self-respect. With these role expectations, can we tell the difference between pseudoforgiveness and the sincere forgiveness that arises from self-respect and acceptance of anger as a part of who we are? I would argue that the letting go of anger and resentment that is a part of so many definitions of forgiveness is in and of itself unhealthy for women. Forgiveness professionals play into stereotypes of the "good" woman when they help her to experience her anger and then move beyond it. Instead, the integration of anger and aggression with their identity, even as a compassionate, caring person, is ideal for women who have been brought up in this culture. Also, it is clear that forgiveness advocates make some moral judgment about those who "refuse" to forgive. A female victim's character may be impugned because of her response to a wrongdoing, when the victim herself did not do wrong. There is more of an obligation for women in this culture to forgive because it supports their role in society. Those who deviate from role expectations are generally judged harshly. Victim as Noble Creature

The role of the victim is a special role for women in this society. It is true that women are victimized in greater numbers with regard to rape, sexual abuse, and battering than men. However, it is also true that there is something about the role of the victim in our culture and the discourse on victimization that elevates victims into "noble" creatures, "survivors." Janice Haaken (1998) writes beautifully on this topic, claiming that for women who have been denied the authority to define their past, victim narratives give them moral authority to speak. This agency is granted only within the "role of the victim," which seems to support women staying in this oppressed role. Being a victim affords a woman an instant purity and sympathy, if not martyrdom, and all too often the public has trouble with victims when they do not live up to this idealized standard. The victim-offender dyad is set up as a dichotomy—that one is evil, the other pure—and this takes place in the narratives of our time in exaggerated form (Lamb, 1996, 1999). Claims to victimization are always challenged on grounds that the victim was not pure (she invited the man to her apartment; her prior sexual history; prostitutes cant be raped.) Victims are sensitive to these issues, thinking of themselves as blameworthy when they do not conform to idealized standards of the pure and innocent victim, and portraying themselves in rape trials as more weak and feminine than they really are in order to influence juries (Konradi, 1996).

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When a sex offender apologizes, it can be an act of power with which he manipulates a victim, playing on her notion of herself—as well as her need to see herself—as good. Especially when a woman has been harmed, a perpetrator's sincere apology pulls at our own inclinations to expect and require forgiveness from a victim. To maintain her role in the dichotomy as the "good one," the victim will need to forgive and show compassion. It would not be consistent with her victim role to be angry, resentful, and retaliatory. (She may, however, at times through anger be able to prove that her wounds are too immense, her suffering too great.) Rarely is anger considered an appropriate response to a sincere apology. An apology offered by an offender who ultimately has power over the injured party, for example an incestuous father apologizing to his daughter, brings with it even more pressure for forgiveness. Forgiveness psychotherapists warn against forgiving a person in order to assume some kind of moral superiority to the other (Ausburger, 1981; Cunningham, 1985). But these authors see attempts at power as conscious, willed acts and do not address inherent relationships of dominance and subordination. If we take a more postmodern view of power as present in all discourse and reinforced by institutionalized practices, we might see that forgiveness embodies a power relationship. Can a person in a subordinate position forgive someone in a dominant position without reinforcing that subordination? The power that authors talk about is some kind of "inner strength" or internal power to not allow the perpetrator to rule her anymore. In their advocacy of forgiveness, psychotherapists see "letting go" of resentment as no longer letting the perpetrator have power over the victim. The relationship that is restored is thus not one of equality, but of turning the tables and saying, "You no longer have power over me." When victims say, "You no longer have power over me," they are also saying, "I have a certain kind of power over you and that is to forgive you, to see you differently than before, to not allow you to bother me anymore." I am reminded of the good men who argued against the suffragettes saying, "Why would you sweet ladies want the vote when you have so much more power in the home? Through your femininity you can get your way, through the cradle, through love and compassion, these are the ways that women work." When women exchange this kind of power for the power of anger, when they threaten retaliation, seize their rights, and overthrow unjust practices, are they not just imitating what's least noble about men, taking on their worst attributes? In this scenario, where would letting go of resentment have gotten women? For women, refusing to be angry historically has kept them in a position of subordination; realizing and acting on anger has led to greater rights and freedoms. This is why forgiveness as an act of self-help may be in some way immoral. The act of incest, the act of rape, the act of battering is not just a personal insult, it is an insult to all women and makes it more dangerous for all women to exist in the world. One might ask why might a Jew condemn another Jew for forgiving her Nazi torturer? Some would say it is none of her business. But the act of forgiveness is not just interpersonal, it has social repercussions and

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can be representative of more than an individual's emotional well-being. Although a woman may think she is speaking for herself, her words affect all women. Forgiveness advocates have argued that individual acts of forgiveness contribute to the world, making it a better place. But could they not contribute to society also by weakening solidarity in groups where members have a right to be angry, a right to feel resentment? When examining these acts—giving up resentment and offering forgiveness independent of a perpetrator's remorse, apology, or reparation—on a larger social scale, it is more difficult to see what good unilateral forgiveness might bring. Wrongdoers who do not change, and yet are genuinely forgiven? What moral good would that do for society? Women's Responsibility for Relationships

Why is it that we have so much trouble with the woman who will not forgive? Do we feel as unsympathetic to the black man who will not forgive white people, even if he himself has been distinctly advantaged in comparison to his ancestors? Do we feel unsympathetic to the Jew who will not forgive the Germans? Perhaps. But if we do, I think it is to a lesser degree than we feel lack of sympathy for the hard-hearted woman. This expectation that women will be more compassionate has been helped along by women's own acts and commitment to an ideal of caring. Women have been forgiving men their sins for years, without requesting remorse, reparation, or damages. What is meant by the phrase "boys will be boys"? What is meant by "enabling" the alcoholic? What is meant by understanding men's sexual lack of control? Haven't we heard that in divorce mediation, women get the raw end of the deal, and that they're better off with aggressive lawyers? In terms of the good of the greater society, has there been any proof that such a strategy by women, if indeed we can call it a strategy, has reduced the amount of gender-based violence or harm? In fact, there probably is proof for the contrary. Has there been proof that such compassion enables men to take responsibility for their acts? There is probably more proof for the contrary. The deep moral question in advocating forgiveness for women is the relationship of forgiveness to responsibility. As noted earlier, forgiving as defined by forgiveness advocates requires no change from the perpetrator, it requires no apology, and it requires no response from the broader community. One may ask that if it only is represented as a change of the internal state of the individual forgiver, how does it restore relationship? It takes place only at the expense of women's realistic vision, and the resulting unrealistic vision, a psychology of optimism, hope, and love has kept women very vulnerable. Perhaps morally superior, but certainly vulnerable to future attacks. It has kept them reading self-help books rather than marching in the streets. On an individual basis, what does it really mean to not forget and not pardon but to keep your heart open to another? If that other person does not re-

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form, if that other person does not begin to take your perspective into account, it does not promise mental health but instead continued abuse. The promise that love restores relationship has been a problem for women who believe that battered men will stop battering, problem drinkers will stop drinking, and philandering husbands will stop philandering. Forgiveness means that the relationship continues and no grudge (if possible) is harbored, that the wife will not seek retaliation for the harm done her. What does it mean to the person forgiven? How does a wrongdoer who is unrepentant experience "forgiveness"? Baumeister, Exline, and Sommer (1998) write that forgiveness is often experienced by the nonrepentant as a pardon. He suffers from no more recriminations except those he makes to himself. He is, in effect, allowed, if he can, to forget. When an offender begs for forgiveness, what exactly is he asking of the victim? What is the act of "begging for forgiveness" really except a plea for pardon? It is a plea that the victim not be angry any longer; that he or she show hope in his promise to change or to do better; and that the injured believe in the existence of a good inner character, separated from the offender's bad acts. Any of these expectations seems to be asking too much from a person and too much of a lone verbal act—"I forgive you." It would seem that it is entirely possible to have compassion for an offender, even your own offender if you have been abused, and not be willing to forgive. While it may be difficult to live with such ambivalent feelings, this is the human condition. Relationships can be, in part, restored, yet there can be problems with trust; an injured party can simultaneously love and resent someone close to her who has injured her. Advocating Apology

We must step back from this whole discussion in the end and ask why is it that psychologists are so inclined to advocate forgiveness rather than apology. Why is there little media attention to the value of reparation? What about the idea that forgiveness is something a person must earn? Why are there not several multistep programs in existence that lead people to apology, to remorse, to reparation? It is easier and more pleasant to work with victims rather than perpetrators. Marital therapists have known for years that a lot of the therapy work gets done with the women when they can get their husbands to come in. It is hard to even get husbands in the door. And let's face it, it is harder to induce guilt and remorse (negative emotions) in men who batter than to invite love and compassion (positive ones) in women who have been harmed. Programs that advocate remorse and apology do exist, but they do not exist within the framework of psychotherapy, which traditionally cares only for the individual and not the culture as a whole. The Truth and Reconciliation trials in South Africa is one such example where forgiveness is not necessarily a demand, and ambivalence is embraced. The Restorative Justice programs

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developing in several states ask perpetrators and victims to meet in a way that raises expectations more of the offender than the victim, but also offers victims some relief through perpetrators' sincere efforts to make reparations. But what then shall we do with the victim whose offender will not apologize, show remorse, take responsibility, or make reparation? How can this person heal, deal with the anger and resentment, or process ruminative thoughts? First, this person should feel that the culture supports her in her lack of forgiveness; she should be told that forgiveness is only one of many options and that it might even lead her to foreclose on important areas of personal growth if she chooses to move in that direction. Second, the wounded individual should understand that her anger is entirely acceptable and not a stage through which one passes. Anger and resentment could be presented as part of our human responses to being injured, negative feelings that we learn to live with and through which we grow. Third, loving compassion to the victim can help her live with her own injuries as well as the negative feelings such injuries bring about. It fights against the self-blame and shame that the culture in other ways encourages, through our beliefs that the victim either must in some part be to blame or that she needs to reaffirm her goodness through acts like forgiveness. If we really want change in offenders, and I think this is a nobler goal than helping clients to forgive, there is no need for forgiveness, only compassion. Compassion is essential to aid those who are willing and ready to engage in self-reflection and face the horrors of what they did. Compassion is different than forgiveness, and ambivalence is the key. The hatred of the victim reminds the wrongdoer of the act and the harm he did, whereas the love from the victim reminds him that although he cannot undo that harm, he can be different. Forgiveness advocates seem to want two things: (1) that the person with resentment is released from their inner turmoil; and (2) that the person who is wronged not lose compassion for the wrongdoer. Both, it would seem, can be achieved without forgiving the wrongdoer. The first is achieved through time and space, creating for the person some distance from the act of harm, going on to live a good life, really, perhaps "forgetting" in a way. The second can be achieved through caring for the wrongdoer's soul or character whether or not he is remorseful. In a world that welcomes ambivalence, neither of these require the giving up of resentment. In the special case of women and forgiveness, of those who have been through rape, incest, battering, and betrayal, learning to live with their anger and resentment, to even embrace it, may be the healthier response, whether or not it includes the kind of compassion that may (and yet unfortunately may not) change the heart of the perpetrator. References Al-Mabuk, R., R. D. Enright, & P. Cardis (1995). Forgiveness education with parentally love-deprived college students. Journal of Moral Education, 24, 427— 444.

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Ausberger, David (1981). Caring enough to forgive: True forgiveness. Chicago: Moody Press. Baumeister, Roy F, Julie Juola Exline, & Kristen L. Sommer (1998). The victim role, grudge theory, and two dimensions of forgiveness. In Everett L. Worthington, Jr. (Ed.), The foundations of forgiveness (pp. 79-104). Philadelphia, PA: Templeton Foundation Press. Becker, Dana (1997). Through the looking glass. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Burstow, Bonnie (1992). Radical feminist therapy: Working in the context of violence. Newbury Park: Sage. Care, Norman S. (2002). Forgiveness and effective agency. In Sharon Lamb & Jeffrie G. Murphy (Eds.), Before forgiving: Cautionary views of forgiveness in psychotherapy. New York: Oxford University Press. Coyle, Catherine T., & Robert D. Enright (1997). Forgiveness intervention with post-abortion men. journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 65, 1042-1045. Cox, Deborah, Sally Stabb, and Karin Bruckner (1999). Women's anger: Clinical and developmental perspectives. Philadelphia, PA: Bruner/Mazel Publishers. Cunningham, Bobby B. (1985). The will to forgive: A pastoral theological view of forgiving. Journal of Pastoral Care, 39, 141—149. DiBlasio, Frederick A. (1998). The use of decision-based forgiveness intervention within intergenerational family therapy. Journal of Family Therapy, 20, 77—94. DiBlasio, Frederick A., & Judith H. Proctor (1993). Therapists and the clinical use of forgiveness. American Journal of Family Therapy, 21, 175-184. Dorffman, Ariel (1992). Death and the maiden. New York: Penguin Books. Enright, Robert D. (1998). In Robert D. Enright & Joanna North (Eds.), Exploring forgiveness (pp. 15—34). Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Enright, Robert D., David L. Eastin, Sandra Golden, Issidoros Sarinopoulos, & Suzanne R. Freedman (1992). Interpersonal forgiveness within the helping professions: An attempt to resolve differences of opinion. Counseling and Values, 36, 84-103. Enright, Robert D., & Richard P. Fitzgibbons (2000). Helping clients forgive: An empirical guide for resolving anger and resolving hope. Washington, DC: APA Press. Enright, Robert D., & Suzanne R. Freedman, & Julio Rique (1998). The psychology of interpersonal forgiveness. In Robert D. Enright & Joanna North (Eds.), Exploringforgiveness (pp. 46-62). Madison: University of Wisconsin. Enright, Robert D., Elizabeth A. Gassin, & Ching-yu Wu (1992). Forgiveness: A developmental view. Journal of Moral Education, 21, 99-114. Fitzgibbons, Richard P. (1986). The cognitive and emotional uses of forgiveness in the treatment of anger. Psychotherapy, 23(4), 629-633. Flanigan, Beverly (1992). Forgiving the unforgivable. New York: Macmillan. Foa, Edna (1997). Trauma and women: Course, predictors, and treatment. Journal of Clinical Psychiatry, 58, 25-28. Forward, Susan (1989). Toxic parents: Overcoming their hurtful legacy and reclaiming your life. New York: Bantam Books. Freedman, Suzanne R. R., & Robert D. Enright (1996). Forgiveness as an intervention goal with incest survivors. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 64, 983-992. Gilligan, Carol (1982). In a different voice: Psychological theory and women's development. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

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Haaken, Janice (1998). Pillar of salt: Gender, memory, and the perils of looking back. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Holmgren, Margaret (1993). Forgiveness and the intrinsic value of persons. American Philosophical Quarterly, 30, 341-352. Konradi, Amanda (1996). Preparing to testify: Rape survivors negotiating the criminal justice process. Gender & Society, 10,404-452. Krestan, Joanne, & Claudia Bepko (1992). Codependency: The social reconstruction of female experience. In Claudia Bepko (Ed.), Feminism and addiction (pp. 49-66). New York: Haworth Press. Lamb, Sharon (1996). The trouble with blame: Victims, perpetrators, and responsibility. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lamb, Sharon (1999). Constructing the victim: Popular images and lasting labels. In Sharon Lamb (Ed.), New versions of victims: Feminists struggle with the concept (pp. 108-138). New York: NYU Press. Lutz, Catherine A. (1990). Engendered emotion: Gender, power, and the rhetoric of emotional control in American discourse. In Catherine A. Lutz & Lila AbuLughod (Eds.), Language and the politics of emotion (pp. 69—91). New York: Cambridge University Press. McCullough, Michael E., Kenneth Pargament, & Carl E. Thoresen (2000). The psychology of forgiveness: History, conceptual issues, and overview. In Michael E. McCullough, Kenneth I. Pargament, & Carl E. Thoresen (Eds.), Forgiveness: Theory, research, and practice (pp. 1—14). New York: Guilford Press. McCullough, Michael E., & Everett L. Worthington, Jr. (1994). Encouraging clients to forgive people who have hurt them: Review, critique, and research prospectus. Journal of Psychology and Theology, 22(1), 3—20. Murphy, Jeffrie G. (1988). Forgiveness and resentment. In Jeffrie G. Murphy & Jean Hampton (Eds.), Forgiveness and mercy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 14-30. Nietzsche, Friedrich (1969). On the genealogy of morals (Zur Genealogie der Moral, 1887). Walter Kaufman (trans.). New York: Vintage, essay I, section 10. North, Joanna (1998). The 'ideal' of forgiveness: A philosopher's exploration. In Robert D. Enright & Joanna North (Eds.), Exploring Forgiveness (pp. 15-34). Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Olio., Karen (1992). Recovery from sexual abuse: Is forgiveness mandatory? Voices: The Art and Science of Psychotherapy, 28, 73-79. Pettitt, G. A. (1987). Forgiveness: A teachable skill for creating and maintaining mental health. New Zealand Journal of Medicine, 100, 180-182. Rowe, Jan O., Steen Hailing, Emily Davies, Michael Leifer, Dianne Powers, & Jeanne von Bronkhorst (1989). The psychology of forgiving another: A dialogic research approach. In Ronald S. Valle & Steen Hailing (Eds.), Existentialphenomenologicalperspectives on psychology (pp. 233-244). New York: Plenum Press. Salovey, Peter, Alexander Rothman, Jerusha Detweiler, & Wayne Steward (2000). Emotional states and physical health. American Psychologist, 55, 110-121. Simon, Sidney B., & Suzanne Simon (1990). Forgiveness: How to make peace with your past and get on with your life. Portland, OR: Multnomah. Smedes, Lewis B. (1984). Forgive and forget: Healing the hum we don't deserve. New York: Harper & Row. Strawson, Peter Fredrick (1974). Freedom and resentment and other essays. London: Methuen & Co.

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Tavris, Carol (1982). Anger: The misunderstood emotion, New York: Simon and Shuster. Trainer, Mary F. (1981/1984). Forgiveness: Intrinsic, role-expected, expedient, in the context of divorce (Doctoral dissertation, Boston University, 1981). Dissertation Abstracts International, B 45, 1325. Van der Kolk, Bessel A. (1999). The body keeps the score: Memory and the evolving psychobiology of posttraumatic stress. In M. Horowitz (Ed.), Essential papers on posttraumatic stress disorder (pp. 301-326). New York: NYU Press. Walker, Lenore (1984). The battered woman syndrome. New York: Springer. Wiesenthal, Simon (1976). The sunflower: On the possibilities and limits of forgiveness. New York: Schocken Books. Yandell, Keith E. (1998). The metaphysics and morality of forgiveness. In Robert D. Enright & Joanna North (Eds.), Exploring forgiveness (pp. 35-45). Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.

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The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: Psychoanalytic and Cultural Perspectives on Forgiveness Janice Haaken

In the summer of 1999, I had the opportunity to visit refugee camps in Guinea to interview women who had fled the civil war in Sierra Leone. As I talked with women about their experiences of the war—a brutal conflict that raged on in the countryside of Sierra Leone despite a tenuous peace accord in place—discussion turned to the meaning of forgiveness. Some women stressed the importance of forgetting the past and looking to the future. "We have to put it at our backs," one woman insisted. "If you dwell on the past, the trauma will never leave you. The way we do this is by engaging in activity together, by working together." Other women stressed remembering as vital to the project of recovery. As one of the sisters at a center for child soldiers explained, "We have to understand why this happened to us. If you do not deal with the past, it will never leave you." While these prescriptive statements seem contradictory, I came to see them as a necessary contradiction. In the refugee camps, children and adults came together to create theater reenacting and reworking memory of the war. But they also taught each other skills and found creative ways of remembering the positive side of the cultural past. Remembering meant recovering the good as well as the bad within the past and finding collective means of "holding" the trauma.1 Talk of forgiveness also led to the issue of how responsibility for suffering should be socially distributed. For Sierra Leonean women, identifying the enemy—the perpetrators of the war—defied the individualist categories that prevail in Western discourse on forgiveness. Women struggled with the question of who to hold responsible as the primary perpetrators of this war. Is it the young men and boys who joined a violent rebel movement and turned brutally on their own communities? Is it corrupt government officials who made deals with foreign governments and investors while turning their backs on their own people? Is it the International Monetary Fund, the institution that forced the government to lay off a third of its public sector workforce just prior to the outbreak of the war? Is it the continuing impact of colonialism? Is it the international diamond trade and the global economy—systems 172

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that extract raw materials from Africa without building the productive capacities of its peoples? While women differed in where they placed most blame, there was considerable agreement that the villainy behind the war was not readily located. Some of the perpetrators of the war were more easily identified than others. But social understandings predominated over individualistic ones as women struggled to find some transcendent feelings of hope to bridge the unbearable suffering and trauma they and their families had endured atop the war that was still all too present, and some semblance of hope for the future. In reviewing the mental health literature on forgiveness on my return from West Africa, I was struck by the extent to which typologies and categories— distinctions between premature, intentional, decision-based, arrested, and other types of forgiveness—dominate the discourse. Classification is, of course, a means of ordering and making sense of the world. But classification systems also may serve as a defense against unsettling areas of ambiguity. The social science literature is a fertile ground for generating categories, which may easily be confused with real understanding. Forgiveness, like love, is suggestive of the noble and the good, just as hate, revenge, and violence evoke their opposites. We know that television violence and hate crimes are bad, just as we know that positive role models and helping behaviors are good. In psychological research, there are specialists in good behaviors (such as social support, prosocial behavior, helping), just as there are specialists in the bad (such as violence, child abuse, stalking). But these social scientific categories and their associated moral loadings are not so readily cordoned off into specialized functions when we enter into the complex matrices of human encounters. Indeed, the concept of forgiveness suggests a disturbing uncertainty about how to transform the bad into good. In striving for a more dynamic approach, this essay takes up a series of dilemmas associated with forgiveness and explores them from psychoanalytic and cultural perspectives. My use of psychoanalytic theory bridges individual and collective experience, moving from psychological processes associated with forgiveness in psychotherapy to cultural dynamics shaping contemporary discourse on reparation. In moving from individual dynamics to group life, I also explore the cultural implications of forgiveness as a "feminized" position and how contemporary discourses on forgiveness signify shifts in the cultural choreographing of conflict resolution. There are several metatheoretical concepts that distinguish psychoanalytic approaches from other therapeutic models. The literature on forgiveness is particularly dominated by cognitive approaches, which stress conscious, intentional processes of mind (See DiBlasio, 1998; Sells & Hargrave, 1998). These models assume a contractual approach to resolving conflict, with the aggrieved party adjudicating the terms under which a guilty party may be released from an emotional debt. Psychoanalytic approaches, on the other hand, direct attention to unconscious processes. The concept of the dynamic unconscious suggests a realm of mind resistive to the demands of external reality, particularly to demands that conflict with infantile fantasies and desires.

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The term infantile in the psychoanalytic tradition is not necessarily pejorative. Rather, it suggests that advanced psychic structures rest on older, deeper structures of the self. Various schools of psychoanalytic thought share an emphasis on the unconscious as that aspect of mind that is pushed to the margins, particularly by the operation of conventional codes and normative ideals. In other words, the unconscious refers to those objects of consciousness felt to be most alien to whatever constitutes the "I," the phenomenological self. The unconscious is prelogical, organized around reversals, transformations, and oppositions to what Freud termed the "reality principle," the guiding principle of ego functioning. Psychoanalytic approaches to therapy focus on how responses to conflict are overdetermined by a complex array of associations from the past, specifically those associations formed through early attachments. The emphasis is on the rich generativity of mind and the disjuncture between the imaginary and the "real" in the interpretation of events. This need not imply a limited focus on individual experience. Indeed, collective life includes group psychological processes—collective forms of subjectivity—expressed in language, discourses, and defensive practices. I would like to avoid at the outset any pronouncement about whether forgiveness is good or bad, a virtue or a weakness. Rather, I suggest that the function of forgiveness depends on how it operates within in a wider arena of human dramas. In other words, without a signifying frame of reference, the term is devoid of useful significance. From a psychodynamic perspective, this frame of reference includes a range of developmental and psychic factors associated with moral conflict. Distinctions in the literature between "mature" and "pseudo-forgiveness," between illusory forgiveness and the genuine article, have some bearing on a psychodynamic discussion (see Scobie & Scobie, 1998; Sells & Hargrave, 1998; Walrond-Skinner, 1998). Certainly these distinctions suggest that one state of mind may conceal or defend against another state. But drawing firm boundaries between "good" and "bad" forms of forgiveness may foreclose important areas of ambiguity. Indeed, the assumption that there is a true or ideal state of genuine forgiveness leaves aside much of what is interesting about the problem: The coexistence of baser and nobler human impulses is at the heart of much of the worried discourse on forgiveness. Separating the wheat of genuine forgiveness from the chaff of its inferior versions obscures the rich complexity of those human situations that initiate the call for reparation. Psychoanalytic Perspectives on Forgiveness and Reparation

When we look at the phenomenon of forgiveness psychoanalytically, we are less interested in the act of forgiveness than we are in the process of getting there. The literature on forgiveness pays scant attention to internal processes, even though there are ample caveats concerning premature forgiveness,

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which implies a problematic foreclosure of conflict (Lamb, 1996; WalrondSkinner, 1998). This relative inattention to internal processes is particularly surprising given that reaching a state of forgiveness is generally recognized as requiring considerable expenditures of emotional work (Walrond-Skinner, 1998). Indeed, many writers consider forgiveness—as a frame of mind based on a modified mental representation of self and other—to be the developmental prototype of later capacities for flexible, adaptive mental structures (see Finn & Gartner, 1992). For example, the wronged party may invoke memories of having committed similar transgressions, or she or he may try to remember the good side of the person seeking forgiveness. In turning to the problem of forgiveness through the lens of psychoanalysis, we are concerned with developmental processes, with self and object (other) representations, with unconscious motivations and defenses, and with the narrative structure of the story. The focus is less on the state of forgiveness than it is on those self-object representations enlisted in getting there. Psychoanalytic theory is concerned with the development of psychic structures, and particularly with how self and object representations are integrated over time into mental functioning. Love relationships seem to be particularly vulnerable to a reawakening of the powerful emotional currents of early life, with their associated dependencies, ambivalences, and archaic (all good/all bad) self-object representations. In assessing therapeutic issues related to forgiveness, the focus would be on the relative complexity and flexibility of subject positions available to the patient. What is the cast of characters in this particular dramaturgy of the self? Who is being forgiven for what, and how does the cast of characters organize or modify some important aspect of the patient's relational world? In listening to the patient's story in psychotherapy, the therapist would be attuned to how the patient arrived at this state and with what psychological functions it serves. Over time, the therapist would try to assist the patient in developing a richer, more complex, and flexible internal world of representational resources. The patient who always is let down by others, never feels understood or appreciated, or constantly needs to be right confronts particular obstacles in situations calling for forgiveness. For such patients, the therapist would attempt to widen the scope of consciousness, identifying motifs, plots, and subplots that open up new possibilities for understanding the relational world. Therapy would focus on moving beyond rigid, stereotypical scripts that limit her or him to the position of playing one part in the drama of life. As a subjective response, forgiveness may emerge as an imperative of the social ego—the system of internalized mechanisms for negotiating conflict—or as a directive of the more morally charged realm of the superego. Whereas the social ego reconciles adaptive interests and competing demands on the self, there is a sense of "oughtness" to the superego mode of voice, with some diminution in self-regard for resistance to its influence. For example, a battered wife might override her own feelings of outrage and return to her husband, compelled by a chorus of internal and external voices reminding her of her duties to her children, the importance of loyalty and endurance,

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and so forth. It is misleading to view such acts as masochistic in that they often involve living up to moral ideals, even though the ideals invoked exact a high price. The positions of transgressor and victim also may be transposed in situations where group life imposes on the victim an ethic of forgiveness. Failing to forgive, the victim may be viewed as lacking in moral virtue (Lang, 1996). Some superego dictates—those organized around a psychologically primitive social order of moral absolutes—can be quite ferocious, particularly those fortified by authoritarian cultural or religious practices. The more archaic moral order of a primitive superego plays a role in nurturing many revenge fantasies—those images of violent retribution that maintain a destructive hold over psychic life long after disputes have been formally settled. Schools of psychoanalytic thought differ in how they interpret moral conflict, even though they share an emphasis on the potential throughout life for a revival of early, archaic conflicts. Freud broke with static social scientific categories when he focused on ambivalence as the prototypical attitude of infancy, explaining how a loving object of attachment may be readily transformed in psychic life into an object of bitter hatred. From a Freudian perspective, human psychic suffering is intimately bound to the discovery of an emotional affinity between opposite states of mind. A corollary of this view is that healthy functioning depends on the development of capacities for managing the tensions that opposing feelings arouse. Ego psychologists in the Freudian tradition focus on drives, wishes, and impulses and their defensive management, with particular attention to superego dictates. From this perspective, many neurotic conflicts involve an excessively harsh or demanding superego that may be based on identification with powerful authority figures. Superego demands are sometimes acted out selfdestructively in excessive inhibitions and self-reproaches, and sometimes externalized in a readiness to punish others for imagined or real transgressions. While an unforgiving superego may be the heir of internalized social codes, it also may be influenced by the child's internally generated anxieties over prohibited desires. The Oedipus story captures many of the elements of this prototypical drama, with the unconscious wish to kill off the powerful father and the fantasy of a recaptured pleasurable union with the mother the central narrative motifs. Psychoanalyst psychologists in the object relations tradition are less apt to see the human psyche as inherently prone to destructive reactions and are more apt to view internal dramas centering on revenge as born of actual betrayals or traumas (Herman, 1992). From this perspective, a compulsive readiness to forgive is a defensive response to early, insecure attachments just as is a habitual inability to forgive. Stereotypical responses to negotiating conflict, whether rigid or yielding, are thought to originate in crucial difficulties in early attachments. Of particular import is the availability of parental objects, such as the mother, in weathering the vicissitudes of infantile dependencies. Kleinians differ from many others in the object relations tradition in their emphasis on destructive impulses as a substrate of early human devel-

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opment and a primary source of psychic instability. (See Alford, 1989; Frosh, 1999; Segal, 1973.) While individuals suffering from character pathologies may be particularly dominated by destructive impulses, Kleinians assert that such impulses are part of the human condition more generally. Ontologically and existentially, the human infant anxiously discovers that the mother he or she loves is one and the same mother the infant hates. The wish to attack the "bad" mother—what Kleinians term the infantile, paranoid-schizoid position—is modified over time as the child is able to integrate its own conflicting impulses and representations of this object of attachment. Kleinians also stresses the vital and progressive function of guilt in human experience as the child develops the capacity to make reparation, both internally and externally, with the maternal object. Finding that the mother has survived the child's rage rather than being destroyed by it, the child is able to make integrative and creative use of aggressive currents of the self. A Kleinian perspective suggests a problematic instability to psychic life, with a tendency to project destructive impulses onto others. In this sense, the road to forgiveness may be similarly unstable, characterized by fluctuating states and imagery rather than a unified state of mind. In resolving injurious experiences, the yielding associated with forgiveness may awaken powerful affects, including paranoid anxiety around being taken over by a threatening Other. From a Kleinian perspective, working through the fantasy elements of threatening experiences and recognizing the tendency to demonize others is vital to a developing capacity for relatedness. The persecuting other may be a part of the patient's own internal world, even as it occupies a position in the external world of the patient. Pathological relationships are often characterized by a rigid inflexibility—by the use of the other as a repository for disavowed disturbing currents in one's self. Roles of persecutor and persecuted are often played out in a stereotypical drama, which may include the reversal of positions at critical moments in the denouement. These positions and their associated pathologies, however, may be part of the human condition more generally, particularly in the tendency to demonize what is perceived to be threatening to the self.

Resistances to Forgiving

There is a growing chorus of clinical voices, particularly in the family therapy literature, proclaiming the mental health benefits of forgiveness (Freedman & Enright, 1996; Ferch, 1998; Pollard, Anderson, Anderson, & Jennings, 1998). In assessing these claims, it is important to make a distinction between the transgressor as an internal object—a representation of a person or a part of a person—and the transgressor as an external "object," or presence in the relational world. The conflict resolution literature tends to focus on the external dimensions of the relational world, but the transgressor may occupy a central place in the internal life of the aggrieved individual as well.

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In addressing this internal dimension of grievances, both psychoanalytic and nonpsychoanalytic clinicians have written about the psychic costs to the victim of an excessive preoccupation with the perpetrator (Finn & Gartner, 1992; McCullough & Worthington, 1994). The perpetrator may remain the central protagonist in the internal dramas of many victims long after the objective threat has passed. In breaking out of an internal folie a deux between victim and perpetrator, some modification in the mental representations of both participants is often required. As many therapists and theologians have pointed out, the impulse to forgive a past betrayal is closely affiliated with the desire to be delivered from a tortuous dilemma. As Berel Lang (1996) describes it, "We hope to clear our minds and feelings of anger and resentment because of their disturbing effects on us" (p. 43). Forgiving others also may be intimately related to self-forgiveness, particularly when object representations—internal representations of others—are bound up in representations of the self (Freedman & Enright, 1996). It is not uncommon in psychotherapy for patients to discover that their outrage toward their own parents finds its way into forms of self-reproach. "How may I condemn my mother for leaving me feeling so unprotected," the patient asks of herself, "without risking a similar judgment by my own child?" I would like to underscore a distinction at this point between a readiness to forgive based on anxiety, phobic dread of conflict, or other inhibitions, and a readiness to forgive based on more integrative forms of consciousness. But this distinction, too, is often tenuous in that various forms of readiness may coexist in an unsteady state. Indeed, a more advanced or "mature" position may operate as a defense against a less mature one. The patient may complain about being left as a young teenager by alcoholic parents to care for younger siblings. In the next session, this same patient returns to exonerate her parents, explaining to the therapist how alcoholism is a disease. This explanation may be true, or partially true. What the therapist must be able to attend to, however, is the flux of self-other positions and whether some states are more readily banished from consciousness than others. Negative representations of others serve additional psychic functions as well. The "bad object" representation of a parent, for example, may play a vital role in achieving a more individuated identity or in separating from familial entanglements. It is true that psychological reliance on a "bad object" or an enemy can be emotionally costly over time, particularly if negative emotions, impulses, or images are habitually externalized or projected onto this image of the other. If the internal world is constituted around a stereotypical, good victim/bad persecutor drama, the capacity for a flexible range of responses to the world may be blunted. However, an emerging capacity to rebel, to fight back, to defend more fragile aspects of the self, may rely on the bad objects, as internally recognized enemies of the self, before more integrative capacities develop. Repeatedly telling the story of childhood torments at the hands of a sadistic older sibling, for example, may be part of a process of widening constitutive elements of the self through opposition to powerful foes.

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Working psychoanalytically, we would listen for precisely what is being cast out by the call for forgiveness. Listening with a third ear, we might detect the presence of concealed resistance, a refusal to concede some vital boundary between self and other, even as the patient adopts an attitude of forgiveness. Take, for example, a woman who discovers that her husband has had an affair. She may withdraw in hurt and anger, finally consenting to couples' counseling with her repentant husband. She expresses her painful feelings and he his regret and desire to make reparation. While his efforts seem genuine, the woman finds, however, that these acts of reparation do not modify an underlying sense of a permanent rupture. And the pressure to forgive—to "move on"—makes her underlying resistance less accessible to consciousness. As the months go by, she resumes the role of loving wife but finds that she is unable to respond sexually to her husband. There is a sense in which her body betrays some reserve of mistrust, some bastion of resistance, in spite of her conscious belief that she has forgiven her husband. In this case, therapeutic sermons on the benefits of forgiveness merely fortify the boundary of repression. How might we intervene, then, to assist this patient? While many therapists would register the husband's affair as a minor transgression, its psychological significance depends on a range of psychodynamic and interpersonal factors. If the therapist urges her to relinquish her hostility and mistrust of her husband, these domains of meaning are more apt to move to the periphery of consciousness. The therapist must be able to assist her in recognizing and holding conflicting states associated with her dilemma, specifically consciousness that a part of her forgives her husband and a part of her does not. The unforgiving self may be as vital and healthy an aspect of psychic life as is the forgiving self. For passive, compliant individuals, recognizing this defiant voice within themselves—at the threshold of what may be most audible—opens up a more vital engagement with aggression. Understanding the psychological function of this refusal to forgive requires that we place the conflict in the context of recurring motifs in the patient's life narrative. Achieving a state of forgiveness also implies that the injustice has become part of the past, in the sense that the threat of harm no longer operates in the real world. Yet the human capacity for memory—for invoking the past in the present—makes this temporal shift a tenuous one, depending on the historical loading of the transgression. Past associations may be too potent, too readily invoked in the present, to be overcome. Further, problems in human affairs are often more persistent than they initially appear to be. The crisis may pass, only to reveal a more chronic disturbance. Degrees of Violation

Some argue that forgiveness is the foundation of cultural harmony, the basis of social reparation (Aponte, 1998; Day, 1998). Yet the very moral persuasiveness of this principle readily subdues less authoritative voices. Many

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children learn the deceptions of forgiveness early on as they submit to the command of their parents and apologize to enemy siblings, meanwhile harboring hatred and plotting secret revenge. The mandate of forgiveness may repress conflict as readily as it resolves it, leaving mutual enemies waiting for an opportune moment to begin the struggle anew. In addressing this confluence, those writing about forgiveness often make distinctions between minor violations and insults and more serious breaches of trust, as well as extreme forms of human cruelty (Hargrave & Anderson, 1992; Lang, 1996; Scobie & Scobie, 1998). Many people would not expect survivors of genocide, or even survivors of severe childhood abuse, to forgive their perpetrators in the sense of relieving them of guilt. One approach is to create a continuum, with the seriousness of the violation inversely related to the magnitude of the moral claim on the aggrieved party. The logic of the matrix is something like this: Extreme violations--> Forgiveness unwarranted (Forgiveness is pathological) Minor violations-->Forgiveness warranted (Failure to forgive is pathological) This is a useful matrix as a general guideline. But it does not carry us very far into the labyrinth of uncertainties that may emerge. There are many instances, for example, when the logic of the psyche does not conform to such gradients. Indeed, internal dramas centering on whether or not to forgive an offense may have little to do with the scales of justice in some objective sense. One of the vital contributions of psychoanalytic theory is its attentiveness to how imperfectly internal events are correlated with external ones. There situations in which humans generate accounts of what has happened based on fantasies, build entire cases against others on the basis of scattered evidence, or dismiss entirely overwhelming evidence of evildoing. Some of these distinctions are related to personality and other psychological differences mediating the interpretation of events, whereas others are related to cultural processes. Psychological and cultural dynamics combine to shape the narrative strategies available to therapist and client in making sense of disturbing life events. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, for example, sex abuse emerged as the master narrative in explaining a wide range of female disturbances of ambiguous origins (Haaken, 1998). Probing for the source of these disturbances often resulted in unearthing a history of childhood sexual abuse. Identifying incidents of abuse—and the identity of abusers—was helpful for many women in locating within the past a source of current difficulties. But sexual abuse also emerged as a cultural "container" for more uncertain sources of discontentment in women's lives. Childhood sexual abuse was the one violation that women had the right to be angry about, the one patriarchal violation that allowed women to walk away from familial entanglements. In the United States, poverty, overwork, burdensome child care responsibilities—these more mundane sources of

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distress in women's lives—arouse very little moral outrage. In the clinical literature and in public discourse, the dominant narrative of moral transgression and "healing" was sexual victimization of children. The question of whether or not to forgive the perpetrator, as important as this was, obscured the broader question of why so many female grievances were being expressed through this singular narrative. Just as the narratives available to therapists are embedded in the morality tales that gain currency in the culture, so too are distinctions between normal and abnormal reactions to life events. When listening to stories of injuries suffered and affronts to the self, therapists make judgments about the reasonableness of the patient's complaints. We expect as a normal outcome of development the capacity to absorb some degree of hurt, disappointment, and failings on the part of others and to incorporate disturbing experiences so that connections with others (and with ourselves, in terms of psychic structures) do not fall apart. Individuals with severe ego deficits or character pathologies are notoriously vulnerable to minor slights or disappointments. For those with paranoid tendencies, a series of minor incidents may become elaborated into a conspiratorial delusional system. For the narcissist, the failure of a lover to serve as reassuring mirror may evoke rage or rejection. But these assessments are inextricably bound to normative assumptions about what individuals should be capable of enduring. The capacity to absorb interpersonal tensions and disappointments and to make reparation with others is certainly a key indicator of mental health. But how do we decide on the threshold of what is a normative or optimal level of forgiveness? And what problems emerge in the cultural and psychotherapeutic negotiation of that threshold? There is wide agreement in the literature that we must take into account the magnitude of the offense, with the understanding that some crimes may not merit release from the dispensation of forgiveness (Keene, 1995; Lang, 1996). Extreme violence or cruelty may warrant extreme expulsions from the group or community. This problem takes us into the complex realm of politics and criminal justice and to the question of how to distinguish between rational punishments (for example, the protection of the community, the necessity of negative consequences as deterrents, and the rehabilitation of violators) and the more irrational arena of revenge. The desire for revenge carries the potential for perpetuating violence and related trauma as victims turn the tables on their persecutors and perpetuate the very misery from which they seek relief. As I suggested earlier, Kleinians stress the vulnerabilities of the psyche for revived paranoid anxieties and for the tendency of humans to make use of primitive psychological defenses, such as splitting and projective identification. While individuals suffering from personality disorders may habitually engage in this psychological splitting of the "good" and the "bad," with limited capacity to integrate conflicting dimensions of people or of relationships, these same fluctuations work their way into the psychic life of less disturbed individuals. More disturbed individuals may be less able to repress or contain the disturbing currents of mental life, but these same primitive reac-

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tions may be present, while less palpable, in more psychologically integrated individuals. When we enter the terrain of paranoid/schizoid reactions, we can see how an emerging capacity to forgive may represent a movement toward a more adaptive flexibility in psychic structures. The increased ability to integrate countervailing affects and attitudes may reduce anxiety and hostility and increase relatedness. But we also may confront situations where forgiveness emerges as a defense against these same paranoid/schizoid anxieties. To "love your enemy" may be noble, but it also may be a reaction formation—the employment of a positive affective state as a defense against a negative one.

Forgiveness and Reconciliation

Psychotherapists are often not sufficiently attentive to how the social and political beliefs of both therapist and patient intervene in the working through of injurious experiences. For therapists who believe in a "just world"—that emotional suffering is generally brought on by factors under control of the individual—the therapeutic process may focus too narrowly (and oppressively) on the need for a modification in the patient's attitudes. All human societies generate means of resolving differences, from daily tensions and disputes to serious violations of the social order (Douglas, 1966). Practices of forgiveness include a range of circumstances in which the aggrieved individual releases the transgressor from a state of material or emotional indebtedness. The conditions of this release, as well as the competing claims and rights that emerge, are deeply embedded in cultural practices. But cultural practices are not static. Contending forces in the society shape the terms of the encounter and the modes of compromise that acquire legitimacy. Forgiveness is commonly introduced in discussions of conflict resolution as an essential part of the process of reconciliation and is often assumed to be a necessary condition for a successful outcome. Yet it is important to distinguish between forgiveness and reconciliation and to understand what each is thought to require of participants (see Freedman & Enright, 1996; Sells and Hargrave, 1998). Forgiveness involves a different form of what Arlie Hochschild (1994) calls "emotional work" than does reconciliation. We may think of the former as an internal state and the latter as an outward or behavioral condition. Whereas reconciliation is an interpersonal process of restoring connection, forgiveness refers to an internal state, particularly a modification of our attitude or emotional responses (see Scobie & Scobie, 1998). We may be reconciled in the behavioral sense without undergoing an internal change. Reconciliation is an interpersonal process of negotiation, with the aim of restoring a ruptured relationship. Forgiveness, on the other hand, suggests a private negotiation—a reconciliation of conflicting internal states. Like absolution, forgiveness suggests the presence of guilt or shame as well as a rela-

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tional struggle over the conditions of release from its tormenting influence. Both intrapsychically and interpersonally, the plea for forgiveness redresses the superego—it is an appeal for a modification in judgments, for compassion, for mercy. This places the forgiver in the more powerful position in the reconciliation process (see Freedman & Enright, 1996; Keene, 1995). But what if the transgressor fails to seek forgiveness? Many treatises on forgiveness stress that a repentant state is a necessary condition for both genuine forgiveness and meaningful reconciliation (Ferch, 1998; Sells & Hargrave, 1998). Others suggest that a modification in the attitudes of the transgressor need not be a precondition for a modification in the attitudes of the aggrieved (Aponte, 1998; Freedman & Enright, 1996; Finn & Gartner, 1992; Lang, 1996). On an interpersonal level, the acknowledgment of wrongdoing signifies a willingness to work on restoring the relationship and avoiding situations that cause pain to the aggrieved person. Whether the focus is on the interpersonal or the intrapsychic aspects of forgiveness, there is wide agreement in the field that issues of power must be taken into account in any reconciliation process. Feminist therapists and political theorists have pointed out how oppression regularly masquerades in the seductive plumage of moral ideals (Keene, 1995; Lamb, 1996; WalrondSkinner, 1998). Yet the power to forgive also grants the injured party some power over the transgressor (Lang, 1996). Unlike deference, the exercising of forgiveness is an expression of power, if only the power to release the offender from a state of emotional indebtedness. Parents normally forgive their young children rather than the reverse. It is not until adulthood that children acquire some freedom from parental control and a sense of their own power, perhaps over aging parents, so that the dispensation of forgiveness becomes a question. Just as believers imbue God with the authority to forgive mortals, the forgiver exercises power over the supplicant. For those who are in the subjugated position, the granting of forgiveness carries this contradictory admixture of power and powerlessness. During eras when traditional hierarchies are being challenged, this uncertainty may become pronounced. As Michel Foucault (1978) has so famously argued, power opens up the possibility of resistance, particularly in the modern era where the legitimacy of rulers rests on the enlistment of the ruled in negotiating the terms of control. To forgive is divine because it grants the forgiver power over a transgressor. This may account for some of the feeling of elation and narcissistic enlargement accompanying the granting of forgiveness (Freedman & Enright, 1996). Descriptions of battered woman syndrome, for example, include a sense of power that the woman experiences after a battering episode as the husband seeks forgiveness and redemption (Walker, 1981). The position of pardoning one's abuser may be organized around an unconscious wish for power, a desire to turn the tables on injustice by asserting one's moral superiority over the offender. Determining whether adopting this state of moral superiority is masochistic or sadistic, self-defeating or empowering, altruistic or selfish, depends on the possibilities available in understanding the multiple meanings of the drama.

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CULTURE AND CONTEXT IN FORGIVENESS The Gender Politics of Forgiveness

The pronouncement of forgiveness is like being told the ending of a story. It may serve as a foreclosure, a denouement, or a resolution but nonetheless it suggests that something disturbing has happened. It is not surprising that much of the clinical discourse on forgiveness is regarded with wariness by those who are more concerned with giving voice to what has happened than with making reparation. The suspicion is that the valorizing of forgiveness is a seductive ideological cover for baser motives. As oppressed groups gain the strength to speak up and claim new rights, including the right to disengage from abusive relationships, the powerful rediscover the salutary virtue of forgiveness. I share much of this wariness, even though I believe that the capacity to forgive is integral to many other capacities, including the self-reflective capacities of social movements. What might be learned from psychoanalytic theory in uncovering the various conflicting motivations and psychological dynamics of group life? Is there a productive middle ground between an overidealization and a devaluing of forgiveness? One way of entering into the conundrum is to begin with the experience of victims—with those who have been injured, and particularly with those whose complaints are more likely to be silenced by the more powerful. In arguing for the benefits of forgiveness for victims, Sue Walrond-Skinner (1998) states that "forgiveness acts as a temporary agent of empowerment because it dramatically changes the balance of power within the relationship in some mysterious way, shifting it initially in a straight exchange from the previously empowered offender to the previously disempowered victim. . . . This dramatic exchange of power is however often such a shock that its effect is to liberate both parties from their entrenched positions" (p. 16). What is this "mysterious" effect of forgiveness that liberates both parties? And under what conditions does forgiveness shift the balance of power in oppressive relationships? Like many other Christian counselors in the forgiveness literature, Walrond-Skinner embraces the idea of mystical transformation, invoking it as a means of fortifying the resolve of ambivalent participants. Reconciliation in the Christian literature tends to be understood as a form of emotional surrender—a dramatic change of heart in both the transgressor and the transgressed. From a psychoanalytic perspective, however, the concept of mystical transformation may be understood as a form of magical undoing, the hypnotic effect of a ritual or authoritative influence. From a feminist perspective, reconciliation means addressing the conditions under which families are able to resolve difficulties, move beyond stalemates, and work together more cooperatively. From a feminist perspective, these conditions would include confronting the double standard that permits men greater sexual freedoms and places women in the position of bearing primary responsibility for children, often with minimal social supports. Walrond-Skinner (1998) goes beyond Christian pieties, however, in grounding the process of forgiveness in a developmental framework. The

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process of trying to reach forgiveness arouses our earliest experiences of loss, she suggests, particularly the loss of an infantile sense of grandiose control over the mother. The capacity to weather early losses and to make reparation depends on how the infant navigates through early experiences of separation. Though she cites the work of feminist relational theorists of the Stone Center, Walrond-Skinner does not discuss the gender dynamics of forgiveness.2 Mothers are often at the center of our first images of betrayal, as Walrond-Skinner suggests, but they also are at the center of our deepest representations of reparation. While God the Father grants forgiveness in Christian theology, it is the mother—both the material mother of childhood and the fantasy representation of her—who represents possibilities for restored connection. Carol Gilligan (1982), a leading relational theorist who influences the work at the Stone Center, concludes from her own research that women approach moral conflict differently than men. Whereas men focus on an ethic of individual rights, women are more apt to invoke an ethic of care in negotiating moral conflict. Building on Nancy Chodorow's (1978) work, Gilligan argues that female development is directed toward preserving relational ties whereas male development is oriented toward separation from others. In societies where women are responsible for the care of children and men dominate public life, male gender identity comes to be constructed around defensive disidentification with the mother and a corresponding repression of dependency needs. Female gender identity, on the other hand, allows for a greater integration of dependence and independence needs. This gender distinction implies that women tend to develop more flexible ego boundaries, a deeper capacity for relatedness, and less fear of yielding to others than do men. One of the main criticisms of the relational theory of the Stone Center, however, is that it downplays the costs of feminine "peace-making" and the relational binds for women in striving for the restoration of "connection" (Westcott, 1998). Further, relational theory does not place much emphasis on female aggressive impulses and thus it colludes with domesticated cultural representations of femininity. From a psychoanalytic feminist perspective, we would want to be aware of collective defenses against female outrage and how these same collective defenses operate in the therapeutic situation. The woman patient may transfer cultural prohibitions against female rage onto the therapist, enlisting the therapist in her retreat into the feminine sanctuary of peacemaking. Alternately, the therapist may respond anxiously to a female patient's anger, appealing to her "feminine superego." A male therapist may come to unconsciously identify with the perpetrator, seeking relief from this guilty position by encouraging the female patient—either overtly or subtly— to relinquish her fury. Within the panoply of relational possibilities, the power of the forgiver must be recognized as distinct from mere compliance or capitulation. But we also may recognize an affinity between forgiveness and powerlessness. Oppressed groups—that is, those who have had less power in defending against victimization—have expressed the greatest wariness concerning the

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valorizing of forgiveness. Much of this wariness has an adaptive basis. Enemies serve vital functions for groups, just as they do for individuals. Images of the enemy fortify group solidarity and serve as a reminder of the importance of sustained struggle. The ritual invoking of the enemy may be rational or irrational, progressive or regressive. On the progressive side, liberation movements must be able to project that bad onto the oppressor and recover a sense of their own capacities. From Sisterhood Is Powerful to Black Is Beautiful, the rallying calls of liberation movements are founded on a restored sense of collective goodness. On the regressive side, however, movements may invoke the enemy in the service of repressing conflict within the group. The literature on abuse victims—particularly the vast literature on sexual abuse survivors—routinely cautions against forgiveness (see Bass and Davis, 1988; Walker, 1989). Forgiveness is viewed as either condoning abuse or repeating an oppressive pattern of enlisting the victim, who is often a woman, in taking care of the perpetrator, who is often a man. Those who promote forgiveness as a mental health practice typically respond by pointing out that these dynamics need not be part of the process of forgiveness. Indeed, terms such as "pseudoforgiveness" and "conciliatory forgiveness" pervade the literature as caveats against the potential replay of these oppressive interactions. The literature abounds with recommendations and criteria for distinguishing between "authentic" forgiveness and various counterfeit versions. This focus on authenticity is continuous with a longstanding Western emphasis, particularly within the middle class, on expressive states as markers of individual identity. With the decline of traditional practices which located personal identity in a matrix of kinship obligations and ritualized practices, the achievement of social identity in the bourgeois era came to rest more heavily on the capacity to transform oneself and to master emotional states (Hochschild, 1994). One could say that forgiveness has been "feminized" in that it is associated with traditional female gendered attributes, for instance, yielding, empathy, and responsiveness to others. The feminizing of the capacity to forgive in Western discourse is also related to the heightening of the division, particularly in the nineteenth century, between private and public life (Epstein, 1981; Hoeveler, 1998). The emergence of a market economy organized around the negotiation of impersonal contracts left domestic life as the site of personal fulfillment and the nuclear family as an idealized sanctuary from public life. Barbara Epstein (1981) describes the nineteenth-century "cult of domesticity" that placed women in the position of guardians of virtue, family togetherness, and emotional harmony. In presiding over this place of respite from a competitive world, middle-class women became the embodiment of unconditional love, turning the other way when confronted with the infidelity of husbands. Women's economic dependency granted men automatic rights to forgiveness, even though women resisted more openly as the century wore on. One impact of the loosening of the economic base of the household was that desire assumed a more central motive force in forging relational ties.

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While freedom from bondage to kinship hierarchies has been one of the most progressive developments of the modern era, this same freedom may be illusory. Conservative therapists often overidealize the family, comfortable with the split between the harshness of capitalism as the dominating ethos of public life and the sentimental warmth of home and hearth. Like other forms of splitting, this fantasized dichotomy does not permit genuine or "authentic" engagement in problems in either sphere. For liberal therapists, there may be a romanticizing of "freedom of choice," with insufficient attention to the social constraints under which choices are made. Liberal and conservative therapists alike may tend to downplay broader social forces impinging on family life, including its capacity to weather and resolve conflict. There also are long-standing cultural scripts aligning forgiveness, as an emotional state, with femininity. The God of the Hebrew Bible is less forgiving than is the Christian Son of God, with the latter embodying a more accepting, yielding deity. Even the Christian portrait of a forgiving Christ impaled on a cross, surrendering to his fate, assumes what is culturally coded as a feminine posture. For every unforgiving Medea, there is a chorus of forgiving Corinthian wives, ready to make adjustments for the failings of men. To forgive may be divine, but it is also often thought of as a feminine spiritual craft. The emergence of a contemporary discourse on forgiveness may register cultural anxieties over the adequacy of traditional means of containing conflict, particularly within the family. The social movements that achieved momentum in the 1970s destabilized traditional hierarchies, particularly the patriarchal control of the family. At the same time, women continue to carry disproportionate responsibility for the emotional labor of relationships, including the work required in yielding to the interests of others (Hochschild, 1994). One of the social consequences of feminism, then, is that women are no longer assumed to be the loyal guardians of family togetherness. Emotion work may still be women's work, but female resistances are changing the terms of the contract. From a feminist perspective, the question is not whether forgiveness is good or bad; it is not a matter of simply calibrating the dispensary of forgiveness in some rational proportions to the scales of justice. The more important issues concern the interplay of gendered positions and the range of freedom for women in negotiating the terms of their fate. Given the standard patriarchal plot line, with a long-suffering wife bestowing mercy on her prodigal husband, it is not surprising that feminists have been among the more vocal critics of forgiveness rhetoric. Indeed, the emergence of interest in this topic during the 1980s and 1990s may be read as a collective appeal for the "forgiveness" of women. It is important to attend to these shifts in public discourse and to the dynamic interplay of female subjugation and assertions of female authority. One way this interplay is manifest is through renewed interest in the terms of genuine forgiveness. Capitulation and accommodation are no longer assumed to be feminine virtues, and it is not assumed that only the powerful are in the position of granting forgiveness.

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In coming down on the side of forgiveness and reconciliation, we are emphasizing the value of reintegrating transgressors into the community. As an ethical ideal, it represents a flexible morality, grounded in acknowledgment of weaknesses and failings as fundamental to the human condition (see Douglas, 1966). If we are all "sinners saved by grace," we share a common heritage of guilt and a shared mandate to make reparations with others. There is implicit knowledge of these processes in many cultural practices, including the emotional malignancies associated with revenge and enemy-making. Culture equips individuals with practices for resolving disputes, including treatment of various bilious emotional afflictions associated with the failure of such cultural mechanisms. What are the reasons for such failures? Much like neurotic symptoms, the failure of ordinary mechanisms to achieve reparation may lay bare some underlying disturbance. Cultural practices often suture over tensions and problematic differences within group life. Sometimes ritualized means of subduing tensions sustain human connection and capacities. But they also may operate repressively, or permit the deliverance of one group at the expense of another. Those who refuse to forgive may serve a vital social role in keeping tensions alive so that alternatives are more apt to emerge. Without a Malcolm X refusing to forgive the "white devils," Martin Luther King's message of nonviolence and reconciliation may not have been so persuasive. King could pray for the salvation of racist oppressors and have mercy on their souls because the Black Power movement threatened to bring the white devils to their knees. Conclusions

As a morally charged concept, forgiveness evokes discourses intersecting psychology, politics, philosophy, and religion. Like other dictates of conscience, forgiveness is often cast as a moral triumph over baser human emotions—a triumph of superego dictates over the forces of the id, mediated by the negotiations of a (reasonable) ego. There are countless versions of such morality tales in cultural life—insults and injuries mobilize the desire for bloody revenge, the satisfaction of which leads to ruination. The inability to forgive may also be moralized as leading to a life of bitterness wherein the victim, unable to relinquish the black bile of memory, perpetuates his or her own state of suffering. Indeed, appeals for forgiveness are as often directed at self-interest as they are to altruistic motives. Accepting the value and cultural necessity of forgiveness does not take us very far, however, in understanding its myriad psychological and social meanings. Therapists may benefit from reflecting on their own motivations when they press for forgiveness. The wish for the patient to forgive may be aroused by a guilty identification with the offender and emerge out of the desire to be relieved from this disturbing state. From a Kleinian perspective, the therapist may adopt a paranoid position in relation to the patient's rage, even as the patient may suffer from this same primitive anxiety that leads to a premature

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rush to forgiveness. What I am suggesting is that overinvestment in reaching a state of forgiveness may be a type of reaction formation—a defense based on turning a disturbing feeling into its opposite. In much of the psychological literature on forgiveness, there is a tendency toward hyperrational models of mind and psychologically naive appeals to the mental health merits of relinquishing hostility toward past offenders. The literature on "intentional forgetting" and "forgiveness therapy" assumes that there is an objective reality about which all parties may agree and that the past need not shape current responses to conflict. On an unconscious level, however, the boundaries between past and present threats are murky. Further, identifying forgiveness as an aim of therapy may, paradoxically, make achieving it more difficult. Defenses and resistances may be difficult to explore in a moralistic therapeutic climate. A psychoanalytic approach would probe for the conflicting internal voices that are readily subdued by a superego demand for forgiveness. The job of the therapist is to enlarge the scope of awareness and to assist the patient in "holding" countervailing parts of the self, with their associated voices and affective valences. To seize upon or anoint one state of mind as the morally correct one may forge a temporary peace agreement with warring internal voices. But such alignments may be illusory or even counterproductive. Banished from consciousness, contrary desires often maintain a powerful hold over psychic life. At the level of group life, discourses on forgiveness are closely affiliated with reparation and reconciliation. While we may benefit from distinguishing between forgiveness and reconciliation, the continual reminder in the literature of the difference between the two suggests that they are, in fact, related states in interpersonal life. Forgiveness paves the way for reconciliation. If there is a bias in the family therapy literature toward reconciliation, it may be manifested in the preaching of the doctrine of forgiveness. As women enter the paid workforce and resist serving as the emotional shock absorbers in family life, anxieties abound over disintegrative forces in family life and means of making reparation. Learning the art of forgiveness certainly plays some role in creating a more harmonious society. For many men, it means developing capacities to yield, to reflect on their own part in human conflicts, and to restore connection—capacities culturally coded as feminine. But for countless contemporary women, sermonizing on forgiveness may be too much like preaching to the choir. I am reminded of the melodrama of President Clinton asking for the nation's forgiveness for his sexual "indiscretions," perhaps belatedly but most certainly in response to American culture's propensity for sentimentality. Men are no longer free to assume that they will be forgiven for their lapses, but neither are women entirely free to challenge the double standard. Gender categories are in flux, as are the terms for negotiating forgiveness and reconciliation. For many men, too often love still means never having to say you're sorry. In much of the therapeutic literature on forgiveness, it means learning to say it genuinely.

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Notes 1. Interviews of women are taken from the documentary film Diamonds, Guns, and Rice: Sierra Leone and the Women's Peace Movement, coproduced by Janice Haaken and Caley Haaken-Heymann, Portland State University, Portland, OR. 2. The Stone Center for Developmental Services and Studies at Wellesley College is credited with the development of self-in-relation theory. For a review, see Westcott, 1998, especially pp. 398-404. References

Alford, Fred C. (1989). Melanie Klein and critical social theory. New Haven: Yale University Press. Aponte, Harry J. (1998). Love, the spiritual wellspring of forgiveness: An example of spirituality in therapy. Journal of Family Therapy, 20, 37-58. Bass, Ellen, & Davis, Laura (1988). The courage to heal. New York: Harper Perennial. Chodorow, Nancy (1978). The reproduction of mothering: Psychoanalysis and the sociology of gender. Berkeley: University of California Press. Day, R. (1998). Forgiveness as a political process: Rending and reconciliation in South Africa. Journal of Religion and Culture, 12, 61-91. DiBlasio, Fredrick A. (1998). The use of a decision-based forgiveness intervention within intergenerational family therapy. Journal of Family Therapy, 20, 77—94. Douglas, Mary (1966). Purity and danger. New York: Praeger. Epstein, Barbara L. (1981). The politics of domesticity: Women, evangelism and temperance in nineteenth-century America. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Ferch, Shann R. (1998). Intentional forgiveness as a counseling intervention. Journal of Counseling and Development, 76, 261—270. Finn, Mark, & John Gartner (Eds.) (1992). Object relations theory and religion: Clinical applications. Westport, CN: Praeger. Foucault, Michel (1978). The history of sexuality, An introduction, 1. New York: Vintage Books. Freedman, Suzanne R. R., & Robert D. Enright (1996). Forgiveness as an intervention strategy with incest survivors. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 64, 983-982. Frosh, Stephen (1999). The politics of psychoanalysis: An introduction to Freudian and post-Freudian Theory. New York: New York University Press. Gilligan, Carol (1982). In a different voice: Psychological theory and women's development. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Haaken, Janice (1998). Pillar of salt: Gender, memory, and the perils of looking back. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Hargrave, Terry D., & William T. Anderson (1992). Finishing well: Aging and reparation in the intergenerationalfamily. New York: Bruner/Mazel. Herman, Judith Lewis (1992). Trauma and recovery. New York: Basic Books. Hochschild, Arlie Russel (1994). The managed heart: Commercialization of human feeling. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hoeveler, Diane Long (1998). Gothic feminism: The professionalization of gender from Charlotte Smith to the Brontes. University Park: Pennsylvania State UniversityPress. Keene, Fredrick W. (1995, Fall). The politics of forgiveness. On the Issues, 32-35.

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Lamb, Sharon (1996). The trouble with blame: Victims, perpetrators, and responsibility. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lang, Berel (1996, March/April). The Holocaust and two views of forgiveness. Tikkun, 11,42-48. McCullough, Michael E., & Everett L. Worthington, Jr. (1994). Models of interpersonal forgiveness and their applications to counseling: Review and critique. Counseling and Values, 39, 2—14. Minsky, Rosalind (1998). Psychoanalysis and culture: Contemporary states of mind. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. Pollard, Margie W., Ruth A. Anderson, William T. Anderson, & Glen Jennings (1998). The development of a family forgiveness scale. Journal of Family Therapy, 20, 95-109. Scobie, E. D., & G. E. W. Scobie (1998). Damaging events: The perceived need for forgiveness. Journal for the Theory of Social Behavior, 28, 373-401. Segal, Hanna (1973). Introduction to the work of Melanie Klein. London: Hogarth. Sells, James N., &Terry D. Hargrave (1998). Forgiveness: A review of the theoretical and empirical literature. Journal of Family Therapy, 20, 21-36. Valle, Ronald S., & Steen Hailing (Eds.) (1989). Existential and phenomenological perspectives in psychology: Exploring the breadth of human experience. New York: Plenum Press. Walker, Lenore (1979). The battered woman. New York: Harper & Row. Walker, Lenore (1989). Terrifying love: Why battered women kill and how society responds. New York: Harper & Row. Walrond-Skinner, Sue (1998). The function and role of forgiveness in working with couples and families: Clearing the ground. Journal of Family Therapy, 20, 3—19. Westcott, Marcia (1998). Female rationality and the idealized self. In Blythe M. Clinchy & Julie K. Norem (Eds.), The gender and psychology reader. New York: New York University Press.

ten

Forgiveness after Genocide? Perspectives from Bosnian Youth Joshua M.Thomas and Andrew Garrod

As we approached his hometown, our Bosnian Muslim driver and one-time soldier Necko struggled for the English words to describe the Grim Reaper: "When you were on your twenty-four hour shift at the front line [a quarter mile from his house], death was right beside you, touching your shoulder, caressing your hair." Showing us his village on this day, he said, "This used to be a normal town. This used to be a normal country. I used to be a normal man. Now, I live on a different planet than you." After the Nazi Holocaust, the world vowed "never again," and yet over the last decade concentration camps have dotted the Bosnian landscape. As the world watches on television, localized interethnic conflicts rage in places as far-reaching as the Sudan, South Africa, Northern Ireland, and the Middle East, as well as in other parts of the former Yugoslavia. In the midst of the horrors of this new type of war, where women and children are among the greatest casualties and ideologies polarize former communities, one wonders about the potential place of forgiveness and reconciliation for both individual coping and societal healing. In this chapter we consider the place of forgiveness, particularly forgiveness counseling, in the context of Necko's "different planet," in a country struggling to recover from civil war, displacement, physical destruction, and genocide under the pretense of "ethnic cleansing." Some advocate forgiveness as a universal moral good and see it as an appropriate element of psychological therapy for victims of trauma. Others feel that crimes of systematic torture, rape, and killing are unforgivable, and that in this wholly disrupted world, all Western notions of counseling and coping fail to apply. In this chapter we consider not only the philosophical debates and psychological research, but the real-life stories of Bosnian children and adolescents who have lived through this kind of war. After evaluating the relevance of scholarship regarding trauma counseling and forgiveness therapy to this kind of situa192

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tion, we use their narrative perspectives on forgiveness and their well-developed strategies for coping during war to frame our conclusions.

Post-traumatic Stress or Human Suffering

Before considering whether forgiveness ought to be advocated to war survivors in the context of psychotherapy, we need to consider the serious debate about whether counseling as we know it is at all appropriate as a means of aid in recovery from war trauma. The core issue is whether there exists a universal psychological response to trauma, as the application of the clinical term "post-traumatic stress disorder" seems to suggest, or whether a victim's response is highly dependent on the context. Young people especially seem to be victims of today's wars, which "are likely to put children on the front lines because there are no real front lines, only shifting zones of conflict" (Garbarino, Kostelny, & Dubrow, 1991, p. 6). In Boothby's (1994) study in Mozambique, 77 percent of children witnessed murder, 88 percent torture, and 63 percent rape or sexual abuse. Fifty-one percent were tortured themselves, and 64 percent were abducted from their families. Among those, many were forced to become soldiers. Political violence has so permeated society in places like South Africa and El Salvador that it has become the new "normal" way of life in which children mature. Stress Syndromes

The observance of "shell shock" among soldiers in the last century's two world wars drove recognition of "a stress disorder as a normal or predictable response to violence" (Boothby, 1994, p. 241). The scope of this condition expanded over time to include children and civilians in war, and then, potentially, any persons who may have experienced traumatic events, ranging from child abuse to natural disasters. The name "post-traumatic stress disorder" (PTSD) and its attached formal criteria were added to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders in 1980. Studies about the applicability of post-traumatic stress disorder to those who have lived through war conditions have yielded varied and often contradictory results (Saigh, Fairbank, & Yasik, 1998) depending on the methods used for research, which are "rarely comparable" (Arroyo & Eth, 1996). Goldstein, Wampler, and Wise (1997), although finding that 94 percent of the Bosnian children in their study met formal criteria for PTSD, question "whether normal psychological categories are applicable in the midst of war" (p. 876), since what can be considered symptoms of a disorder, such as startle reflex or fear of going outdoors, during war may actually be adaptive strategies for surviving. Another study (Husain et al., 1998) found that although 85 percent of children in the siege of Sarajevo experienced sniper fire, this experience was

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not significantly related to development of PTSD. It was instead the disruption of basic needs, such as food and shelter, or loss of a family member that most adversely affected children. Becker, Weine, Vojvoda, and McGlashan (1999) studied twelve Bosnian adolescent refugees upon their arrival in the United States and found that only four ever met PTSD criteria, three at initial evaluation only and one at the one-year follow-up test only. They found that a stable family network was a mitigating factor for the development of PTSD in adolescents. In a general survey of youth's response to violence, Cairns (1996) found that "despite exposure to the same event some child victims emerge with specific syndromes while others appear to remain totally unscathed" (p. 34). Similarly, although Friedman and Jaranson (1994) find universal patterns in human responses to trauma, they claim that particular manifestations will depend on ethnocultural context, as will a determination of which responses are normal and which are pathological in any particular situation. They suggest that the general term "post-traumatic stress syndrome" (PTSS) is a "more useful conceptual approach to the psychological impact of the refugee experience" (p. 215). Boothby (1994) also argues that, for those who have grown up in a context of continual violence, "the term post-traumatic stress disorder ceases to hold meaning" and instead the phrase "continuous stress syndrome" (p. 242) more accurately describes their condition.

Efficacy of Counseling

For all these debates about terminology, the appropriateness of PTSD or other labels is very much related to how mental health professionals conceive of their work in areas of war. Summerfield, in his "Critique of Seven Assumptions behind Psychological Trauma Programmes in War-Affected Areas" (1999), outlines many of the complexities of considering the impact of war to be a clinical condition. He observes that in the West "medicine and psychology have displaced religion as the source of explanation for the vicissitudes of life, and the vocabulary of distress" (p. 1449). The language of trauma as a psychological condition is new, with PTSD emerging only in 1980. Its unfamiliar, clinical character masks the existence of violence and suffering, along with the native mechanisms of coping, which developed before this new language was applied to them. In its traditional manifestation, therapy is largely an individual enterprise between client and counselor, in line with the underlying studies of trauma and PTSD diagnoses that assume the individual as the unit of study. At the same time, Summerfield argues that psychological counseling programs in war-affected areas assume a universal response to trauma of the entire population, which, when diagnosed as a pathological condition, requires the intervention of specially trained outside experts. Some psychologists fear that telling one's story outside of a therapy session would cause "retraumatisation" prompted their opposition to victims giving testimony at the Hague tri-

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bunals and South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings. The fears proved largely unfounded and, for many people, public storytelling in the framework of justice or societal reconciliation was in fact a healing experience. For example, some Bosnian Muslim rape survivors only chose to speak up in this context of public testimony and not therapy sessions, since they saw the crimes committed against them as an "assault on their culture and identity" (p. 1456) rather than only an assault on their selves. This example illustrates for Summerfield that, in situations of "total war," offenses are understood not so much as committed against individuals, but against the society itself, against the "social world embodying their history, identity and living values and roles" (p. 1455). In addition to the individualistic and universal assumptions of counseling schemes, treatment models developed in "stable and affluent contexts have been applied in unstable and impoverished settings with little success" (Boothby, 1994, p. 240). Specifically, there is a difference in impact between an isolated, traumatic event in the midst of an otherwise stable, nontraumatic environment, and chronic experiences of trauma in the midst of struggling societies (Arroyo & Eth, 1996). Simply attending to individual psychological needs may well miss the larger cultural context. Summerfield's critique is supported by perspectives on social recovery gathered in a master's thesis on internally displaced persons (IDPs) in Bosnia byTajma Kurt (1998), herself a resident of Mostar who lived through the war and actively assisted journalists in their coverage of the front lines. Internal displacement, or forced resettlement within one's own country, was a primary instrument of ethnic cleansing, and the war in the former Yugoslavia saw the greatest number of IDPs since World War II. Kurt argues that, in the midst of the need for physical and economic aid that is directed at encouraging the self-support of survivors, "The core issue is the role of social aspects, continuously targeted in conflict and yet manifesting the capacity of survivor populations to manage their suffering, adapt and recover both collectively and individually" (p. 27). There are, as could be expected, also political issues involved. For Western nations, psychological counseling programs are popular ways to respond to foreign crises, including war, as initiating fancy-sounding new projects is a successful means to attract international donors. However, in Bosnia this practice has occurred at the expense of reinforcing existing support structures, as teachers and local-health care providers went unpaid, a situation that was still true during our visit in the winter of 2000. Berima Hacam, the psychologist who directs the Psychological Counseling Centre for Children and Parents in East Mostar and herself an internally displaced Bosnian, writes in her work report (1999) about the difficulty of finding money and time for ongoing support of children and families while she is up against the need to create and implement "so many different projects" in order to secure sufficient donations. Her work report, which includes a very low proportion of PTSD cases —only 5 out of 137 clients seen—also highlights the problem of doing counseling with individuals who are in unstable living conditions, often

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with basic material needs going unmet. She notes the turmoil created by resettling refugees back in their prewar communities when they have already developed life strategies and passed through developmental phases in very different social networks. A woman from Tuzla quoted in Kurt's 1998 study said it plainly: "We had enough of emotional programmes. I go there and they tell me how everything will be okay and then I go home and I have nothing to feed my three hungry children" (p. 77). Kurt reports a feeling among IDPs of their being the subjects of psychological tests, and that the individual counseling programs, a poor use of precious resources, can also lead to the "inappropriate medicalisation" of suffering and thus "obstruct the process of healing and recovery and sometimes even inflict further psychosocial harm" (p. 29). Western aid programs often view refugees as passive "victims," a status that promotes poor self-esteem and dependency. The application of PTSD and other psychological disorders to their condition undermines their selfperception as "survivors" and "social actors, able to shape their own lives" (Kurt, 1998, p. 29). This conflict between perceiving those affected by war as victims or psychological "cases" in need of expert counsel, versus active survivors with their own ways of responding to distressing conditions, is the key tension in considering the application of forgiveness therapy to a postwar environment.

Forgiveness and Forgiveness Therapy

The developing field of forgiveness and forgiveness therapy presents a series of challenges to those who would, in the name of peace and goodwill, wish to advocate its use among those who have survived war. Particularly in this era of conflicts based on ideology, ethnicity, religion, and other group affiliations, forgiveness—and its associated process of reconciliation—might seem ideal methods for war recovery efforts. While in theory forgiveness may offer an unparalleled possibility to overcome self-destructive anger and cycles of societal violence and hatred, the current psychological models may well be inadequate, in terms of both theoretical understanding and practical implementation, to meet the complexity of cross-cultural, postwar applications. Defining forgiveness and Moral Judgment

As the scientific study of forgiveness is only in its nascent stages, having previously been left to the domains of religion and philosophy, there remains a lack of consensus about how exactly to define forgiveness. Enright and Fitzgibbons (2000), among the pioneers in the study of forgiveness and its chief advocates for use in therapy, propose this definition: "People, upon rationally determining that they have been unfairly treated, forgive when they willfully abandon resentment and related responses (to which they have a right), and endeavor to respond to the wrongdoer based on the moral principle of beneficence, which may include compassion, unconditional worth,

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generosity, and moral love (to which the wrongdoer, by nature of the hurtful act or acts, has no right)" (p. 29). Their definition becomes problematic in application to the context of today's war. First, it assumes a very particular Christian viewpoint which regards forgiveness—especially unilateral forgiveness—as a more moral standpoint than the justified anger that precedes it. But it also implies the ability to make clear moral determinations about who is the perpetrator and who the victim, and to discuss those roles in terms of universal rights and rationality. How individuals in Bosnia assign blame and assume the moral right to be able to forgive individuals and groups was one of the chief questions explored in our research with teenagers and college students, which follows. We also examined the problematic need for a client to assume the morally defined role of "victim." Enright and Fitzgibbons's requirement for clear role definition assumes that offenses are committed as transgressions between particular known individuals or well-defined groups. Although the process of forgiveness is intrapsychic on the victim's part, it includes a change of attitude toward a specific person. In war, however, the individual offenders may be forever unknown to victims. When victims are dead, their stories may well die with them, and others may be left unsure who is to blame. Moreover, in interethnic conflicts, the eventual victims, such as internally displaced persons, may not be "victims of individualized persecution, but of group abuse, mass rights violations, and general chaos" (Kurt, 1998, p. 4). Where the army or police of one ethic group committed atrocities against the civilian population of another, it is unclear who exactly is to blame, especially when the roles of perpetrator and victim could be reversed in a conflict in a different geographical area. Additionally, in societies affected by war, common definitions of rights and rationality are often replaced by entirely different worldviews formed by power and survival. In Bosnia, many people are unable to return to their homes of origin either because they have been destroyed or because other families are living in them. Although by law the original family has the "right" to return to their own home, it is only through the exercise of political power and influence, often mediated through international diplomats, that one might see that right realized. This dilemma was made clear in the response Bosnian children gave to a fable we presented to them. This fable was one we had used in an earlier study conducted with elementary schoolchildren in the United States. In it we asked them to propose a solution to a problem (Johnson, 1988) where a porcupine, welcomed into the home of a family of moles because he had no home in the winter, accidentally pricks the moles with his quills and then refuses to leave when the moles ask him. American children who see the problem as an issue of fairness are likely to respond that the porcupine has to leave because the house belongs to the moles, a viewpoint steeped in notions of property rights and ownership (Garrod, Beal, & Shin, 1990). To the contrary, the majority of Bosnian children answer out of a desire to end the discomfort of the group in pain and tend to argue that the moles must leave

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their home because the porcupine is bigger and can hurt them. This response reflects their experiences during the war, in which a realistic approach to power helped facilitate survival. Styles of Forgiveness and Prosodial Adaptation

In contrast to Enright and Fitzgibbons's (2000) morally determined definition of forgiveness, McCullough, Pargamet, and Thoresen (2000) offer a more pragmatic approach that sees "forgiveness as intra-individual, prosocial change toward a perceived transgressor that is situated within a specific interpersonal context" (p. 9). Again, the focus is on internal change in the attitude of the victim rather than on a broader social approach that is defined under the separate label of reconciliation. In their definition of forgiveness, the offender may merely be "perceived" and the outcome is to be "prosocial," blurring some of the absolute moral categories of Enright and Fitzgibbonss scheme. Enright and Fitzgibbons also discusses forgiveness with the therapeutic justification that it is good for the well-being of the client, considering forgiveness to be particularly suited to help clients become "freed from the negative or toxic effects of their own anger" (p. 6) and "to overcome resentment, bitterness, and even hatred toward people who have treated them unfairly and at times cruelly" (p. 4). The question explored here, and in other chapters of this volume, is whether those same prosocial, adaptive outcomes could develop without undertaking forgiveness in the way defined by advocates of forgiveness therapy. Enright and Fitzgibbons outline a hierarchy of six stages for conceptualizing different versions of forgiveness and advise therapists to help clients move from lower to more advanced levels. Although they later qualify their use of these developmental stages and instead choose the term "styles" of forgiveness, there is a normative assumption that certain understandings are inherently better than others. This stands in conflict, however, to their recognition that the progression as defined may not be universal "if we eventually find differences across cultures regarding people's understanding of forgiveness" (p. 54), Whether this schema is viewed as a hierarchy created to manifest moral beliefs or as styles that reflect what is most adaptive in particular contexts dramatically affects its usefulness in cross-cultural settings. For example, these six styles or stages parallel a Christian doctrine of forgiveness, in which "revengeful" forgiveness is the lowest version (Style 1) and unconditional "forgiveness as love" is its highest form (Style 6) (p. 55). Most Bosnian adolescents approached forgiveness with a Style 5 mindset, seeing forgiveness as "social harmony." While Enright and Fitzgibbons see this stage as the first with any inherent moral weight, they view it as a lesser good that is too dependent on the tangible outcomes. Style 6 is, for them, the highest good because it deals with universal "moral love regardless of circumstances" (p. 60), and the forgiveness becomes completely independent of anything outside. Again, this model contains the same problems that have emerged

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previously with regard to therapy, viewing the separate individual as the unit of concern and failing to address the importance of the social context and community life. For Bosnian children, their worldview is developed not in the relative stability of the United States, where Enright and Fitzgibbons's model was created and validated, but in a community where there is real concern about continuing war. The possibility that sustained hatred will cause renewed violence, bearing tangible consequences on their lives, causes them to consider forgiveness as a potential good. Enright and Fitzgibbons's guidance about how to use forgiveness in psychotherapy is presented in the "phase model." In it, the client moves through four phases, from Uncovering, in which the "client gains insight into whether and how the injustice and subsequent consequent injury have compromised his or her life" (p. 18), through the phases of Decision and Work, to the final phase of Deepening, when the "client finds increasing meaning in the suffering, feels more connected with others, and experiences decreased negative affect and, at times, renewed purpose in life" (p. 18). Only the middle two phases deal explicitly with deciding to forgive and working through the cognitive, emotional, and spiritual issues that decision raises. Interviews with college students in Bosnia revealed an interesting phenomenon when viewed in conjunction with the phase model: many of the students exhibited the characteristics of the Uncovering and Deepening phases without having gone through the middle two steps in the way explained by Enright and Fitzgibbons. The particular offenses in war, when committed in the context of long-term social upheaval, often by their nature reflect the markers of the Uncovering phase, such as "facing permanent change," giving up previous notions of the world as a just and safe place, and "being aware of depleted emotional energy." Similarly, many, but not all, of those interviewed in our study manifested signs of the Deepening phase, such as finding meaning in suffering, recognizing the need for support structures, and identifying a purpose in life. A more thorough consideration of these parallels may confirm the notion that individuals and groups develop their own strategies for overcoming anger and manifest the positive characteristics now associated with one definition of forgiveness. How their own prosocial strategies relate to alternatives to forgiveness, such as reconciliation, acceptance, and a conscious "moving on," would also be useful to study.

The Case of Mostar and Bosnia-Herzegovina History

Sarajevan native Zlatko Dizdarevic (1993) wrote of the paradox of life in his city under siege: One of the faces of Sarajevo is that of a city in which one lives, works, and dies as if in a cell; a whole city bent on survival at any cost. The other face

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of Sarajevo is so incredible, in its own way, that it is hard to describe to anyone who isn't here. The will to live, a strength gathered every morning from God-knows-where that makes it possible to reconstruct, every day, what was destroyed and ravaged the day before. An unrivaled sensitivity in mending these lifelines that seem unmendable: hope, perseverance, and faith. Everything, but everything, here has changed, and nothing is how it used to be. You no longer walk the same streets you did before, you go new ways, decided upon only by the imperatives of survival. You no longer sit where you used to sit, nor sleep were you used to sleep. Throughout Bosnia-Herzegovina, there were an estimated 1.3 million internally displaced persons, 800,000 refugees sent to other countries, 250,000 people killed, 90 percent of them civilians (Goldstein, Wampler, & Wise, 1997). Our research was based in the city of Mostar, on the Neretva River in Herzegovina, the more southern section of the country. Its version of the conflict between the three warring factions—the Muslim Bosniaks, the Roman Catholic Croats, and the Russian Orthodox Serbs—is particularly complex. Muslim and Croatian militia successfully defended the city against Serbian forces that invaded after Bosnia declared independence in 1992. After only a few months of uneasy peace, however, Croatia then declared war on Bosnia, and Mostarian neighbors turned arms on each other. For eleven months, there was relentless bombardment that gutted buildings and pockmarked streets and walls, tearing the city apart at its seams. Mostar is now a city divided on multiple, profound levels. Geographically, Bosniaks live almost exclusively on the eastern side of the Neretva River, which divides the city in two, and in the ten-block Muslim enclave on the western bank. Croats inhabit the rest of the much larger western side. Serbs mostly live elsewhere in Bosnia or hide their true identity. Formerly grouped under the linguistic umbrella of Serbo-Croat, the different populations of Bosnia now officially speak three different languages, with two different alphabets. The most important symbolic division of all, however, is the span of empty air that crosses the Neretva River in the heart of Mostar, where its oldest and most important bridge once defined the city's identity. Built by the Ottoman Turks in 1566, Stari Most, or "Old Bridge," came to symbolize the various levels of connection in Mostar. It physically linked the two sides of the city, but also over the centuries symbolically linked the empires of Europe and Asia, Christianity and Islam. Croatian artillery installations systematically destroyed the bridge in several hours of bombardment one clear morning in November 1993. More than any other single act during the wars in Mostar, this destruction irrevocably tore into the multiethnic fabric that held the city together. Like many who committed atrocities during the wars, the Croat general who ordered the bridge's destruction still lives in Mostar, where he owns a restaurant on the western side. Many people live in homes deserted by their

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previous owners, squatting in the abandoned properties of former neighbors become enemies become memories. During the second war, one elderly Bosniak couple was tortured and then murdered by their Croat neighbors. The neighbors now live in the couple's home. Funerals were held at night because of snipers' vigilant attacks during the days. Young Muslim women were herded into a high school to be raped, with the sounds of their screams broadcast over speakers to the Muslim side of the front line. The stories are endless as they are horrific. The Sunflower

Our research on forgiveness, conducted during two visits to Mostar in the winters of 1999 and 2000, focused on moral development in a cross-cultural context. We interviewed more than 100 elementary school students using the fable scenario described earlier, as well as others. The results of this study, still in process, help to reveal the moral context in which young Bosnian children are growing up. The remaining nationalist tensions were difficult to conceal in these schools still segregated by ethnic group. Whereas in the Muslim schools passages from the Koran were hung on the walls, in the Croat schools hung the words of the Croatian national anthem. In Serb schools, the Cyrillic alphabet and drawings of the flag of Serbia proper marked students' affiliations. The most direct research on forgiveness was gathered through interviews with 45 high school students ranging in age from 16 to 18, drawn from all three ethnic populations in Bosnia. We asked our participants first to respond to hypothetical dilemmas from Kohlberg's (1981) moral reasoning interviews and then to identify and discuss a real-life dilemma of their own, so as to discern moral orientation through the theory of Gilligan (1982). Finally, we read the students a paraphrase of the conflict described in Wiesenthal's book The Sunflower (1969). A Nazi soldier named Karl, while on his deathbed, asked that a Jew be brought to him so that he could confess his crimes. Simon, a Jew from a concentration camp, was brought to Karl, who told of his role in gathering four hundred Jews into a house, setting it on fire, and killing all who were trapped inside. Karl asked Simon to forgive him for his crimes. We asked the students a series of questions, beginning with whether Simon should forgive Karl and continuing through a consideration of what forgiveness means to them, the role of repentance and confession in forgiveness, whether Simon has the right to forgive Karl, whether Karl's volunteering or being ordered to kill the Jews mattered in whether he should be forgiven, and what the gains and losses are when someone asks for forgiveness or is forgiven. The story in many ways parallels situations in the war in Bosnia in which many of the victims are dead, and perpetrators and victims are often divided by ethnic identity. The protocol also considers the questions of whether individuals or groups are responsible for crimes and who is in a position to be able to offer forgiveness.

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The clearest trend in the data is that Bosnian students viewed forgiveness in primarily interpersonal terms, not in the intrapsychic model that theorists of forgiveness tend to offer. Of the 45 students interviewed, 29 defined forgiveness primarily interpersonally, 9 used primarily intrapsychic terms, and 7 were equally split between the two. For one student, speaking from an intrapsychic orientation, forgiveness "means to open your heart to forgive somebody and to destroy the rage that you had before." Speaking from the more common interpersonal orientation, another student explains that if a criminal "asks for forgiveness, everyone else can probably see he regrets his crime, and they would be ready to forgive him in their hearts. We're living in society and it's important that he gets this encouragement." The first example involves only a change in attitude on the part of the forgiver, while the second includes an exchange between perpetrator and victim, or repentance. Its mention of encouragement and society reflects the tendency of over half of the students (25) to speak about forgiveness in terms of reconciliation, which Enright and Fitzgibbons (2000) define as "an overt, behavioral process of two or more people working out an existing difficulty" (p. 42). The researchers' theoretical framework sees reconciliation as a separate process that can be, but is not necessarily, involved during forgiveness, while Bosnian children link the two more closely. This trend may be influenced by the wording of the question, which presumes that one person is asking another for forgiveness rather than that an individual is choosing to forgive prior to a request from the offender. The students identified a series of factors that would influence their decision about whether Simon should forgive Karl. One group related to the internal thinking of Simon, the forgiver. That an individual is a "forgiving type" in terms of personality was mentioned 18 times as a reason Simon should forgive Karl, followed by having compassion for the last wish of someone on their death bed (17 times). Another group saw forgiving as a moral or religious good that would make the forgiver a better person (12 times). "I would forgive them," said one student, "because the crime would be a burden on their soul. If I wouldn't forgive, I would be just like them." A second group of factors dealt with the relationship between Simon, Karl, and the wider community. The function of forgiveness in restoring a damaged society was mentioned most often (10 times), followed by the potential for a new relationship between forgiver and forgiven (6 times) and the restoration of a broken peace between individuals (5 times). Citing his religious tradition, a Muslim student reflected: "It is said in the Koran, if somebody has done you something evil, it's better to give him something nice than to harm him again. Because by doing it you are making a friend, not an enemy; you are converting enemy into friend." Many of the students' answers clearly do not fit within the story of Simon and Karl, and so likely reflect more general views on forgiveness informed by their own life experiences. Most of the students saw forgiveness as conditional on some act of repentance, with only 4 of the 45 advocating a unilateral approach. An honestcon-

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fession was their requirement, as a symbol of the person taking responsibility for their actions (mentioned 18 times). Another 10 refused to trust any confession from the deathbed, viewing it as a selfish act only to assuage a guilty conscience. One student clearly related it to their country's experience, saying that "Milosevic is a liar when he apologizes." Another group of factors influencing their decisions related to the offender at the time of the crime. Defining norms for the way the world works during war, 21 said that he should be forgiven only if he was ordered to do it, but should not be forgiven if he chose of his own volition to commit the crime of burning the Jews in the house. In contrast, 9 said that he should have refused the order, believing that he had a choice about whether to kill in either case. The magnitude and type of crime was important for 13 students, who saw some crimes as unforgivable; one person mentioned the genocide in Bosnia as an example. Others focused on the killer's motivations, and another 13 argued that Karl's particular war crime was, by its nature, an act of hate that Karl must have enjoyed in order to commit. One student, though, said, "Things are not the same in war." The issue with which Wiesenthal most struggles in The Sunflower is whether Simon has the right to forgive the Nazi for his crimes. Of the Bosnian students, 14 said yes, 6 said no, and 23 believed that Simon could only forgive crimes on behalf of himself, not others. Among the reasons that Simon would have the right to forgive, in their view, was the ethnic connection with "his people" (8 times) and an identification with those who suffered, through similar experiences of personal suffering, loss of relatives (who could have been among those the Nazi killed), and empathy with those killed, since Simon could have been in their place. Those who said Simon could never forgive explained either that only God and priests can offer forgiveness or that certain crimes are simply too big to forgive. "You can forgive some normal things," a student said, "like swearing, cursing, or if somebody offends you. Normal, regular things. But killing a man, to kill a person is something you can't forgive." Most of the students believed that Simon could offer his own personal words of forgiveness but that human beings could not truly forgive on behalf of others, especially others who died. While current study of forgiveness and especially forgiveness therapy (Enright & Fitzgibbons, 2000; McCullough, Pargament, & Thoresen, 2000) is focused mainly on the victim's internal change of attitude, a majority of our students thought that an offender could gain inner peace (26 times) or religious absolution (5 times) just by asking for forgiveness. The same proportion believed that an offender being forgiven brought some measure of ease, peace, and release of moral burden; another three students identified the potential for renewed personal and societal relationships as among the gains of being forgiven. Only one student raised the possibility that by being forgiven, an offender might assume license to commit the crime again. Although there are some observable trends in these interviews, the most important insight is that individuals' views of forgiveness are wide-ranging and complex. In the context of Bosnia, the theoretical definitions of forgiveness

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as an intrapsychic process need to expand to include the societal and interpersonal dimensions, as well as the important role of honest repentance. Profiles of War

Issues of forgiveness also came up in our research study with university students, who were approximately twelve years old when the first war broke out. With them we conducted open-ended conversations about their lives and ways of meaning-making through an abbreviated form of Fowler s (1981) faith development interview. Their poignant stories of struggle and survival highlight our earlier observation that responses to trauma are wide-ranging and shaped by individual experiences and community contexts. The place of forgiveness in their developed coping strategies and worldviews also varies from person to person. The two consistent trends were the beliefs that suffering had made them stronger and that their nation needed to move on past hate. Some were optimistic, others very unsure. Their words reveal sophisticated understandings of war and its aftermath, blame and forgiveness, victimization and survival, and their appreciation of life and "the little things." Here we present portions of these students' first-person stories to offer insights into their thinking for any who would do any kind of counseling or humanitarian work with individuals and communities in their situation. Alma, a twenty-year-old internally displaced Bosniak whose father was in prison: We all drink some piece of freedom. Before the war we all had faith because we never felt that kind of division between our state and religion or anything else. But during the war, limits and borders were here and so I hope that they will be overcome one day and everything will be like before. Ivica, a. twenty-two-year-old Croat who claims the war pushed him to atheism: I think about my two years in the war; I didn't go out anywhere. I was concerned only about how to survive and what will happen tomorrow. And I consider those two years lost. In my future life I would like to live for those two lost years. A lot of people now are still mourning and they are poisoned with feelings of hate. When you see events in the war, you can't imagine, you can't believe the killing and the dying in the war can have any sense. You have to come in front of some judge. So for example, in Catholicism, when you do something wrong, you can go to church and confess, and that's it, you are free now, so you don't have to feel guilty anymore. And that I don't understand. Sead, a self-confessed atheist Bosniak who fled to Moscow in 1992 and lived there until 1996:1 see very clearly, and I am sorry for that because I can clearly see all the bad things. Because I won't be alive when people here start to live in normal ways. I worry that in the future we will never be able to live normally again here in Mostar. Emina, a twenty-five-year-old married Bosniak whose seventeen-year-old brother was killed by a Serb shell: I saw my brother lying dead in the street,

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in front of my building. I just try to put it aside, you know. But when I have a child, I will teach him who he is and I will teach him to respect himself and be careful and protect himself from Muslims, Serbs, or Croats or anyone else who would want to hurt him. I try also to advise my mother and father not to spend their emotions for hate, you know, that destroy people. I don't want to hate anyone, not because I know it's fair to hate them—I know they are guilty. But I don't want to ruin my personality because of them, because of that hate. You know, religion here has a lot to do with politics. It's sad. Because people kill each other here because "I'm Muslim and I'm going to kill you because you are Serb." It doesn't make sense. Actually underlying these words are, "I'm going to kill you because I like your chair, I like your house, I like your position and I'm going to kill you and take that." It's shameful for people to say that's religion. Adrian, a twenty-one-year-old Bosniak who was jailed by Serbs after trying to flee from Bihac during the war: We have a proverb, "What doesn't kill you will make you stronger." Jail helped me look at people, and not through their nationality—through their personality. Yes, I hate what happened to me, but I cannot hate all the people generally. Because I met some people in the jail who were just, who were good to me. They helped me survive. Some people suffer more because some people are not prepared enough for it, and they are not prepared to accept those things in that moment, and when you accept something you actually have a part of that solution. I wouldn't be the person I am today without those experiences. I would actually be a person who suffers, without those experiences. Edin, a twenty-year-old Bosniak who fled to Croatia for three years during the war and now aspires to be a judge: Nationality or background doesn't tell me much about men. You must meet that man, talk to him, and after that you will find out what he is like. Marijan, a twenty-two-year-old Croat who became a refugee at the age of thirteen in Croatia, where he felt "hated": At present here in Bosnia, everyone would say "I'm a Croat or I'm a Serb, Muslim." It's stupid. We are stuck and that's the big thing I don't want to deal out. The last thing I would say is I'm a Croat. I'm a Bosnian. I want to live every day, I want to live tomorrow, and I want to remember. You have to adjust your attitudes, your perspective to this country, this situation, which is terrible. You're on the edge of existence. . . . When you don't have money to buy some bread, milk, I don't know . . . all of your beliefs and attitudes and values come into question. When you are financially situated, you can have values and attitudes and whatever. Lejla, a twenty-two-year-old Bosniak from Tuzla, who fled with her sister first to Slovenia and then to Germany, where they stayed two years: What the hell is this? It's hell actually. My country, my country just started fighting. Why? There was a lot of "why?" questions going through my head. You just accept it. I do not live in fear. What the hell. We die, everyone. You

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accept that you cannot eat bananas, you cannot go to the theater, you cannot go to movies and have dinner out, you cannot go abroad. . . . You don't have any opportunities, but you have to be satisfied with that, you just continue. It's hard in the beginning, but you continue and live and it's harder to live your life with grenades like that. It's military actions all around you and you follow the front lines. . . . You hear lots of war stories, terrible stories. It's a way of living. Amir, a twenty-four-year-old Bosniak interned in a concentration camp during the war: I cannot compare the nice things that are happening to me now, and what happened to me in the past. These are like two different lives. Every good thing, there is a little of bad, and in every bad thing, there is a little of good. When humans understand life in that way, nothing bad can happen to them. They cannot be compared. I'm thinking like, when I die I'll be reborn again. Ana, a twenty-two-year-old Croat whose family split up and spent part of the war period in Croatia, part in Vienna: So we returned to Mostar, and the second war began . . . and it was a terrible period, because I am a Croat and most of my friends are Muslim, and because I live in a neighborhood where mostly Muslims were living. And then I left all my friends, because they had to leave West Mostar. . . . You know how it feels, when you are a victim of the war for one year, and then your people, your nation become armed, attackers. And from news, from different media, you find out what's happening to Croats in middle Bosnia. So it was kind of a period when I didn't hate anybody, but a period when I hated myself. I hated myself for being there, for living here. To love your people, to love your nation, to respect others as much as you love yours, that feeling is actually what this country needs and what every country needs. Can you imagine that people that you spent all your childhood with, they just leave you. . . . You know that something might happen to them, and you know that your people, your nation, is doing that. But one nation didn't do that. People were doing this, crazy people. They were not normal. The things that they were doing were not normal. Emir, a twenty-year-old Bosniak who fled to Croatia with his sister in the first war but lived through the second war in Mostar: During the war, there was nobody here. It was always dark, even in the middle of the day, it was always . . . it was always shooting, it was always death around us. Grenades were falling down, and fourteen men and women were killed at that time. I was ten meters in front of them. Fourteen. Fourteen people died. There was one pregnant woman, three or four children, they were just sitting in front of the building. In the war we tried to help anyone, because we didn't have anything. Because of war we were together, we can help each other, we can make it until the end of the war. Even if we thought that the war would never stop. We didn't feel so afraid when there was shooting all around and when the grenades fell around you. It was normal. But when it

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stopped for half an hour, for fifteen minutes, twenty . . . when it stops, it's not normal. It's not normal to be quiet. At that time you were scared. Why did it stop? What are they preparing? What are they going to do?" Antun, a twenty-five-year-old Croat raised in Sarajevo, who was forced to join the Croat army at the age of seventeen and is currently a driver and part-time university student: Because of war I lost my tears, my ability to cry. It happened in May of 1993 in Sarajevo after one of the first mass slaughters. I went to a party at some friends' in the neighborhood. They were all sitting around crying because that was the first real picture of the world, the first time we actually realized by looking at the main street of our city covered with blood and the pieces of bodies that we actually realized what this was all about. There are individuals and there are groups. I would say . . . it might sound humiliating, but there are humans and there are others. As a soldier I was killing as many enemies as possible. But that was the black and white during the war. You were not thinking about the possibility that at the other side was a friend of yours. It was like a computer game. I felt that it's a game. I, of course, have seen ours and enemy soldiers killed, but I never had any feelings about it. It was like a score. It was something that I was simply not understanding, and I just became part of the crowd. It's like mass hypnosis. You feel others around you because you're all together, because there are shells coming.

Conclusions Although each of these narrative excerpts is shaped by very particular experiences during and after the war, there are several representative trends. Most significantly, no one seems to be espousing hate and revenge. The speakers recognize the disastrous consequences hate and nationalist rhetoric caused during the war, and they fear its return. Their attitude to the future of their country is hopefulness mixed with worry that the conflict may not really be over. One of our interpreters was confident that if the international military force were to leave, there would again be war. Throughout the interviews, in which students talked extensively about offenses committed during war and how they have dealt with them, there is little mention either of forgiveness or of the justified anger that some critics of forgiveness therapy tend to advocate. Instead, their points of view are shaped by harsh reality, in which the lines between normal and abnormal are confused. They recognize that suffering has formed them into wiser, stronger human beings with a clearer perspective on the world. They look beyond ethnic origin in evaluating persons, resist nationalist rhetoric, and refuse to buy into the stereotypes that vilify the supposed enemy. They have been shown mercy by members of groups who have also done them harm. They believe that greed is the true motive for violence committed under the guise of religion. They reject religious practices such as the Roman Catholic sacrament of

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confession as a travesty to justice and sanction for further violence. They have friends of other ethnic groups and mourn that their own people are committing crimes against them. They have changed their mental attitudes in order to survive, and they question the relevance of former religious beliefs and values to their situation. They have seen war destroy the humanity of individuals and turn them into instruments of killing. As we write this chapter, the situation of Bosnia remains unresolved. Conflicts in the Balkans continue in Kosovo and Macedonia, nationalist political parties protest their exclusion from government by international overseers, certain regions refuse to turn over indicted war criminals to tribunals in The Hague, and a forced multiethnic government presides over a still-segregated country just beginning the process of returning ethnic minorities to their prewar homes.

What Future for Bosnia?

As the voices from Bosnian youth make clear, traumas of today's "total war" are not isolated, well-defined incidents inflicted on individuals in the midst of otherwise stable environments. Instead, chronic violence, material deprivation, and total disruption of their society caused them to adapt new ways of coping with the demands of survival. These ways of psychological coping developed during the war deserve further study as they relate to forgiveness counseling. Bosnian youth refuse to let anger rule their lives or hate have power over them. They accept what happened to them and wish to move on, but they do not let go of negative attitudes toward the actual perpetrators of violence or in any way mitigate their guilt and responsibility. They hope for justice but reject revenge. The exact process by which people move from an offense committed against them to this kind of psychological equilibrium needs to be examined not only in light of traditional notions of mental health, but also what is adaptive in their cultural, economic, and political context. Over and over, Bosnian youth spoke about a vast fracture between their earlier, normal life and what they learned to be during the war. It is a chasm which many feel can never be truly mended, and despite a desire to return to the normal existence of their previous life, they fear this might be impossible. From the siege of Sarajevo, writer Zlatko Dizdarevic (1993) reflects on this change in terms of forgiveness: They have destroyed our city, and no doubt they'll keep on ravaging what remains. But if I know my people, one day they'll be forgiven, though we will never forget what they have done. But what we'll neither forgive nor forget is that they have broken what is best in us; they have taught us to hate. They have made us become what we never were—and that is why, though they will be forgiven, we'll find it difficult to do so. It will be difficult for this ravaged Bosnia to return to what it used to be, with the people

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that we have become. And yet the way it used to be was the only way we knew. (p. 34) The potential role of forgiveness in postwar societies exists not in individual psychological therapy sessions but in collective exercises of reconciliation to restore the social fabric of communities. Simply returning refugees and internally displaced people to their former communities will not ensure friendly relationships or an absence of conflict, and even intrapsychic forgiveness has little benefit to communities without a simultaneous change in behavior. The full range of factors promoting social restoration remains unclear, but several students mentioned justice as an important element. The international community believed that without the responsible individuals being brought to justice by an outside entity for crimes against humanity, the society would resort to assigning collective blame to ethnic groups and take revenge in further conflict. The International Criminal Tribunal for former Yugoslavia (ICTY) was established in The Hague by the United Nations to bring indicted war criminals to justice. Punishment of the instigators of violence and hatred—those who caused society to defy normalcy—may make it easier for ordinary individuals to forgive one another. On the other hand, the tribunal has had a part in further dividing the nation along ethnic lines and fueling support of nationalist politicians, with various groups feeling disproportionately persecuted by the international community. In his book, No Future without Forgiveness, Archbishop Desmond Tutu (2000), once the chair of South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission, asserts that there could have been no peaceful future for South Africa without a process of truth-telling and restorative justice, of collective forgiveness and a common commitment to move toward reconciliation. Rejecting punitive judgments, the South Africans found a third way between demands for revenge and the feigned forgetting of general amnesty. Their experience depended on a commitment of local leaders on all sides to the African belief in ubuntu, an understanding of fundamental human nature rooted in the shared spiritual traditions of their culture. Whether either or both of these models will lead to sustained peace and human dignity remains unclear. Forgiveness and, perhaps more importantly, reconciliation continue to be attractive philosophical ideals to heal the disastrous consequences of today's war. At the same time, the resilience strategies societies have developed and their significant resistance to trauma counseling in general makes advocating forgiveness in psychotherapy to war "victims" a more complicated notion. We have much yet to learn from the stories of active survivors like the youth of Bosnia about how to support their own ways of community healing in a country turned upside-down. Note We would like to thank Tajma Kurt and Murray McCullough for their assistance with interview arrangements in Mostar. We would also like to thank our many interpreters

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for the two years of the study and Mike Evans, Bill Jaeger, Jay Davis, Phuoc Le, Brent Knopf, and Almin Hodzic for help with data collection. Support for the research was provided by the Ethics Institute and the Dickey Endowment at Dartmouth College.

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Kurt, Tajma (1998). What future for the internally displaced persons: With special references to Tuzla Region, Bosnia-Herzegovina. Unpublished masters thesis, University of York, England. McCullough, Michael E., Kenneth Pargament, & Carl E. Thoresen (2000). The psychology of forgiveness: History, conceptual issues, and overview. In M. E. McCullough, K. Pargament, & C. E. Thoresen (Eds.), Forgiveness: Theory, research, and practice (pp. 1-14). New York: Guilford Press. Saigh, Philip A., John A. Fairbank, & Anastasia E. Yasik (1998). War-related posttraumatic stress disorder among children and adolescents. In T. W. Miller (Ed.), Children of trauma. Madison, CT: International Universities Press. Summerfield, Derek (1999). Critique of seven assumptions behind psychological trauma programmes in war-affected areas. Social Science Medicine, 48, 1449— 1462. Tutu, Desmond M. (2000). No future without forgiveness. New York: Doubleday. Wiesenthal, Simon (1969). The sunflower. New York: Schocken Books.

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eleven Forgiveness and Effective Agency Norman S. Care

In what follows I explore one of the main dimensions of the moral practice of forgiveness. My interest is in what might be called the forward-looking dimension of that complex practice. In this dimension what is at issue is not the backward-looking response to past wrongdoing involved in the victim's act of forgiveness, but, rather, the possibility of "release" for the wrongdoer from the moral-emotional pain associated with the awareness of his or her wrongdoing, and thus the prospect of the renewal of energy for projects and the responsible conduct associated with effective human agency. I assume that the practice of forgiveness has this forward-looking dimension. This assumption reflects my thought that our moral form of life wants full effective agency for, as it were, people of good will. So my discussion does not concern or rely on points made with moral monsters or other extreme figures in mind. Ordinary decent people—even very good people—make mistakes or commit wrongs from time to time, and in these cases the peace of mind and self-confidence needed for effective agency may be diminished or lost. Forgiveness—by others, by oneself—can help restore that peace of mind and self-confidence. It is in that way that the practice is forward-looking relative to the one who makes mistakes or commits wrongdoing. The backward-looking and forward-looking dimensions are uneasily related in the moral practice of forgiveness in ordinary life. The restoration of effective agency should not be cheapened by false or hollow expressions of forgiveness, and it should not be denied by self-centered refusals of forgiveness. To some extent, it seems our agency, when diminished by our own recognition of our own wrongdoing, is harnessed to the capacity of others to "forgive and forget." Something similar may be true of our chances for selfrespect: in certain contexts, for instance, achievement-oriented sections of life, our self-respect may be more dependent than we wish on the views of others concerning our projects and conduct.2 Further, my discussion is preoccupied with the apparent logical fact about the practice of forgiveness that other-forgiveness is not sufficient for self215

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forgiveness. If you forgive me my past wrongdoing or corrupt attitudes, and your forgiveness is sound, that is, you have good reasons for giving it, I have repented and (if possible) made amends, and circumstances permit it without distortions in the judgments about wrongdoing or corruption involved, then presumably I may legitimately have the "release" thus offered by you.3 But our experience indicates that in some cases forgiveness by others, even when sound, is not enough for me to forgive myself. Self-forgiveness seems unavailable even when other-forgiveness is permitted and, in fact, given. How this complexity is to be understood, and whether, in particular, the failure of self-forgiveness may be legitimately remaindered beyond other-forgiveness (without becoming mere self-indulgence), will be explored—within, again, the main interest of the discussion in the forward-looking dimension of the practice of forgiveness. The Problematic

The practical problem in the dimension of the practice of forgiveness I am interested in might be experienced as the problem of restoring agency—that agency that includes peace of mind and self-confidence when these have been, as it were, "challenged" by one's awareness of one's own serious mistakes or wrongdoing. Such awareness leaves a moral-emotional aftermath that diminishes or reduces agency by disrupting peace of mind and weakening selfconfidence. Here are some notes and stipulations for my discussion of this familiar practical "problematic." First, for this discussion I will consider the practice of forgiveness to be a possibility in the event of awareness of serious mistakes as well as recognized wrongdoing. Such mistakes might be those incurred when complicated procedures are in process, for example, in a medical setting; they might also be those involving problematic judgments made in the workplace when responses are surrounded by a penumbra involving urgency, pressures from colleagues, and uncertainty. Mistakes are not always moral wrongs, but they can be in some cases objects of forgiveness. Second, I will not attempt to detail here the make-up of the practice of forgiveness. As a practice it has structure and rules giving context and meaning to gestures and phrases, and emotional color to relationships. But I will not attempt to say how it differs from other nearby practices, such as pardoning or excusing. For this discussion it is more important to note that we are not all equally adept in participating in the practice of forgiveness. This is no surprise, of course. Something of the same is true for other practices, such as the practices of promising and friendship (and pardoning and excusing). It is probably a general truth that if P is a practice, there will be people who are at different competence levels relative to P. Just as we are not all up to speed on being competent promisers, or in being friends, so we don't always give or receive forgiveness "rightly" (as Aristotle might say). Some of us don't have forgiveness know-how toward others or, indeed, ourselves.

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In fact, there are some obvious hazards attending participation in the practice of forgiveness. I will assume here that as a decent person one wants in general to be a forgiving person, as one wants in general to be a courteous person, and to be capable of compassion in certain contexts as well. But there are episodic judgment pitfalls: just as one can go wrong in being courteous, or in offering compassion, so one can be in certain cases too forgiving, or too ready to forgive (call it "hasty forgiving"), or one can be excessively reluctant to forgive (call it "ungenerosity"). And, too, the lack of connection between other-forgiveness and self-forgiveness can be complicated in certain ways: as, for example, when the selfforgiveness that occurs when other-forgiveness is not justified is really arrogance. More salient for this discussion is the case in which other-forgiveness is justified, but self-forgiveness is still not available. After all, if you forgive me what I have done, presumably you have some reasons for doing so; and since reasons—or, anyhow, legitimate reasons—are (on a familiar view) considerations that a detached or objective person could have or recognize, I could have them, too; but, clearly, our experience is that the forgiveness that comes to us from others is not always "enough" for us to forgive ourselves. One explanation that comes to mind is that I am suspicious of your reasons, so that I think that the reasons on the basis of which you forgive me are essentially calculations of future benefits, and have little or nothing to do with the substance of what I did, namely, that which makes a forgiveness problem arise in the first place. Another explanation comes to mind, one that brings estimates of self-worth into the picture: Your forgiveness of me might be based on a washed-out view of yourself. You don't want me to be bothered by the terrible thing I did to you. You think (about yourself), "I'm not worth it." Third, let me ask: is the "problem of the restoration of agency" something that can be discussed? After all, people may differ from one another on how internally strong they are, how they bear up under pressure, what it takes for something to get to them, and so on. Someone might think that these are matters for individuals to work out, but not phenomena that can be captured in a theory or wrapped in a general account or a "policy" to be followed. My thought here is that doubtless there is something to individual differences in people; but these, I think, do not preclude learning something from engaging ethical issues in an orderly way. In any case, what is at stake here is not just "how one appears to others" on the confidence front (for example, as the much-admired or much-hated "decisive surgeon"), or even how one appears to oneself (one can deceive oneself as well as others). The issue here is ultimately the effectiveness of one's agency, that is, the effectiveness of one's capacity to control the content in one's life, including facing up to the next challenge that comes along in one's workplace or personal life. It concerns how far we can be, within realistic limits, masters of our fates, and, when we cannot in certain circumstances be masters, then how far we can be reasonable and constructive strategists when our circumstances go against us. Finally, let me note that what can challenge effective agency (including, again, peace of mind and a measure of self-confidence) is not one thing or a

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small variety of things. There are many things that can "shake" a person (if not you, then another person) in a way that draws down and diminishes the elements of effective agency, and thus makes it difficult for a person to move forward in ways that may be required in the workplace or personal life. The absence or withholding of forgiveness can be one of these challenges to agency. In Letter to His Father Franz Kafka makes clear that he does not—and cannot—forgive his father's treatment of him in childhood. One wonders how far this unforgiveness affected the father's life.4 Mozart's father could not forgive Mozart's marrying Constanza—a woman "beneath him," according to the father. One wonders how far the unforgiveness diminished peace of mind for Mozart, despite his astonishing musical productivity. Rousseau, apparently, never could rid himself of the memory of his cruelty to a young servant girl, as recorded in The Confessions (in order to get rid of it) and then returned to at the end of his life in The Reveries of the Solitary Walker. 5 One wonders again how in this case the self-unforgiveness affected agency—and, indeed, personality—in Rousseau's case. Medical contexts provide settings for cases involving mistakes to which the possibility of forgiveness seems relevant but which are not aptly thought about as instances of moral wrongdoing.6 The physician botches a surgery and disfigures a person for life. Perhaps he or she amputates the wrong limb, but there are only procedural snafus in the background rather than violations of moral principle. Whatever the background, in such cases there is no genuine way to set things right. Apologies and money are hollow. The practice of forgiveness gets pushed to one of its limits. There are, after all, unforgivable acts—and genocide is not the only example. In another case the doctor in family practice sees an alcoholic through detoxification and then finds that no affordable follow-up treatment program is available (for insurance will no longer covers it); but then the doctor must release the patient from the hospital, worried whether the patient will attempt Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), and, in general, uncertain about whether he or she has "done enough" to see to the patient's safety and health in a responsible way. In such cases there are very great risks of misjudgment. In the follow-up arena, when has one "done enough"? One can botch followup just as one can botch surgery. These are straightforward enough as illustrative cases. Let me, though, for this discussion, put before us another sort of case—one involving the physician in the "penumbra" around a case involving a treatment situation especially complicated by urgency and family pressures, and still other factors, including political and quasi-moral elements that enter into decision making in tense situations. The case sketched in what follows is drawn from Abraham Verghese's book, My Own Country.7 Bobby Keller called me in the office as I was about to leave for home. He sounded shrill and alarmed. "Doc? Ed is very sick! He is very, very short of breath and running a fever. A hundred and three. Dr. Verghese, he's turning blue on me."

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"Bobby, call the emergency ambulance service—tell them to bring you to the Johnson City Medical Center." . . . I was at the Medical Center well ahead of the ambulance. Soon it came roaring in, all its lights flashing. When the back door opened, I peeked in: Ed's eyes were rolled back in his head, and he was covered with a fine sheen of sweat. . . . Bobby . . . was on the verge of fainting. "Don't put him on no machines, whatever you do," Bobby begged me. "Please, no machines." "Why?" "Because that's what he told me. He doesn't want it." "When did he tell you? Just now?" "No. A long time ago." "Did he put it in writing? Does he have a living will?" "No. . . ." In the emergency room, I stabilized Ed as best I could. . . . Time was running out. Ed was moaning and muttering incomprehensibly. . . . I had only a few minutes before I had to either breathe for him, or let him go. I needed more guidance from Bobby as to Ed's wishes. . . . I hurried outside. Bobby and three other men and one woman were near the ambulance entrance, smoking. . . . Bobby Keller, still trembling, introduced me to Ed's brothers, all younger than Ed. . . . I addressed the brothers: "Ed is very sick. A few months ago we found out he has AIDS . . . . Now he has a bad pneumonia from the AIDS. I need to put him on a breathing machine in the next few minutes or he will die. . . . But Bobby tells me that Ed has expressed a desire not to be put on the machine." . . . The family was clear-eyed, trying to stay calm. . . . I felt they were fond of their oldest brother, though perhaps disapproving of his relationship with Bobby. "We need to discuss this," the older brother said. "We have no time, I need to go right back in," I said. [The family caucused, and came back.] "We want for you to do everything you can. Put him on the breathing machine, if you have to." At this a little wail came out of Bobby Keller. . . . The oldest brother spoke again. His tone was matter-of-fact and determined: "We are his family. We are legally responsible for him. We want you to do everything for him." We are his family. I watched Bobby's face crumble as he suddenly became a mere observer with no legal right to determine the fate of the man he had loved since he was seven years old. He was finally . . . an outsider.

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I took him aside and said, "Bobby, I have to go on. There is no way for me not to at this point. . . . I rushed back in. Ed looked worse. As I went through the ritual of gowning and masking . . . it struck me that the entire situation had been in my power to dictate. All I had to do was to come out and say that the pneumonia did not look good, that it looked like the end. I mentioned the respirator, I offered it as an option. I could have just kept quiet. I had, when it came down to the final moment, given Ed's brothers the power of family. Not Bobby. But there was no time to look back now. . . . [A few hours later] a furious Code Blue was in progress [but to no avail]. Bobby Keller and the Maupin family were in the quiet room. It was very difficult for me to go in there and tell them Ed had died. Bobby cried. . . . Ed's brothers covered their eyes or turned their heads away from me. The eldest came over and shook my hand and thanked me. Bobby came out with, "Praise the Lord, his suffering is over," and walked alone toward the door. . . . I thought of funerals I had been to in Johnson City where the grieving widow was escorted to the memorial service by friends and family. Tears and hugs, happy memories, casseroles and condolences. Who would comfort Bobby Keller, I wondered. This case illustrates, I take it, how judgment can be affected in the urgency of circumstances. Notice again Verghese's remark, that "all I had to do was to come out and say that the pneumonia did not look good, that it looked like the end. I mentioned the respirator, I offered it as an option. I could have just kept quiet. I had, when it came down to the final moment, given Ed's brothers the power of family. Not Bobby. But there was no time to look back now." But there may, of course, be time later to look back. And that is where the danger usually is. One begins to rethink and second-think one's judgment; one begins to doubt one's judgment; one begins to want to go back and do things a different way. And I take it to be ordinary human experience in cases of this kind—not unique to physicians and their work—that one can begin to question one's judgment, and in doing so come to jeopardize what comes next in one's work, or even one's life. One may come to be "stuck" with a problematic event in one's own history—an event that remains embedded in one's past whether or not anyone else ever gives it attention. One seems stuck with the pain of guilt or shame, and begins to doubt one's competence; and thus, diminished agency makes engaging or negotiating the next cases difficult or impossible. Here again the earlier point about individual differences in people becomes important. You may find that your friend is stuck with a problematic event in his or her past, and be relieved that you are not similarly stuck. You may find, in line with the fashionable "modularity thesis" in contemporary philosophy of mind, that your friend is vulnerable to being bothered by his or

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her past in ways that you are not.8 For if the self is "modular," that is, if it is not a unity or a univocal competence, but is instead a set or cluster of elements (dispositions, competencies, abilities, susceptibilities) the precise ingredients of which may very well be different from person to person—if this is so, then we are not all the same in our vulnerabilities. Genetics may be involved. Heavy social conditioning may be involved. In the end you may or may not understand your friend very well in this respect. Sometimes we are baffled by people who apparently have problems in living their lives that we do not have. In some cases we manage to be understanding to some extent; too often, in my view, we end up impatient with and irritated by people who have difficulties we do not have. Another even darker point. One cannot always tell how far one is oneself able to do x, or withstand pressure y, or rise to challenge z. I may be shy, and think (with my friends, if I have any) that I ought to get past that, but I may in fact be constitutionally shy, in which case the degree to which I am "stuck" with shyness is for all practical purposes outside the power of my will; and I, as well as my friends, may do me damage by urging me to "get past" my shyness. Similarly, I may be vulnerable to loss of self-confidence, and think that I ought to get past that, but I may in fact be constitutionally vulnerable in this respect, in which case my getting past the vulnerability, and all that goes with it, is outside the power of my will. On this view we are not all in command of our agency in the way our ordinary thinking about persons as rational beings may suggest we ought to be, and this plays havoc with how far we hold others and ourselves to account for what happens—in, for example, urgent difficult circumstances—and, accordingly, with how far we suffer, tolerate, or are embarrassed by the problem of the restoration of agency, involving, as it does, the elements of peace of mind and self-confidence, that I began with. Strategies for Recovery Suppose, then, we recognize the restoration-of-agency problem for the complicated thing it can be. What follows? Are there strategies for recovery for someone whose agency is diminished by the remaindered sense of fault— mistake fault or moral fault—in what happened at an earlier point in life?9 What can be said about the restoration of effective agency in a person who "does wrong" to another person, genuinely repents, and seeks ways to make amends (if any exist)? What can be said about the restoration of effective agency in a skilled physician who finds his or her professional life spattered not by the pain of awareness of deliberate wrongdoing but simply by negative emotional pain attending problematic judgments made in tense, cluttered circumstances? What is the role of forgiveness, by others and by oneself, in the restoration of agency? Even if forgiveness cannot (logically) guarantee "recovery," can we have reasonable expectations that it can contribute toward the regaining of effective agency on the part of the person to whom it is offered?

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I should say at once that I don't have slick new answers to such questions, and I don't trust the pop-psychological answers I am aware of. In what follows I will discuss an interesting response to a problem like the restoration problem I have outlined above. This involves a response developed by Claudia Card to issues of recovery of agency in cases of child abuse and political oppression.10 But before turning to Professor Card's views let me make certain observations. First I need to observe how lame (in my opinion) the ordinary responses to this problem seem to be. You may urge your friend or yourself when pained by an awareness of mistake or wrongdoing to "disclose and apologize" and then "forget it and go on." But we all know that at any rate the latter part of this advice is not followable by just anyone—and one sometimes suspects that those who can follow it, those who can easily jettison problematic chunks of the past, are not fully serious people. You may urge your friend or yourself to excuse or somehow reinterpret the past so that a judgment made back then can be something other than wrong. But, again, the revisionist strategy is not promising, at least not among those who are seriously caught up in moral pain over what happened and are thus stuck with the decent person's typical respect for truth. In some cases the negative interpretation (that is, the judgment made back then was wrong) may simply be true, and then excusing, rationalizing, and revising are forms of fraud. A second observation concerns the important "variable" of self-knowledge relative to the reality of the restoration problem, or at any rate relative to how seriously the problem may be taken in real life. Despite the popular view that one knows oneself better than anyone else does, I think self-knowledge is not always in place, and is, in fact, very hard to come by. I may be shy but not know that I am constitutionally shy; I may have a drinking problem but not know that I am what AA calls a "real alcoholic" (and thus stuck with a constitutional vulnerability). I may think of myself as self-confident, but not realize that I am arrogant. I may be unsure of how smart or talented I am, but simply not know how to give myself the morale-boosting pep talk that others can administer to themselves. It may be that such failures or distortions in selfknowledge are among the obstacles in the way of strategies for recovery being simple or very general in application.11 A third observation is that in theoretical settings it is tempting to approach the restoration issue in a way that counsels generosity. After all, the thought comes to mind that in the cases in question here—again, cases not of moral monsters performing evil acts, but of ordinary decent people who have made mistakes or "done wrong" (and are sorry)—morality surely seeks the restoration of agency in such people. That is, morality does not ask or permit diminished agency to stay diminished—forever, or even for extended but limited periods of time.12 There is more to this point than merely "wishing a person well." It may be that in cases in which forgiveness makes sense there is a moral permission, and perhaps in some cases even an obligation, for it to be offered. For what is at stake, when one speaks of the restoration of agency, is in effect the restoration of moral personality—that "end in itself" that Kant-

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ian ethics finds to be the most precious of moral goods. And if that is what is at stake in cases of the sort we consider here, then indeed it might seem natural for theorists to suppose that generosity may play a role, or even lead the way, in our thinking about recovery.13 But I think the generosity imperative should be treated with caution, for even when as we take the restoration problem seriously, cases come to mind in which generosity would not, in the real world, be advised, or even be safe. In some cases a person's makeup involves the dominance of depression, addiction, disorder, or simply low self-esteem, and our hearts go out to such a person and we want to encourage recovery. In other cases, a persons makeup involves the dominance of anger, viciousness, very powerful ego and aggression, and self-protection requires, in our lives with such a person (even when one is oneself such a person, and self-forgiveness is a possibility), something other than the actions that usually go with generosity. Even if we are different from one another, it doesn't follow that we or others are helpless, unthreatening, or eager to change. The final observation on this list is the gloomy one that the life of anyone (not just physicians or other "professionals") who tries to live in the world rather than on its margins is a no-win life in this matter of challenges to effective agency. One will find oneself in urgent, complicated dilemma-like circumstances in which one will be stampeded, yet be required to "decide." It doesn't follow from that, though, that what one decides doesn't matter, or that what one decides, even at the highest level of responsibility and conscientiousness, will be morally okay when one reviews the situation in the quiet of the night. Perhaps some lives are more vulnerable to challenges to agency than others. But, so I suspect, there is such vulnerability in human lives in general, and thus the role of forgiveness in the recovery of agency is hardly of interest to only a few. The Integrity Project

Some of the salient features of Claudia Card's view about recovery when agency is diminished by child abuse or political oppression are these. First, it makes sense, in her view, to speak of a person becoming a responsible agent. Here she writes, with Dewey in mind, that we are not born responsible but "at most with potentialities for becoming so, realizable to a greater or lesser extent with luck and hard work" (p. 24).14 So Card's conception of responsible agency is a degree notion. I assume that the "becoming" in question, then, can go either way: one may be "more" or "less" a responsible agent today than at some earlier point in one's history. Second, Card describes her account as elucidating "the agent's forwardlooking perspective" (p. 24). She is not concerned with the backward-looking perspective of the moral observer or judge and thus is not chiefly concerned with "attributions of responsibility for what has already been done or occurred" (p. 25).15 Her account does not purport to be a completely general

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characterization of individual responsibility or of the agent's perspective. It is targeted on resistance to oppression or overcoming abuse, and the "agents" she has in mind are those whose "background stories" include "bad moral luck" in the form of a "history of child abuse" or a "heritage of oppression" (p.24). 16 Third, relationships are important to an exposition of Card's conception in two ways. On the negative side, "Early unchosen relationships with significant others" (p. 33) may be involved in the abuse suffered or the oppression endured and hence be, as it were, negative moral-luck "givens" in the history of the individual agent. On the positive side, relationships with others can function to support the individual's efforts to develop the self-esteem required to resist oppression and overcome abuse. Finally, within the framework thus provided, to become a responsible agent is (as I will put it) to undertake and follow through on an "integrity project." Card is careful to distinguish an integrity project from (what I will call) an "autonomy project." To develop autonomy is, for Card, by and large "to develop boundaries between ourselves and our environments" (p. 24). It is a "separating" of sorts (pp. 47-48). The integrity project, however, is not a matter of separating, but, rather, a matter of developing "reliability and bases for self-esteem," and for these "interpersonal relationships can be critical" (p. 24). How is this to be understood? Integrity, for Card, involves "basic commitments and values" (p. 30). She writes, "Integrity—literally, wholeness, completeness, undividedness—involves considerations of consistency, coherence, and commitment, while autonomy involves considerations of dependence and independence" (p. 32). In line with Lynne McFall's discussion of integrity, Card writes that integrity requires of the agent the development of "an identity to which basic moral values and commitments are central" (p. 32).17 And luck, she points out, "enters at several points" (p. 33). "Since some of our most deeply ingrained values and traits begin in early unchosen relationships with significant others, we may have difficult work to find their roots, assess them realistically, and come up with a tolerably coherent set" (p. 33). This seems the heart of the integrity project to me. Becoming a responsible agent is finally finding one's roots, assessing them realistically, and coming up with a "tolerably coherent set" of values and commitments. Thus, in "taking responsibility for ourselves," we "participate in constructing our own identities, and thus in constructing some of the conditions of our own integrity" (p. 32). Becoming a responsible agent, then, may indeed be hard work.18 The cases of child abuse and oppression are apt for this point. Here one's "roots" may be fragmented, garbled, and painful to sort out, and assessing them "realistically" may be a major project in itself (and, in my opinion, not always a feasible one). Beyond this matter of understanding one's roots, "coming up with a tolerably coherent set of values and commitments" may be a further major project of formidable proportions. Card does not minimize the difficulty. She likens the integrity project for an individual to the efforts of the membership of a community to come to-

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gether to resist oppression. Just as the membership of a community might be at odds within itself, so an individual victim of abuse may be internally at odds within himself or herself. Card's helpful discussion of "dysfunctional multiples" offers a striking characterization of how a person may be "fragmented" or "scattered" on the inside. At a certain point Card's analysis of the situation for victims of abuse begins to take on an air of exhortation and appeal-to-action that is appropriate, I think, to the subject. If taking responsibility is made complicated by the luck-damage of oppression and abuse, we are assured that "the character and values of the oppressed change drastically in the process of liberation." Victims are urged to gear up and act: "Resistance can come only from within" (p. 41). The oppressed and the abused have "responsibilities of their own to peers and descendants" and must turn themselves into "survivors" rather than "victims" (p. 41). To do this one must achieve the integration that allows one to "cease complicity in one's own oppression or in maintaining one's own distress" (p. 46). That is, one must achieve what is called "internal bonding" within oneself—a "reconciling" of one's different values, perceptions, and commitments (p. 46). In fact, to this end autonomy (in the meaning earlier specified) may play an instrumental role, for against a "hostile environment," separation may be necessary "for healing and growth" (p. 48). If indeed the acquisition of integrity can in the multiples case have "a life or death importance," even in less extreme cases it is "important to morale and to the possibility of self-esteem and pride" (p. 46). There is thus rather a Nietzschean dimension to Card's discussion here.19 To undertake the integrity project is to attempt to overcome one's circumstances by a transfiguration of oneself from "victim" to "survivor." And, counter to the view that one's capacity for morally responsible agency is threatened by the factors of negative luck (abuse, oppression), Card argues instead that that capacity offers, via the energizing notion of taking responsibility, the prospect of change in, and even command of, one's life. Appreciation of luck, then, does not leave one skeptical of the value of morality; it instead transforms any such skepticism into a regard for morality as a conceptual facilitation of positive change in the life of the agent. Morality, via the idea of taking responsibility, presents the means by which to seize one's life. One may indeed, on this view, recover from victimization. Comment

My first thought about Card's discussion is in effect a worry about how seriously her view takes the specter of constitutive luck suggested by the modularity thesis mentioned above, relative to her discussion's positive estimate of the strength of the capacity for morally responsible agency. The integrity project supposes a self affected by the results of a history of oppression or abuse but not necessarily constituted by those results. Thus, those negative results can, in principle, be overcome through the development of integrity. Card notes

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at the end that our luck may be "to have to, or not to have to, work hard or self-consciously" (p. 48) to cultivate the internal bonds at the heart of the integrity she wants victims to develop. But my attachment to the modularity thesis leads me to worry about constitutive luck at a deeper level. Can the self suffering a history of abuse or oppression not only be affected by the history's results but in fact constituted by them? Can it be my constitutive-luck fate not "to have to" but, in fact, to be unable to "work hard or self-consciously" at the integrity project Card outlines as an avenue of recovery from victimization? Two passages in Card's discussion seem to allow constitutive luck at the deeper level. Early in the discussion she mentions, without elaboration, "a basic lack of justice in our ability to be moral" (p. 29, italics added). And later she writes, "To determine whether it makes sense to hold an agent responsible, we need to know whether that agent's luck made the development or maintenance of integrity impossible or impossibly difficult" (p. 33).20 These passages—especially the second—seem to acknowledge that luck can be at the deeper level, that is, it can be of the sort that structures rather than "influences" the will. Whether constitutive luck can be at the deeper level is an important matter philosophically, I think, for what is at stake are two different conceptions of the individual agent, and beyond that the character of our moralpsychological responses to others and ourselves. On one conception, will is prior to luck factors; the latter may be heavy in their influence, but in principle they may be overcome. It thus makes sense for the individual to undertake recovery from victimization in the manner suggested by Professor Card's integrity project. On the other conception, some luck factors may be prior to the will, in the sense that they structure it (they are built into it) rather than influence it. These factors are true "givens"—necessities of the will—for the agent.21 And, depending what these factors are, it may or may not make sense for the individual agent to undertake the integrity project Card has in mind. As I said above, Card's "multiples" model suggests a victim of abuse whose self is fragmented or scattered. Will might be intact (though diminished in strength) in this case, but the properties of the will are in disarray. The suggested program of recovery is an integrity project cultivating "internal bonding," and thus the development of a sort of moral core allowing at least "cooperation" among the values and commitments present in the self (p. 47). In contrast, the other conception of the agent just characterized allows us to imagine a victim of abuse—or indeed a victim of problematic judgment (as in the Verghese case), or even a remorseful perpetrator of unintentional wrongdoing—who is, in fact, stuck with regret, fear, resentment, self-pity, or some combination of these—perhaps a whole cluster of negative emotions, the whole mass of feeling laced with depression. The result may be a steady state of brooding despair, or generalized apprehension, that is quite paralyzing to thought and action. I am aware that this mass of feeling—this form of emotional sensibility—may indeed be, as the mental health professionals say,

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"ego-syntonic," and thus be temperament-defining "to" as well as "of" the individual. I suggest, then, that one's will can come to be structured by such feeling, and that, in effect, one can be powerless over it. In William James's great meaning-of-life essays collected in The Will to Believe, his view sometimes appears to be that many of us, beneath the layers of ideology, are of "optimistic natural temperament," and this view helps support James's appeals to the legitimacy of "passional nature" in serious life decisions when rationality is inconclusive. But even James seems to allow that a person's natural temperament might instead be "pessimistic," and thus carry with it the bleak moral psychology of the negative sort described above.22 I believe, given my own experience plus contact with others, that there certainly is something like "pessimistic natural temperament."23 And my further thoughts are simply (1) that such temperament may be "constitutional," and (2) that such temperament, that is, temperament constituted pessimistic, can be the residue of abuse and oppression, or even of the realizations of mistakes or recognitions of wrongdoing that are at issue in this discussion of forgiveness. Prospects for Recovery

Suppose, then, that one is stuck with "pessimistic" temperament in the way, or at the level, I have just mentioned. Is "recovery" possible? Is there some way of restoring effective agency, including the peace of mind and self-confidence that we may suppose morality wants for moral agents? Perhaps there is a sort of recovery possible. But it may not take the form of the integrity project that Professor Card recommends. There is such a thing, I think, as learning to live with one's constitutive luck. But this "learning-to-live-with" will not be a matter of integrating value-and-commitment fragments as it is in the case of the victims of abuse or oppression for whom Card's "multiples" model is apt. It will perhaps be more a matter of understanding one's fate in the lotteries of nature and social contingency (including one's own history with personal relationships), and then accepting it for what it is, and then designing—or re-designing—a life for oneself that sends one in some other direction, or at least does not ask one to do the impossible. In the cases I have in mind, the results of one's history of abuse or oppression, or one's awareness of one's mistakes or wrongdoing, are not, as it were, present to one's will as items to be challenged and overcome; rather, they are in one's will, and they structure one's moral-emotional psychology ab initio. Are there people whose shyness is constitutional? On the view I am exploring it is a possibility that the answer is "yes." And it is cruel to insist with a constitutionally shy person that he or she "overcome" shyness. Are the people who get called "alcoholics" really only "problem drinkers," or perhaps what Fingarette calls "heavy drinkers,"24 or are they indeed (what AA calls) "real alcoholics," that is, people who cannot drink safely no matter how hard they try to control themselves? On the view I am exploring, there are real

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alcoholics—and the worst thing one can do for them, or to them, is to try to teach them to drink "safely" (whatever that could mean). In a similar way, and despite the strange sound of the question, I need to ask, are there victims of abuse whose constitutive luck is such that they cannot "do" the integrity project Professor Card outlines for them? I think the answer must again be "yes" on the view I am exploring. And, again, it would be a form of cruelty to such people to urge upon them a recovery program that their nature precludes. On the model I have in mind, the self "stuck" with the mass of feeling including anger, fear, resentment, and so on—that is, the person for whom such a state is both systemic and ego-syntonic, is not a person who can respond to the energizing, morale-lifting strategies of common sense, religion, or front-line psychology—strategies, I rush to say, that have indeed been helpful and even inspiring to those not constituted in the same way. And all this, it perhaps goes without saying, I would apply to cases in which people are aware of mistakes they have made, or wrongdoing they have unwittingly committed, and are in the aftermath of their awarenesses diminished in the negative constitutional way I have called attention to. For these people forgiveness by others may be ineffective regarding the restoration of effective agency, and self-forgiveness may be a sort of practical impossibility. I do not wish to be misunderstood, and I do not wish to exaggerate. I am not proposing that all shy people be treated as constitutionally shy, or that all drunks be considered real alcoholics, or that all existential nihilists be seen as systemically depressed, or that all those who procrastinate, lack discipline, or exhibit paranoia be viewed as constitutionally so. And I am not proposing that forgiveness is futile, or should not be offered, or that self-forgiveness should not be urged upon those one cares about. On the question, "how does one tell whether J is x or constitutionally x?" I have nothing to say (here).25 Still a further point is that those who are constitutionally a certain way may not in fact remain that way forever. There are cases in which one's depression "lifts," for example—or one's phobias weaken, or one's absorption in one's own past diminishes. This "just happens," sometimes slowly, sometimes rather quickly. How this works is not, I think, well understood. Indeed, it may be that the very effort of "stepping back" from oneself enough to bring into view certain constitutive-luck factors about oneself is some sort of step toward their becoming "influences" rather than "structures" of one's will. But there is, in my view, no guarantee that understanding oneself will provide power over oneself in this moral-emotional arena. Concluding Thought

My exploration of the problem of the restoration of effective agency yields a result that is gloomy in part. If J has made a mistake that results in serious damage to S, or done something very damaging to S that is in fact morally wrong, then awareness of the mistake or the wrongdoing may affect / in a way that reduces or diminishes agency, that is, it disrupts the peace of mind

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and self-confidence that J must have to carry on his or her personal life or life in the workplace. If we assume that morality wants J's agency restored, and that the conditions that morality imposes upon restoration (repentance, amends, and so on) have been satisfied, then we may engage in forgiveness of /, and urge self-forgiveness upon /, as part of the encouragement of recovery of agency. The point that my discussion leaves us with is that there is no reason in logic or practical fact to suppose that other-forgiveness will contribute to recovery, or that self-forgiveness will be possible for j. If j were "master of his or her fate" in the manner that suggests control of the will, perhaps the practices of other-forgiveness and self-forgiveness could be more promising relative to the restoration of agency. But, so it seems to me, the fact that negative emotional experience in some cases comes to structure the will, and not merely stand as a property of it, suggests that all bets are off regarding the expectations we may have, relative to the restoration of agency, of the practices of other-forgiveness and self-forgiveness. One's agency may be reduced or diminished by abuse in childhood, or political oppression, or awareness of how one's mistakes affected others, or recognition of one's own wrongdoing, or in any number of other ways. When forgiveness (by others or oneself) does contribute to the restoration of agency, it does so by lifting a burden, by ameliorating—not abolishing or "revising"—the pain generated by one's awareness of one's mistakes or moral wrongdoing and reflected in loss of confidence and disruption of peace of mind. But for those sensitive to morality—those decent people who take seriously their stake in their own moral history—forgiveness may or may not have its ameliorating effect. One may or may not be able to recover from the reduced or diminished agency one is left with. Notes 1. I am intrigued by the moral ranking Maureen Dowd ascribes to President Clinton and "the unforgiving and hypocritical behavior of Henry Hyde, Bob Barr and their lynch mob," namely that "it is worse to refuse to forgive than to need forgiveness." In "The Great Empathy Basks in the Glow," (Cleveland) Plain Dealer, 28 January 1999, 11-B. 2. John Rawls claims that self-respect has as one of its bases the respect of, as it were, selected others—in particular, "finding our person and deeds appreciated and confirmed by others who are likewise esteemed and their association enjoyed." Cf. A Theory of Justice (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1971), 440. 3. For discussion of the connections between forgiveness and repentance, see Jeffrie G. Murphy's essay, "Freedom and Resentment," in Jeffrie G. Murphy and Jean Hampton, Forgiveness and Mercy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), and Joram Graf Haber, Forgiveness (Savage, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 1991), especially the introduction and ch. 5. 4. Franz Kafka, Letter to His Father (New York: Schocken Books, 1966). The letter itself was never given to the father, as I understand the history, but I suspect the father was aware of the unforgiveness. 5. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Confessions, trans. J. M. Cohen (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1954), Book 2, 86-89; Reveries of the Solitary Walker, trans., preface,

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notes, and interpretive essay, Charles Butterworth (New York: Harper Colophon, 1982), "Fourth Walk," 43-44. 6. I have benefited from an article titled "Morally Managing Medical Mistakes" by Martin L. Smith and Heidi P. Forster (Cambridge Quarterly of Healthcare Ethics 9 [2000]: 38-53). How "medical mistakes" are dealt with is, of course, a problem for institutions (hospitals, medical schools, and insurance companies) as well as for individual physicians. In my discussion I do not venture into the policy issues for institutions. Smith and Forster do, as does Charles L. Bosk's Forgive and Remember (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1977). 7. Abraham Verghese, My Own Country (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1994), 177-84. 8. I make use of the modularity thesis about the makeup of the self in Living with One's Past: Personal Fates and Moral Pain (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 1996), especially chapters 3, 4, and 5. 9. I suggested a "general structure" for recovery strategies in chapter 2 of Living with One's Past (in the section titled "Ethical Theory and Recovery"). What follows assumes that account and does not modify it. 10. Claudia Card, The Unnatural Lottery (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1996), Chapter 2, "Responsibility and Moral Luck." 11. I think physicians ought to have exercises in self-knowledge built into their medical education—though I will not try to suggest here how such forms of education could or ought to be constructed. 12. There is an interesting issue lurking here which I will note but not be able to explore: if one does wrong or makes a serious mistake, and one suffers negative emotional pain, for how long must one endure such pain? In most cases punishments for legal wrongs have limits. Are there limits on moral-emotional suffering? Can one suffer moral-emotional pain for too long? Is one blameworthy if one's moral-emotional suffering ends "too soon"? 13. In a way that seems to me appropriate to the notion of generosity, Bill Wilson, the cofounder of Alcoholics Anonymous, wrote in his powerful commentary on the Twelve Steps, "Finally, we begin to see that all people, including ourselves, are to some extent emotionally ill as well as frequently wrong, and then we approach true tolerance and see what real love for our fellows actually means." Wilson, Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions (New York: Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc., 1952, 1953,1981), 92. 14. The page numbers in parentheses refer to chapter 2, "Responsibility and Moral Luck," in Card, The Unnatural Lottery. 15. For an early discussion distinguishing these different perspectives on our moral life, see Stuart Hampshire's "Fallacies in Moral Philosophy," in Mind 58, (1949), reprinted in Joseph Margolis, ed., Contemporary Ethical Theory (New York: Random House, 1966). 16. The helpful term "background stories" is used in Gary Watson, "Responsibility and the Limits of Evil: Variations on a Strawsonian Theme," in Ferdinand Schoeman, ed., Responsibility, Character, and the Emotions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). 17. Lynne McFall, "Integrity," Ethics, 98 (October 1987). 18. For Claudia Card, the integrity project for victims of abuse or oppression may involve "constructing identity." William F. May's book on medical ethics, The Patient's Ordeal (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1991), concerns recovery from catastrophic or devastating illness (for example, for a burn

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victim). For May, recovery in cases of this extreme kind may also involve the construction—or, indeed, reconstruction—of identity. 19. See Card's remarks (at p. 130) in her lengthy review of Eva Feder Kittay and Diana T. Meyers, eds., Women and Moral Theory (Totowa, NJ: Rowman and Littlefield, 1987), in Ethics 99 (October 1988). 20. Card adds at this point, "To determine whether it is justifiable to hold an agent responsible, we may also need to know how that agent's luck compares with that of those who would hold the agent responsible." The Unnatural Lottery, 33. 21. See Harry Frankfurt's discussion of "necessities of the will" in his essay, "Rationality and the Unthinkable," in The Importance of What We Care About (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). 22. William James, The Will to believe (New York: Dover, 1956), 82-83, 88, 171. Also see 100-101. 23. I do not wish to exaggerate the powers of such evidence, but I am charmed by Jeffrie G. Murphy's remarks about invoking experience: "I do not know what other test to apply. . . . I do not see how one can profitably discuss these issues in the abstract," in "Jean Hampton on Immorality, Self-Hatred, and Self-Forgiveness," Philosophical Studies 89 (1998). 24. Fingarette, Heavy Drinking (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988). 25. In ch. 4 of Living with One's Past, I discuss how one is to "live with others" when this epistemological difficulty is taken into account.

•twelve Earning Forgiveness:The Story of a Perpetrator, Katherine Ann Power Janet Landmon

On September 23, 1970, Katherine Ann Power, age 20, was a "good Catholic girl," an honors student at Brandeis—and a member of a group of five who were robbing the State Street Bank & Trust Company in Brighton, Massachusetts. Power was driving the getaway switch car. In the parlance of the day, the group was "liberating funds" from a "collaborationist establishment" to support the movement against the Vietnam War. Power did not know it until later, but one of the group, ex-convict William Gilday, had stayed behind at the bank and shot and killed Boston police officer and father of nine, Walter Schroeder. Under the state's felony murder law, because all five were engaged in a felony when someone was killed, all five could be charged with murder. Power went underground for twenty-three years. She remained on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list longer than any other woman in history. Finally, in September 1993, she gave herself up, waived her right to a trial, pleaded guilty to manslaughter, and began serving an 8- to 12-year prison sentence at the Massachusetts Correctional Institution in Framingham. She completed her sentence and was released from prison on October 2, 1999. In this chapter, I analyze Katherine Power's efforts to earn forgiveness. The present analysis is part of an in-depth case study I have been conducting since 1995 on the transformation of the regrets of Katherine Power. I view Power's story as in large part a story of the ethical force of emotion, particularly the disparagingly named "negative" emotions of regret, remorse, and guilt (e.g., Landman, 1987a, 1987b, 1993, 1996, 1999, 2001). As I have argued elsewhere (Landman, 2001), regrets like Power's, for having done serious harm to someone else, require more than the interior work of self-reflection and feeling that takes place in what Ryle has called "the secret grotto of the head" (cited in Geertz, 1973, p. 362). Power's regrets demanded relational modes of remedial work (Goffman, 1972) as well—public confession (to society in general, and to the family of Power's victim, specifically); and acceptance of society's public penance, namely, incarceration in a "penitentiary" (Landman, 1999; Landman, 2001). Here I explore the recently bur232

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geoning body of scholarship on forgiveness to investigate Power's process of earning forgiveness, both from society and from her specific victims. For my investigations of the transformation of Katherine Power's regrets I have relied on narrative psychology, or more broadly, narratology (e.g., Bal, 1997; Bruner, 1986; Cohler, 1982; Coles, 1989; Frank, 1995; Gergen & Gergen, 1986; Linde, 1993; McAdams, 1987; McAdams, 1993; McAdams, Josselson, & Lieblich, 2001; Rosenwald & Ochberg, 1992; Sarbin, 1986). Central to the narrative perspective is the idea that "identity is a life story [told] . . . in order to provide [the individual's] life with unity or purpose and in order to articulate a meaningful niche in the psychosocial world" (McAdams, 1987, p. 5). The story I relate here is a story of a momentous change in the identity of Katherine Power—from Woman-Warrior-againstWar to Wbman-of-Peace. The question I address is whether, in this transformation of identity, Power has also earned forgiveness. Power's narrative of forgiveness is based on these sources: (1) an audiorecorded four-hour interview I conducted with Power in prison in August 1995; (2) a televised interview of Power produced by a Boston-area cable station in April 1998 (Ahearn, 1998), just after she withdrew her request for "early" parole; (3) Power's talk (1999b) entitled "My Journey to Nonviolence," which she gave at Babson College on October 5, 1999; (4) Power's own writings on the topics (1998b, 1999a, 1999c), which she produced in prison and which she gave me for use in this analysis; (5) post visit notes that I took immediately after numerous conversations I had with Power in prison between 1996 and two days before her release on October 2, 1999; and (6) newspaper and other journalistic accounts of relevant events.

Earning Forgiveness What Is Forgiveness?

Forgiveness has proved difficult to pin down conceptually, and so far no definitional consensus has emerged among scholars of forgiveness (McCullough, Parmagent, & Thoresen, 2000, p. 7). Of course, forgiveness involves a change in thinking. As Hampton points out, each of the three biblical Hebrew words meaning forgiveness highlights a cognitive element of the experience: (1) kipper, to cover [the sin]; (2) nasa, to lift up, to carry away [the sin]; and (3) salach, to let go [of one's sense of victimization] (Murphy & Hampton, 1988, p. 37). For me, however, the conceptualizations are most defensible in which the centrally defining feature is emotional—namely, the cessation of resentment toward someone who has harmed (e.g., Downie, 1965; Ewing, 1970; Hughes, 1975; Lamb, 1996; Moore, 1989; Murphy, in Murphy & Hampton, 1988; Smedes, 1984). In the Christian perspective dominant in American culture, resentment is typically assumed to be a vice. Philosopher Jeffrie Murphy, however,

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distinguishes between the malicious or spiteful sentiment, which he agrees is irrational and immoral, and the retributive sentiment, which he argues may be rational and moral (Murphy & Hampton, 1988). Jean Hampton agrees that there could be a "legitimate retributive sentiment" (Murphy & Hampton, 1988, p. 164). Following Murphy and Hampton, philosopher Joram Haber offers the following analysis of how resentment might be a virtue: "A person who is self-respecting and who cares about the moral law will care about people (herself included) who are the objects of moral judgment, and she will express this care in the form of resentment when she is the object of moral injury" (1991, pp. 72-73). As Haber points out, resentment, or indignation at having been mistreated, functions positively as "a defense of self-respect" (p. 79). In The Trouble with Blame (1996), clinical psychologist Sharon Lamb applies this insight to the domain of psychotherapy, arguing that it can be salutary for victims to experience more resentment and to assume less of the blame than they often do. Examples of legitimate retributive resentment include the angry feelings of a rape victim toward her unrepentant attacker or those of a Holocaust survivor toward the Nazi commandant of the death camp he barely survived (Murphy, in Murphy & Hampton, 1988). With respect to such victims who experience resentment and who want the perpetrator punished (that is, who experience retributive resentment), Murphy adds that he would find it "indecently insensitive and presumptuous had anyone charged them with the vice of failing to forgive and love their enemies" (p. 92). I agree. Forgiveness is always a gift from one harmed to his harmdoer, not a right, a point that Minow expresses well in the following passage: Observers of South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission note that although many who were victimized are prepared to forgive or reconcile with public officers and government officials from the apartheid regime, the survivors recoil when perpetrators greet victims with open arms and handshakes. In these cases, forgiveness is assumed, rather than granted. A survivor might think, "should you not wait for me to stretch out my hand to you, when I'm ready?" . . . Forgiveness is a power held by the victimized, not a right to be claimed. (1998, p. 17) Forgiveness, then, is a "change of heart" entailing ceasing to resent someone who has harmed you. (Hampton, in Murphy & Hampton, 1988, p. 42). Some scholars (e.g., Hampton in Murphy & Hampton, 1988; McCullough, Pargament, & Thoresen, 2000; Smedes, 1984) argue that full-fledged forgiveness requires more than the victim's arriving at a state of indifference, more than "letting go of the negative"; it also entails "embracing the positive" (McCullough et al., 2000, p. 302). According to Smedes, for instance, the change of heart that defines forgiveness "has begun when you recall those who hurt you and feel the power to wish them well" (1984, p. 30). Similarly, for some scholars (e.g., Hampton, in Murphy & Hampton, 1988; North, 1998; Pawlikowski, in Wiesenthal, 1998; Worthington,

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Sandage, & Berry, 2000), the normal terminus of forgiveness is reconciliation, defined as the restoration of an "amicable relationship" with the offender (Hampton, in Murphy & Hampton, 1998, p. 37; italics added). For others, reconciliation is less stringently defined as at minimum the "'civil' relationship that prevails between strangers in a human community" (Murphy, in Murphy & Hampton, 1988, p. 37). However, even some scholars who define reconciliation as the normal terminus of forgiveness acknowledge that there are exceptions to this rule, such as the situation of a battered wife, who may forgive her husband, but still leave and divorce him because he cannot be trusted not to harm her again (Hampton, in Murphy & Hampton, 1988, p. 85n 34). For such reasons, I am more persuaded by those who view forgiveness as entailing the less stringent version of reconciliation in which victim and harmdoer attain a civil, but not necessarily an amicable, relationship (McCullough, Pargament, & Thoresen, 2000; Murphy, in Murphy & Hampton 1988; Scobie & Scobie, 1998). Certainly, forgiveness is an inherently interpersonal, or relational matter (Arendt, 1958; McCullough, Pargament & Thoresen, 2000; Exline & Baumeister, 2000; Gordon, Baucom, & Snyder, 2000; Tavuchis, 1991). It is a change of heart on the part of one person, the one harmed, directed at another person, the one who has done the harm. Finally, it is important to recognize that forgiveness is a process. Genuine forgiveness of a harm of any consequence cannot be arrived at instantly, merely through fiat, or an act of the will (Haber, 1991; Horsbrugh, 1974; Scobie & Scobie, 1998). Even though a particular individual may want to proffer an immediate, willed forgiveness, the human psyche simply does not work this way. In addition, when the transgression has produced mortal damage, as in the case at hand, forgiveness will "normally" be a "long and often painful process" (Scobie & Scobie, 1998, p. 396). Indeed, forgiveness that is too quickly granted may be suspected as a symptom of premature closure (Minow, 1998, p. 24), low self-worth (Davenport, 1991; Lamb, 1996), defensive denial, or reaction formation—a "reaction against or an undoing of the feeling that she [the victim] is too bad and very guilty" (Lamb, 1996, p. 162). Robert Enright and the Human Development Study Group at the University of Wisconsin have schematized forgiveness as a four-phase process (Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998, p. 53): 1. Uncovery: self-awareness and self-interrogation. 2. Decision making: making the decision to undergo the work of offering forgiveness. 3. Work: reframtng, or coming to understand the perpetrator in his context. 4. Outcome or Deepening: achieving a new sense of meaning, purpose, identity. In general, I disagree with Enright and his colleagues in their claim that forgiveness does not typically require remorse or repentance from the wrongdoer. I do, however, find other elements of their conceptualization useful.

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Reframing, for instance, is a crucial cognitive element of the process by which a victim comes to forgive the perpetrator. Reframing entails coming to view the perpetrator in context, understanding the perpetrator as an individual with a particular personal history and particular external pressures that were impinging on him or her at the time of the offense. In essence, reframing is a process of attempting to understand the perpetrator as a whole, not only as he or she is defined by the transgression. Reframing is built on a base of empathy. However, it does not excuse or condone the wrong, and it does not deny the offender's personal responsibility for the wrong. Just as in the dominant Christian perspective resentment is typically assumed to be a vice, in the same tradition forgiveness is typically assumed to be a virtue. Recently, however, some scholars, in particular Jeffrie Murphy (e.g., Murphy & Hampton, 1988, 1998), have argued both that resentment can be a virtue and that forgiveness can sometimes, perhaps often, be a vice.1 Minow agrees, pointing out how the institution of the legal trial represents a mechanism for making our way between two dangers, namely, "vengeance and forgiveness . . . [in that] it cools vengeance into retribution . . . and . . . steers clear of forgiveness" (1998, p. 26). Hampton disagrees in general that forgiveness is a danger to be avoided, but acknowledges that sometimes— rarely, she believes—it is morally appropriate to withhold forgiveness, "in particular, when too much of the offender is 'morally dead'" (Murphy & Hampton, 1988, p. 153). When is forgiveness, then, not a vice but a virtue? In general, I concur with those who argue that forgiveness is a virtue when it is "done for a moral reason," not merely, for instance, for one's own peace of mind (Murphy, in Murphy & Hampton, 1988, p. 24). What is a "moral reason" to forgive a wrongdoer? According to Haber, the offenders repentance is the only morally relevant reason to forgive. Indeed, "In the absence of repentance, forgiveness amounts to little more than condonation of wrongdoing" (Haber, 1991, p. 90). What Forgiveness Is Not

Forgiveness is not forgetting. I assert this in opposition to those few scholars who construe forgiveness as entailing a kind of forgetting that comes from a "conscious decision by the victim not to remember the justifiable claim for recompense or revenge" (e.g., Scobie & Scobie, 1998, p. 375). I agree with those who eschew trying to forget a serious harm done to oneself in order to protect oneself and perhaps the perpetrator, as well, from the emotional distress entailed in remembering (Murphy, in Murphy & Hampton, 1988, p. 23). Such a strategy is otherwise known as a defense mechanism (Freud, A., 1936). Defense mechanisms, though, are best used as short-term "Bandaids" to help injured people through a bad patch. Defensive forgetting does nothing to heal the underlying wound and is not a long-term solution. Empirical research on individuals' efforts not to remember distressing matters (e.g., Roemer & Borkovec, 1994; Pennebaker, 1993, 1997; Wegner, 1994a & b; Wegner, et al.) supports the skepticism of certain perceptive the-

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orists such as Minow (1998). Efforts to forget or ignore unwanted thoughts and feelings by an act of the will simply do not work; in fact, they often produce a rebound effect (Wegner, 1994a & b; Wegner et al., 1987). So with political theorist Donald Shriver, I say, "Remember and forgive" (1995, p. 7), and with Polish philosopher and dissident Adam Michnik, "Amnesty without amnesia" (1994, p. 29). Forgiveness is not excusing, that is, judging that an act was wrong but that the wrongdoer was not responsible for it, as is appropriate with the legally insane (Haber, 1991; McCullough, Pargament, & Thoresen, 2000; in Murphy & Hampton, 1988). If a wrongdoer is not responsible for the wrong, there is no one to forgive. Forgiveness is not justifying (McCullough et al., 2000; Murphy, 1988) or condoning (Haber, 1991; Hampton, in Murphy & Hampton, 1988). Condoning is what we do when we "turn a blind eye" to an offense (Scobie & Scobie, 1998, p. 378), that is, judge that the wrong was warranted, not immoral (Murphy & Hampton, 1988). If the act is justified, then there is nothing to forgive. Finally, forgiveness does not necessarily entail mercy, that is, exempting a harmdoer from atonement, restitution, or punishment (Haber, 1991; Minow, 1998; Murphy & Hampton, 1988). In Hampton's words, "Like forgiveness, mercy is a gift to which the wrongdoer never has a right" (Murphy & Hampton, 1988, p. 159, italics in original). We can forgive someone and still judge that she needs to make atonement, accept a penalty, or both. The fact that forgiveness, reconciliation, and punishment can rationally coexist demonstrates that forgiveness does not require mercy. Hampton illustrates this view, with what she rightly characterizes as a "remarkable practice" in colonial New England, in which a criminal who was sentenced to hang, but who repented, was welcomed back into the community with a "reconciliation feast in his honor, . . . followed] up ... by hanging him the next day!" (Murphy & Hampton, 1988, p. 158). What Constitutes "Earning" Forgiveness?

One day in a Ukrainian concentration camp in the 1940s, a young SS soldier, Karl, called for a Jew to be brought to his deathbed. Simon Wiesenthal was the Jew who happened to be brought to the bedside of the dying Nazi. There the SS man asked Wiesenthal to grant him forgiveness for the atrocities that he had committed against Jews. After relating a particularly horrific crime in which he had participated, the dying SS soldier said to Wiesenthal: "I want to die in peace, and so I need . . . I have longed to talk about it to a Jew and beg forgiveness from him. . . ." (Wiesenthal, 1998, p. 54). Wiesenthal suffered the dying Nazi to unburden himself, but he could not grant him forgiveness. He relates this agonizing incident in a book called The Sunflower (1998) and asks how others would have acted. Book Two of The Sunflower, "The Symposium," consists of the responses of 53 distinguished and thoughtful individuals to Wiesenthal's tortured

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question, what should have been done in this situation. I begin with these words of Henry James Cargas, a Catholic theologian of the Holocaust: "Forgiveness is not something we may depend on others for. We must somehow earn it. Deathbed conversions are dramatic but in many instances they are too easy. If God chooses to forgive Karl, that's God's affair. Simon Wiesenthal could not, I cannot. For me, Karl dies unforgiven. God have mercy on my soul" (Cargas, in Wiesenthal, 1998, p. 125, first set of italics added; second set in the original). How Then Is Forgiveness to Be Earned?

Scholars have only recently begun to spell out what exacdy might need to occur during the process by which a perpetrator comes to earn forgiveness. Elaborating on the model of forgiveness specified by Enright and his colleagues, philosopher Joanna North has proposed a nine-stage process by which perpetrators might ideally earn forgiveness (North, 1998, p. 30). In this section of the chapter, I review North's model in conjunction with certain insights into this issue found in The Sunflower. Taken together, these sources prove useful in illuminating the process by which Katherine Power went about earning forgiveness. Stage / In North's model, the first step is when the wrongdoer "recognizes that he has done wrong . . . [and] recognizes the injured party's right to punish" (North, 1998, p. 30). Stage 2 Next, the wrongdoer "experiences other-oriented regret or remorse for the wrong" (North, 1998, p. 30). These other-oriented feelings are distinguished from self-concern and self-pity (p. 32). In The Sunflower, Nechama Tec, Holocaust survivor and writer, notes how the dying SS man evidenced far greater self-pity than pity for his victims: The dying man burdens the Jew with a request that he knows is unreasonable. Selfish, self-centered, the dying Nazi dwells on his own personal suffering. Feeling utterly sorry for himself, he says: " . . . those Jews died quickly, they did not suffer as I do—though they were not as guilty as I am" . . . He does not even see that the Jews he murdered were innocent victims, guilty of no transgression at all. Even on his deathbed he seems to be denying to the Jews their humanity. And it is the mans self-indulgence which propels him to impose an additional burden on a concentration camp inmate who is sentenced to death [i.e., Wiesenthal]. (Tec, in Wiesenthal, 1998, p. 258) Joshua Rubenstein of Amnesty International further articulates the nature of this burden, arguing that the dying Nazi's act amounted to another injury: "[The SS man's] dying wish to beg forgiveness from a scared, vulnerable Jewish prisoner was as much an act of callous egotism as it was a misguided act of contrition" (Rubenstein, in Wiesenthal, 1998, p. 240).

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Lamb provides a convincing illustration of the difference between the stance of two different perpetrators interested in forgiveness—a self-oriented perpetrator (like the dying Nazi) and an other-oriented perpetrator: "Instead of begging for forgiveness, a perpetrator might plead with a victim, 'How can I take care of you? Can I pay for your therapy? Is there anything you need to know from me . . . ? What can I do to help?'" (1996, p. 163). Stage 3 Next, the wrongdoer "resolves to reform, [and] undergoes a process of reframing in regard to himself" (North, 1998, p. 30). For the perpetrator of a wrong, the process of reframing involves a difficult process of self-examination and self-interrogation. This process might include the perpetrator's analyzing his "motivations" for the offense, "understanding the context of its occurrence, and analyz[ing] his own character and developmental history" (p. 32) with regard to their possible contributions to his offense. According to North, Stages 1-3 comprise the process of repentance—a three-part process that includes the cognitive aspect of "recognizing that he has done wrong"; the emotional response of regret and remorse, or being sorry for having harmed the victim(s); and the behavioral process of determining to reform himself and to make amends where possible (North, 1998, p. 30). As North notes, this process of repentance is a "morally regenerative" process (p. 32). With respect to the element of making amends, many of the Christian and Jewish theologians who responded to Wiesenthal's troubled question about forgiveness in The Sunflower agree that in their respective religions "forgiveness requires both atonement and restitution" (Heschel, in Wiesenthal, 1998, p. 172). For instance, Episcopal priest Matthew Fox, writes: "Simon, summoned as a priest-confessor, let the man speak his heart. Some sins are too big for forgiveness, even for priests. Public penance is required. This man [the dying Nazi] received no public penance" (Fox, in Wiesenthal, 1998, p. 145, emphasis added). Writer Hans Habe goes further, arguing that it would have been wrong for Wiesenthal to have forgiven the Nazi, because to forgive a murderer who has done no penance is to make oneself complicit in the murder(s): "We cannot forgive murderers—so long as the murder is not atoned for. . . . The free will given to a man does not merely grant him the choice between committing a murderous deed or refraining from it. It is also a part of man's free will whether he allows justice to takes its course or whether he dispenses with it. An amnesty granted to an unpunished murderer is a form of complicity in the crime" (Habe, in Wiesenthal, 1998, p. 160-161). Nigerian Nobel laureate in literature Wole Soyinka has expressed serious reservations about the fact that the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa has dispensed with the "principle of restitution" (1999, p. 9). He argues that perpetrators have an obligation to atone. What is needed, according to Soyinka, is the following "healing . . . trilogy: Truth, Reparations, and Reconciliation" (1999, p. 92, italics added). In sum, repentance without atonement is not true repentance.

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Stage 4 The wrongdoer "recognizes some measure of self-improvement" (North, 1998, p. 30), and begins the process of self-forgiveness. As North points out, however, "self-forgiveness ought not to be accomplished too quickly if one is not to be suspected of insincerity" (p. 34). At this stage, the process of reframing has allowed the wrongdoer "at least in part, to forgive himself" (North, 1998, p. 32). That is, the wrongdoer has come to see himself both as someone "who already has some moral worth despite the wrong which he has committed and, at the same time, [as someone who determines] to become more worthy of . . . respect and esteem" (p. 32). None other than Albert Speer, Hitler's minister of armaments from 1942 to 1945, argues that not even public penance may suffice for the self-forgiveness of sins as enormous as his. Speer writes this in The Sunflower. "Even after twenty years of imprisonment in Spandau, I can never forgive myself. . . . My moral guilt [which Speer distinguishes from his legal guilt] is not subject to the statute of limitations, it cannot be erased in my lifetime" (Speer, in Wiesenthal, 1998, p. 245). Clearly, self-forgiveness is a particularly problematic element of the process by which a perpetrator may earn forgiveness, as I discuss below. Stage 5 The wrongdoer desires forgiveness from the injured party. At this point the perpetrator has allowed his feelings of unworthiness and selfloathing to moderate enough "to allow himself to accept forgiveness if it is offered" (North, 1998, p. 32). Stage 6 The wrongdoer "asks the injured party for forgiveness" (North, 1998, p. 30). Certainly the dying Nazi discussed in The Sunflower was selfcentered and cruel in his request of Wiesenthal, but at least he was not so prideful as to imagine that he had the ability to grant himself forgiveness. His request implicitly supports Hannah Arendt's assertion, "No one can forgive himself. . . . [F]orgiving... enacted in solitude and isolation remains without reality" (1958, p. 237, cited in Tavuchis, 1991, p. 47). Here Tavuchis elaborates on Arendt's assertion of the relational nature of forgiveness: Interior probing, interrogation, and anguish are not enough to restore an offender to a state of social grace or put things right. This is so ... because they tend to resolve themselves into a circular monologue that quickly reaches its psychodynamic and discursive limits and then is forced back upon itself in tedious and fruitless repetition. Until these inchoate feelings and ruminations surface, purged of all traces of self-pity and, most important, articulated in the presence of the offended other, they serve only as soliloquies with little or no consequence or meaning. (1991, pp. 120—121) A wholly private self-forgiveness is an unearned forgiveness. Stage 7 The wrongdoer has achieved "some measure of self-forgiveness," and awaits the response of the injured party (North, 1998, p. 30). When, however, the injured party has been murdered by the perpetrator, as in the

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cases examined here and in The Sunflower, this part of the process of "earning" forgiveness becomes more complicated. Tzvetan Todorov, professor and writer on moral life in the concentration camps, articulates the idea that is perhaps repeated more often than any other in The Sunflower—that Wiesenthal could not speak for the dead victims: "One cannot forgive by proxy any more than one can be a victim by association" (Todorov, in Wiesenthal, 1998, p. 265). It is as poet and playwright John Dryden wrote in The Conquest of Granada, "Forgiveness to the injured doth belong." Stage 8 If the injured party offers forgiveness, then the wrongdoer "accepts the offer of forgiveness . . . [and her/his] self-esteem [is] restored, at least partially" (1988, p. 30). North identifies two different ways that this part of the process might occur. First, the wrongdoer may be capable of accepting the offer of forgiveness because he has already achieved enough self-forgiveness that he feels worthy of forgiveness. Alternatively, "the recognition of the injured party's willingness to forgive completes the wrongdoer's attempt to build his. . . self-esteem" (North, 1998, p. 33). North compellingly portrays the psychological logic of this reverse sequence, writing that "the wrongdoer in effect says, 'I can forgive myself now because you have forgiven me. In your eyes I am worthy, and I accept and adopt your perspective when I look at myself. If you can find it in yourself to give me this gift, then I must try to see myself as worthy of accepting it'" (1998, p. 33). Stage 9 Finally, the wrongdoer "has overcome his negative feelings of selfhatred or disapproval. Reconciliation [is] now achieved or possible" (North, 1998, p. 30). In the end, if not full-blown reconciliation, "at least some measure of interpersonal harmony" has been achieved (p. 33). John T. Pawlikowski, a Catholic priest and professor of social ethics, is among those for whom reconciliation is a defining feature of forgiveness, the "public form" of forgiveness. Yet in The Sunflower he points out that the dying Nazi was in effect asking Wiesenthal for instant reconciliation, a contradiction in terms: The public form of forgiveness is reconciliation. And this is of necessity a much longer, more complex process. . . . Reconciliation entails several stages: repentance, contrition, acceptance of responsibility, healing, and finally reunion. [These stages] cannot be traversed quickly. They require demonstrated changes that go beyond the merely verbal. . . . In my judgment, Wiesenthal was correct in withholding such reconciliation, for it would have provided the man with what theologian Paul Tillich referred to as "cheap grace." (Pawlikowski, in Wiesenthal, 1998, p. 221) The preceding analysis clarifies why and how both offering and earning forgiveness is such "difficult, moral work" (Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998, p. 51). Both are active processes requiring considerable time and considerable ethical, emotional, and relational work.

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What follows is my analysis of Katherine Power's process of attempting to earn forgiveness. I have grounded my examination largely in North's theoretical framework, along with relevant insights from The Sunflower. I quote extensively from relevant portions of Power's narratives in order to allow readers to see for themselves the raw narrative data on which my analysis is based. Earning Forgiveness in Katherine Power's Narrative The Process of Repentance

On Monday, April 5, 1998, in a special one-hour edition of a Boston-area cable TV program, "Murphy's Law," attorney Bob Ahearn [BA] conducted a prison interview with Katherine Power [KP]. It was shown on Milton (Massachusetts) Community Television, Channel 3. The following is a brief excerpt from the transcription of that interview, in which Power discusses some of the precursors to her arriving at last at the decision to cease her life as a fugitive and give herself up. BA: You had to live with that [knowledge of her part in the crime] for 23 years . . . It must've worn on you mentally. KP: It did. It certainly did. The shame [italics added] particularly was a source of, certainly, depression in my life and also a kind of self-punishment. . . . I felt really undeserving. But in a sense, you could say I tried to forget what I'd done in my life. I tried to put it away. But you know, we just can't forget. The real work is we have to incorporate it [the crime] into who we are. We have to take it into the future of our lives and say: So what does that mean? What do you have to do? (Ahearn, 1998) While she was a fugitive, Power was sincerely trying to live her life, in her own words, "as an act of contrition" (Franks, 1994, p. 54) for the death of Walter Schroeder. At the same time, she was also taking a shame-induced "just-can-I-please-just-not-look" stance toward her crime (Ahearn, 1998, April 5). Her decision to give herself up marked the turning point at which she also gave up the futile attempt to forget her crime. The concept of "uncovering" proposed by Enright and his colleagues (Enright, North, & Tutu, 1998) describes this micronarrative well, in that Power shows here a high degree of self-awareness, and literally, self-interrogation. Here Power is asking herself what exactly it would mean for her to do "the real work" of incorporating the crime into her identity, her life story, her life. North's framework serves as a conceptual roadmap to help us systematically address Power's selfinterrogations. Stage I : Recognizing and publicly acknowledging the crime and the victims' right to see her punished From the instant Power had learned that someone had been killed in the bank robbery, she had recognized that she had done wrong. Partly out of shame, it took 23 years for her to take the next step—or at least

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to act on it—namely, to recognize the injured parties' right to have her punished on their terms. The following is an excerpt of an essay Power wrote while in prison, entitled "Out of Shame: Receiving Forgiveness." Here she describes the continuing role of shame in her surrender to the law enforcement system on September 15, 1993: Murder is a hard word to hear about yourself. At 6:30 in the morning in the Boston College Law School parking lot, after apologizing if he was too rough in cuffing me, Boston Police Department Lt. Tim Murray looked me in the eye and read me the charges on my 23-year-old arrest warrant. When he came to the word murder, it was as if he had punched me in the solar plexus, hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I turned my face, as if I could turn away the accusation. Three weeks later, robed in his official ceremonial black, Judge Robert Banks glared down from his high bench, his face twisted, spittle flying. He hurled that same word at me as he sentenced me to eight-to-twelve years in prison and a twenty-year probation that carried the threat of a life sentence. I could not turn away. (Power, 1999c) When Power surrendered, she issued a brief written public statement. This represents another micronarrative offering us a window into how she was then construing her identity as former radical, long-time fugitive, and soon-to-be convict. I include here the entire text of Katherine Power's surrender statement: I am surrendering to authorities today to answer charges that arise from a series of acts 23 years ago. I am here to plead guilty to these charges, and I am prepared to accept whatever consequences the legal system will impose. Those who know me now, and those who reflect on my two decades of life as an apparently exemplary citizen, will wonder how someone such as myself could commit such outrageously illegal acts. The answer lies in the deep and violent crisis that the Vietnam War created in our land. At that time, the law was being broken everywhere: at the very top, where an intransigent President defied international law as well as the express intentions of Congress; in Government services, where Daniel Ellsberg leaked the Pentagon Papers in the hope that citizen scrutiny could hasten an end to the war; among the clergy, where priests and nuns destroyed draft records; in neighborhoods, where young men defied the draft. The illegal acts that I committed arose, not from any desire for personal gain, but from a deep philosophical and spiritual commitment that if a wrong exists, one must take active steps to stop it, regardless of the consequences to oneself in comfort or security. Although at the time those actions seemed the correct course, they were in fact naive and unthinking. My intention was never to damage any human life by my acts, and there is no accusation that I was directly responsible for the death of Walter Schroeder. His death was shocking to me, and I have had to examine my conscience and accept any responsibility I have for events that led to it.

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In response, I have lived my life as something of a penitent, ever seeking to grow as a person of peace. I have much company on this path, including many Vietnam veterans who have reflected on their actions in the war and on the lives that were damaged as a result. Leaving my son, my husband, and my friends to enter prison is not easy. But I know that I must answer this accusation from the past, in order to live with full authenticity in the present. A lifelong, untreated condition of endogenous clinical depression has prevented my taking this step before. Experiencing life without that distorting lens, I am now learning to live with openness and truth, rather than shame and hiddenness. I have deeply regretted the repeated separations caused by my status as fugitive. I invite past friends and associates to forgive my absence, and to renew their acquaintance with me. I will accept with grace the ordeal ahead, and I will return to my community prepared to continue a life of connection, service, and joy. (Statement of Vietnam War-Era Fugitive, 1993) In this statement Power publicly announces her decision to undertake the work of earning forgiveness. And not under her own terms only, but under the terms dictated by society: "I am here to plead guilty to these charges, and I am prepared to accept whatever consequences the legal system will impose." The terms dictated by society included a sentence of 8 to 12 years in prison plus 20 years of probation. From within North's (1998) theoretical framework, then, Power had at this point completed both tasks entailed in Stage 1 of the process of earning forgiveness: recognizing and publicly acknowledging her crime and her victims' right to see her punished. Stage 2: The perpetrator experiences genuine remorse There is evidence in her surrender statement that Power had, for the 23 years while she was a fugitive, suffered enormous regret and remorse for her crime: His [Walter Schroeder's] death was shocking to me, and I have had to examine my conscience and accept any responsibility I have for events that led to it. In response, I have lived my life as something of a penitent. As I see it, though Power was experiencing and expressing genuine remorse at the time of her surrender, a deepening in the other-orientation (North, 1998) of her remorse took place in prison. This is evidenced, for instance, in an essay entitled "In a Convict's Heart," which she wrote in November 1998—five years after her surrender—as part of a college course she was taking while in prison: Remorse is a turning of the heart. It cannot be compelled. It is achieved only in a state of exquisite vulnerability. To feel terrible regret and sorrow, to face everything you are, have been, must be, is like cutting clean through your flesh, all the way to the bone. . . . Yet remorse is a powerful transformative experience. It is an essential step in the process by which one who has done violence to the spirit or

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body of another redeems him- or herself from the self-hating isolation of shame ("I am my worst acts"). Remorse hurts more than any suffering that can be imposed from the outside. Remorse is relational. It engages the formerly anti-social in a network of support for behavioral change. My own remorse was achieved in spite of, not because of, my experiences at the hands of the Department of Corrections. Where the Department of Corrections (DOC) projected onto me monstrousness, strangers as well as friends expressed their vision of me as a whole and mostly decent person who had erred badly, and in doing so, had hurt people terribly. Where the DOC promised lifelong condemnation as an outcast, my friends and former neighbors and business associates promised full social redemption. To protect myself from lacerating shame, a shame that made me feel as if I should die, a shame the DOC would have defined as my whole experience at its hands, I was closed. I was able to open thanks to the presence of genuinely confidential and non-invasive therapy and the Catholic chaplaincy. Together, they provided an unconditionally loving, forgiving, yet expectant-of-change cosmology and community. They proffered the invitation to turn toward wholeness as a sacred obligation to myself. Through them, I found the courage to face the people whose pain I had caused and express my sorrow for it. (Power, 1998b) In this essay, in contrast to the surrender statement, we see specific evidence of other-orientation in Power's remorse. Here Power refers to her remorse for having "done violence to the spirit [and] body of another"; she speaks of having found in prison "the courage to face the people whose pain I had caused and express my sorrow for it." Finally, she acknowledges the need for victims to see the remorse that itself constitutes a very real element of a perpetrator's punishment: "Victims of violence who witness it report feeling a satisfaction of their hunger for punishment and a sense of recovered safety" (Power, 1998b). "Remorse is relational." If there was room for doubt about the genuineness of Power's remorse (as in Stage 2 of North's framework) at the time of her surrender, certainly as her time in prison advanced, Power left little doubt about it. Stage 3: Reform and refraining As for the repentance posited by North as the "morally regenerative" heart of the process of earning forgiveness, here is how Power describes the difficult inner work she engaged in while in prison: I began the wrenchingly painful work of looking at myself as a person who really had done something that bad: gone to war, picked up the gun, robbed a bank, destroyed a life, wrecked a family. The first step was just to stay in the presence of that knowledge. I remember sitting on the floor of the Suffolk County Jail [at her surrender] in tears, asking Steven Black— one of my attorneys and a Vietnam vet decorated for the killing, one by one, of more than one hundred Vietnamese, most of them probably civilians, acts that he later came to regard as abominable—how he had done it.

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"How do you know that about yourself, and survive? How do you call yourself human, and worthy of life, of the respect of your fellow human beings?" Not an accusation, not a judgment, an entreaty. His answer: "I try to remember what I also am, besides that." (Power, 1999b) When Power had asked Steven Black how he was able to look at himself as a person "who really had done something that bad"—and survive, she was asking for help in the process of self-examination and self-knowledge that is central to Stage 3 of North's framework for how a perpetrator might come to earn forgiveness. When a perpetrator is open to this process, metaphorically akin to "cutting clean through your flesh, all the way to the bone" (Power, 1998b), the time that he or she has in abundance in prison can facilitate the process, as explained by Rokach: "Time in jail appears to provide them [inmates] with the conditions to engage in reflection and acceptance of their alienation and to attend organized religious services" (1997, p. 270). As we shall see, Katherine Power seems to have made the best possible use of both of these conditions.

Power's Parole Statement After our prison visit of Friday, February 6, 1998, I wrote in my notebook that Power had told me that earlier that day she had handed in her sevenand-a-half-page statement to the parole board. She felt that she had finally done the searing work of taking on full responsibility and expressing full and unreserved remorse—no more of the "yes buts" that had marred her surrender statement. Following is an extended excerpt from that parole statement, which she delivered before the Massachusetts Parole Board on March 6, 1998. I include the statement nearly in its entirety, again, to give the reader access to the raw narrative data on which I base the present analysis. I want to make it clear that my offenses include not only the events of 1970, when Walter Schroeder was killed during a bank robbery, but also my 23-year flight from justice and my defensive posture at the time of my surrender. I particularly want to acknowledge that the Schroeder family have been victims of my actions in each of these three phases. Phase I: The robbery and murder. In the summer and fall of 1970 I was guilty of a series of ethical failures, compulsive rebelliousness, and wrong thinking, that resulted in the robbery of the State Street Bank in Brighton and the murder of Walter Schroeder. I know now that my actions were misguided, hurtful, and indefensible. As I review for you the thoughts and feelings that led me to that event, I must emphasize that 1 intend no justification or defense of any of them. I write about these ideas and feelings in order to show that I recognize them, and having recognized them, I have rejected them. . . .

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That summer, 1 was in unbearable pain over the suffering caused by the war in Viet Nam. The war, and its seemingly unstoppable momentum, evoked a blinding rage. . . . I convinced myself that it was all right to act on it. We were arrogant in our confidence in our moral righteousness, and in our certainty that it was pure evil that we opposed. I decided that I would try to do acts of sabotage against the war effort. . . . Stanley Bond asked me to join a "revolutionary action" group he was forming. I agreed. It seemed like what I had been looking for. . . . We were drenched with dangerous romanticism and saw ourselves as noble warriors for a great cause. We thought there was glamour in guntoting violence. Everything had escalated far beyond what I had originally pictured myself doing, but I did not find the courage or the presence of mind to leave. . . . I remember clearly and with deep shame the moment when I realized that some of the people in the group were dangerous in their willingness to use criminal violence, and decided to stay anyway. I thought that I would learn from them, then leave. (On the day of my surrender and arrest, Special Agent Kathleen Brannigan of the FBI said to me, "You should have known better.") It is exactly because I should have known better, should have known that there is no such thing as "a little bit violent," should have known that if you go around with guns someone is going to get hurt or killed, that I am responsible in the death of Walter Schroeder. . . . We were all in agreement that we would finance the groups activities by bank robbery. We all deferred to Stanley Bond's planning the details and assigning the roles in the September 23 robbery. At about 10:00 that morning I was parked in the "switch" car about one half mile from the State Street Bank. Bond, Valeri, and Saxe went into the bank and held it up at gunpoint. Gilday was supposed to stand watch across the street. Bond, Valeri, and Saxe met me at the switch car and we returned to the apartment. There, we heard on the radio that a police officer had been shot in the back by a gunman. (We assumed it was Gilday.) I was shocked and angry. But mostly I was sickeningly, shamefully aware that in my immature, romantic, and stupid quest to feel that I was putting my life on the line for a cause, some real person—someone who loved his life and was loved in it—was killed. In preparing for this hearing I have had a glimpse of the life of the Brighton community where Walter Schroeder grew up, lived, and worked. I have learned that he was able to plan his patrol so that he could drive past his mother's house, where she watched for him from the front porch, and waved. I now know that she was watching from the porch as his partner drove him, mortally wounded, from the bank to the hospital. I have seen how my act tore a hole in the lives of a whole group of people, of family, friends, neighbors, and fellow officers. I know it is late, and far too little, but today I offer again my sincere and humble apologies to those people. [ . . . After the crime,] Saxe, Bond, and I had left Boston and become fugitives.

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Phase 2: Flight from justice. Thus began the second phase of my offense: living as a fugitive, denying justice to the victims of my crime, refusing to answer for my actions to legitimate authorities. I justified this refusal by a combination of terrible shame and continuation of the compulsive rebelliousness in which I denied that there is such a thing as a legitimate authority. Shame, of course, can be both convenient and morally sleazy, since it takes into account only the feelings of the wrongdoer, and not those of the victims of the wrong. It is true that I tried to reform my life during this period. . . . My remorse and sorrow over Walter Schroeder's death did dominate my inner life and drive me to re-establish sound ethical standards. It broke through the enchantment of zealous self-righteousness and allowed me to put careful treatment of and right relations with people back into the center of my moral vision. I grew up, into the understanding that the hard work of living peacefully, not the simplistic glory of war, is the only possible response to the pain of what is around us. It looked as though I had found a place in decent society after all. But it was a fraudulent place because of what it failed to account for, namely, my debt to justice and to the family of Walter Schroeder. ...

I was lying to my son, about my life and about his own family. He did not deserve to be deprived of the family of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins of which he was a part, and they of him. He was approaching adolescence, that time of life when parents owe their children the honest stories of their lives. I knew that he was learning the values I modeled to him. Did I really want to teach him to lie about and bury his mistakes? My refusal to accept public responsibility for my actions had serious consequences for my mental health. Self-disgust, guilt and the feeling that I was an irredeemable monster caused a depression which ultimately threatened my life and provoked me to seek professional help. I knew that this inner conflict could not be resolved by therapy and that I would have to come forth and accept the legal consequences for those acts, including going to prison. Phase 3: The surrender process. I meant my surrender to communicate my deep remorse for what I had done. I meant my guilty plea to be an unequivocal admission of responsibility. And yet the Schroeder family and their community were robbed of justice by the way I was presented on my surrender. At the moment when they should have been unequivocally identified as the victims of a terrible loss, press attention was lavished on the story of my family's loss and hardships. I am sorry for that injury, and I want to acknowledge my part in bringing it about. I contributed to it by my posture of defensiveness, by the way that I called attention to my "limited" legal responsibility and not to the enormity of what my human responsibility was for—that on a September morning Officer Walter Schroeder said goodbye for the day to whoever in

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his family was awake, that he went out conscientiously to do his job; that he never came home. That he would never come home again: that he would never again come home at the end of a shift with sore feet and an aching back to hear about his children's days. That he would not watch proudly as his children one by one graduated high school and made their way in the world of work, some of them following in his own profession; that Marie Schroeder, his wife, and Clare, Paul, Erin, and his other children would ever after wake up in the morning with that hole in their lives, the place where his love and his fears and his advice and his stories and his whole alive being belong. . . . My work in prison has been to peel off the layers of that defensiveness, to get to the point where I could look squarely into the pained accusing faces of the victims of my crime and say, "I was wrong. I was wrong all along. Before God I am sorry. I will always be so sorry." First, I had to stop turning away (conveniently) from my own acts in shame, had to sit unflinchingly in the presence of the reality that because of my acts another human being was dead. Then, I had to be willing to look deeply at my distorted relationships with authority, the source of my thinking that living as a fugitive was somehow an all right thing to do. I had to find and reject the source of the "Yes, but . . ." that the Schroeders heard from me every time I talked about my criminal acts. (Power, 1998a) Surely this statement of Power's illustrates something like the Platonic ideal of the self-examination and self-interrogation characteristic of Stage 3 of a perpetrator's process of earning forgiveness, according to North (1998). In her initial surrender statement, Power had produced a valid account of her legal responsibility: "My intention was never to damage any human life by my acts, and there is no accusation that I was directly responsible for the death of Walter Schroeder." After all, she was not in the bank with a gun, and she had no idea that Gilday had shot Schroeder until it was too late. Nevertheless, it is in her parole statement that for the first time Power accepts full human responsibility for the death of Walter Schroeder, writing: I should have known better, should have known that there is no such thing as "a little bit violent," should have known that if you go around with guns someone is going to get hurt or killed, that I am responsible in the death of Walter Schroeder. (Power, 1998a) Power made this point with eloquent brevity in a talk entitled "My Journey to Nonviolence" (an educational talk not open to the public), which she delivered in Glavin Chapel at Babson College in Wellesley, Massachusetts, on October 5, 1999, three days after having completed her prison sentence. She was discussing how in 1970 she had gotten caught up in the romance of violence, of "going to war against war." The problem with that, Power said, is that whenever we go to war, "someone's father dies" (1999b). Whatever Power's intentions, some had read her surrender statement not only as deficient in its acceptance of personal responsibility, but as one big

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"Yes, but—." Yes, I am guilty in the death of Walter Schroeder—but my legal responsibility is limited, as I did not pull the trigger of the gun that killed him. Yes, I committed outrageously illegal acts during the summer of 1970— but so did many other people during that time, including nuns, priests, and the U.S. government. Yes, I am guilty of having avoided facing my legal responsibility for 23 years—but it was due to clinical depression. In her parole statement of 1998, Power clearly distinguishes between selfjustification (all those "Yes, but"s) and self-examination of the context of her crime—according to North, another necessary step in Stage 3 of a perpetrator's process of earning forgiveness (North, 1998): As I review for you the thoughts and feelings that led me to that event, I must emphasize that I intend no justification or defense of any of them. I write about these ideas and feelings in order to show that I recognize them, and having recognized them, I have rejected them. (Power, 1998a) Already in the second sentence of her parole statement, Power shows the kind of other-oriented remorse that North claims is a necessary aspect of genuine repentance. Her profound concern with the suffering she has caused her (living) victims, the Schroeder family, is evident, for example, when she says: "I particularly want to acknowledge that the Schroeder family have been victims of my actions in each of these three phases." Regarding her 23-year-long flight, in her 1998 parole statement Power is now acknowledging its damaging consequences not only for herself as a moral agent—"refusing to answer for my actions to legitimate authorities"—but also for others. Speaking directly to the Schroeder family at the parole hearing, she apologizes for the fact that her flight from justice had "denfied] justice to the victims of my crime." Finally, Power expresses her regret to the Schroeder family for the manner in which her surrender was conducted, which put the spotlight on her rather than on her victims. During the years she had spent in prison to that point, Power had in fact occupied herself less and less with her own plight, and more and more with that of her victims. As I describe more fully elsewhere (Landman, 2001), when she first began serving her sentence, Power had been quite angry with the Massachusetts Department of Corrections for having reneged on their presurrender agreement with her in which she was to be permitted to serve her sentence in Oregon. If she had been imprisoned in Oregon, where her son and husband continued to live the family's life of voluntary poverty, they could have visited her far more frequently than they could in Massachusetts. As it was, their visits were rare and usually made possible by the financial support of friends. But at some point in the five years in prison during which I regularly visited her, Power told me that her having been incarcerated near Boston was one of the best things that had happened to her. Why? Because there she was confronted through local newspaper and TV accounts with the concrete details of the damage done to the Schroeder family. By 1998, Power's sympathy with her victims is gut-wrenchingly specific, as in this excerpt from her parole statement:

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I am sorry. . . that on a September morning Officer Walter Schroeder said goodbye for the day to whoever in his family was awake, that he went out conscientiously to do his job; that he never came home. That he would never come home again: that he would never again come home at the end of a shift with sore feet and an aching back to hear about his children's days. That he would not watch proudly as his children one by one graduated high school and made their way in the world of work, some of them following in his own profession; that Marie Schroeder, his wife, and Clare, Paul, Erin, and his other children would ever after wake up in the morning with that hole in their lives, the place where his love and his fears and his advice and his stories and his whole alive being belong. (Power, 1998a) In her parole statement, Power also analyzes with extraordinary openness certain personal deficiencies that led to her crime, another element of Stage 3 of a perpetrator's process of earning forgiveness identified by North (1998). She refers to herself as being at the time of the crime "guilty of a series of ethical failures," and as a person characterized by "compulsive rebelliousness," "wrong thinking," "moral righteousness," "zealous self-righteousness," "dangerous romanticism," immaturity, and stupidity. Finally, Power applies her considerable articulateness to the task of spelling out what exactly might go on inside a perpetrator who is doing the devastating work of the undefended self-examination and self-interrogation required in Stage 3 (North, 1998): My work in prison has been to peel off the layers of that defensiveness, to get to the point where I could look squarely into the pained accusing faces of the victims of my crime and say, "I was wrong. I was wrong all along. Before God I am sorry. I will always be so sorry." First, I had to stop turning away (conveniently) from my own acts in shame, had to sit unflinchingly in the presence of the reality that because of my acts another human being was dead. Then, I had to be willing to look deeply at my distorted relationships with authority. The source of my thinking that living as a fugitive was somehow an all right thing to do. I had to find and reject the source of the "Yes, but . . ." that the Schroeders heard from me every time I talked about my criminal acts (Power, 1998a) The Boston Globe editorial that appeared the day after Power's parole hearing, and which was entitled "A Greater Power," concluded with words of praise for Power: "Katherine Power deserves her punishment. But her statement to the Parole Board should be posted in classrooms, government offices, living rooms, boardrooms, hospitals, churches, and everywhere people need reminding of their ability to wreak ruin through a single misdeed, and the power of redemption" ("A Greater Power," 1998). Arguably, the greatness of spirit manifest in Power's parole statement had its roots in her preprison character. But it took five years of painful self-examination in prison to come into its fullness.

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Stage 4: The perpetrator begins the process of self-forgiveness Katherine Power has done considerable thinking about the process of self-forgiveness that North posits as the fourth stage in a perpetrator's path toward earning the forgiveness of others. Some of that thinking entails her recognition of how vital it is to have the support and forgiveness of other people in this lacerating part of the process. She states in her essay, "Forgive Us Our Trespasses," which she wrote in prison during the summer of 1999, "For months I worked at it [her parole statement of remorse], . . . supported by all the people—therapist, family, friends—who valued the imperfect wholeness of who I am" (Power, 1999a). In another essay, "Out of Shame: Receiving Forgiveness," Power writes about the vital importance of her family's forgiveness. She makes the point by contrasting the messages she received from two men in black: Judge Banks, the judge who sentenced her, and her uncle Ted, a priest. Power elaborated on this contrast in her Babson College talk. She described how at her sentencing Judge Banks, looking down upon her with conspicuous venom from a raised platform, had painted a picture of Power as "irredeemable," and "a monster." However, in the back of the courtroom, sitting on the same level as Power, were her family, including a second black-robed man: . . . my Uncle Ted, the priest. And he had already written to me in the jail where I was being held before sentencing. And with some of the saddest words I've ever read, he said: "Dear Katherine, Remember me? I'm your Uncle Ted." And I thought how in this all-embracing love . . . they [her family] brought to me the invitation to full redemption, the unquestioning waiting for me to come back home, where I belonged. With all of my history, with all of my wildness, I had a place at their table . . . I was waited for. (Power, 1999b) The immediate and unconditional forgiveness of her family, as represented here by her Uncle Ted, played an essential role in her developing the ability to forgive herself. Power's narrative shows that the act of a perpetrator's receiving unearned forgiveness from someone else may actually precede and initiate the process of earning forgiveness. A number of theorists (e.g., Exline & Baumeister, 2000; Hampton, in Murphy & Hampton, 1988), including North herself (see Stage 8 above), have anticipated this part of the process. Hampton's description of the thinking of a wrongdoer who is offered unasked-for forgiveness appears applicable to Katherine Power: "If he can see enough in me to welcome me back, then maybe I am not such a hideous person after all." This might be the first step towards coming to like himself again and renewing a commitment to morality. . . . It [forgiveness] may enable wrongdoers to forgive themselves by showing them that there is still enough decency in them to warrant renewed association with them. It may save them from the hell of self-loathing. (Murphy & Hampton, 1988, p. 87)

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As for the position of those moral philosophers who argue that the only moral reason to forgive someone is the repentance of the transgressor (e.g., Haber, 1991; Murphy, 1998), perhaps families can be forgiven if they exempt themselves from this stringent criterion. After all, as Robert Frost told us so eloquently in "The Death of the Hired Man," "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, They have to take you in." But there is the other side of the coin of self-forgiveness that none of the theorists had anticipated, but that Power's narrative reveals to us: namely, the dependence of self-forgiveness on the act of forgiving others. Power elaborates this insight in her essay "Forgive Us Our Trespasses": I knew that the spiritual, social and emotional work of the parole process would be to stand completely undefended before all my acts in the presence of those to whom I was obligated to do so. This company included the parole board, members of the Schroeder family, and myself. It was awfully hard going. For months I worked at it, challenged by the attorney whom I think of as my coach, supported by all the people—therapist, family, friends—who valued the imperfect wholeness of who I am. I overcame shame, embarrassment, terror, and aversion only to find my way blocked by anger and resentment, the final " Yes, but—" "Yes, but—what about the monstrous acts of murder, declared illegal by the World court, that made up the Vietnam War? Why am I accountable and those perpetrators are not?" "Yes, but—what about the Plea Agreement that promised I would be able to serve my time in Oregon close to my family, but which the government of Massachusetts had made it clear they had no intention of honoring? Why should I act in good faith when the state did not?" "Yes, but—what about the drug lords who buy their way out of prison by forfeiting a few assets to the prosecutor's office while people I know here serve mandatory ten-year sentences for their small-time end of the dirty business? Or the man who was arrested for beating his wife to death, his second serious battering offense, and then released on $5000 bail?" I could have gone on and on. The wrongs are real; the people who are injured by them feel as close as family to me. And yet these apparent truths sat like boulders along a path I had to traverse if I were to achieve that other truth, the acceptance of my own responsibility, upon which my acceptance of forgiveness rests. Logic could not budge them. Thinking about justice only made them more immovable. The breakthrough came from an unexpected quarter, which only afterwards was obvious in its inevitability. I think of Catholicism as the religion of my elders and ancestors rather than as my own. Damaged by its untruths and abuses of power, I nevertheless recognize that its prayers and practices hold some truths I can arrive at in no other way. As a result, I have attended Mass sporadically during my years in prison. There is a moment in the liturgy where the whole congregation—in this case, a couple of hundred of my fellow inmates and a handful of

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volunteers from the outside—join hands and pray the Our Father. Irreligious near-agnostic that I am, I still recognize the power of a community joining its voices in desire and intention, and I try to join not only in the words but in an attempt to find what really is in the prayer. And so hundreds of times I have said fervently but with no particular agenda the words, "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. ..." As I sat at the desk in my prison cell, blocked and knowing it, those words spoke themselves in my mind, and I was through. I forgave. I forgave my father for his rage and my mother for her passivity. I forgave my period of history for its rapacity, forgave the generals, the jailers, the Johns. For one holy moment I could see (as the theologian Walter Wink invites us to see) all that is as having been created in infinite love, then inevitably fallen, yet ever worthy of redemption. And I saw myself for the first time not as monstrous and shameful in my failures, but as a human—accountable, forgivable. I could say without reservation to people I had injured, "I did that. I see that I hurt you. I was wrong. I am so sorry." (Power, 1999a) Jean Hampton explained the logic of the relationship between forgiving others and forgiving oneself as follows: "To the extent that we reflect on how the evidence of our own actions indicates a poor state of character, then if we would wish for a more generous reading of our character in spite of those actions, we should respect others' wish that we be generous with them. . . . How can one who is unable to forgive the sins of others forgive his own sins?" (Murphy & Hampton 1988, p. 156). The experience that Power so eloquently articulates in "Forgive Us Our Trespasses" supports Hampton's hypothesis while illustrating the excruciating specificity that is required. I suspect that Power is not the only wrongdoer whose self-forgiveness was built both upon her beingforgiven by others, as well as her forgiving others. It is at these very points that the offender is liberated from shame, defensiveness, and resentment and is enabled to express full and genuine remorse to those she has harmed. Stage 5: The perpetrator desires forgiveness from the injured parties As we have seen, immediately upon her surrender Power was given wholehearted forgiveness by her own family—people she had abandoned for the 23 years she had lived as a fugitive. But of course her wrongdoing had victimized another large Catholic family as well, the wife and nine children of Walter Schroeder. I asked Power in our first (tape-recorded) conversation in prison in August of 1995, two years after her surrender, what she was then hoping for from the Schroeder family. Without missing a beat, she responded that she had no right to ask anything of them: "I felt obligated to offer restitution. I did, and I have their answer, a refusal. I will always be open to any kind of reconciliation. But it would be out of line for me to say to them that I need. . . anything; it would be out of line for me to say that they should. . . anything. I need to be respectful of them" (emphases and pauses are Power's).

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This seems fitting and just. Unlike the dying Nazi who summoned Simon Wiesenthal to his bedside to ask forgiveness, Katherine Power has the decency to recognize that for a harmdoer to expect or demand forgiveness from the injured would be to inflict another form of harm. Still, she is only human, and she would have been overjoyed to have been offered forgiveness from the Schroeders. From the beginning, though, the Schroeders had rejected Powers requests that they join her in working toward reconciliation with a priest victim-perpetrator mediator. Later, she came to view the parole hearing of March 1998 primarily as an opportunity to be present in the same room with the Schroeder family. She was determined not to waste that opportunity. Power speaks of these hopes of hers for the parole hearing in "Forgive Us Our Trespasses." There she writes that she had entered into the hearing process hoping that the words of her parole statement might finally convince the Schroeder family of her remorse and might therefore give them some measure of solace: "Perhaps now that I could so deeply, truly say it, they could hear it and receive comfort" (italics added). But during the hearing she discovered an obstacle to that goal; for the family, "the fact that my words of apology were coupled with a request to be released from prison on parole tainted them" (Power, 1999a). For this significant chapter of Power's narrative, let us go with her inside that room in which the parole hearing took place. Inside the Parole Hearing

Power [KP] described the events of her parole hearing in the Murphy's Law interview with Bob Ahearn [BA] just one month (April 5, 1998) after that hearing. BA: I want you to give the people watching the show a sense of what happened [in the parole hearing] and how that went. It was just April [1998], I believe. KP: Right. I had been preparing for it for 3 months. This was my first parole eligibility. And it was kind of shockingly early because I had earned good time. ...

I participated in educational and work and whatever other activities are available for earned good time. And so it was almost a year before I would've otherwise been eligible for parole that my eligibility date came up. And I really didn't think that I was gonna get parole. And of course I wanted desperately to go home; there's nobody in prison who doesn't want desperately to go home. So I decided I would approach it as an open-ended process. But it was extraordinarily painful. What you have to do when you appear before parole is that you have to talk about—what you did. BA: Right. And re-live it again. KP: You really do. You have to be bare—and radically honest. And I was writing the statement that I had to write for them, and it was excruciating.

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And I said: Why am I doing this? I don't even have to do this. People aren't even gonna let me go. Why am I doing that? And every time I got to that point, I said: Well, this is my only opportunity to be in the same room with the Schroeder family. BA: Right. KP: And show them my human face, not mediated by a reporter. . . . And I decided that I had to go through with the hearing no matter how painful it was and no matter that it would be extremely unlikely that I would be granted parole. BA: Right. KP: So I went into the hearing and I was questioned for about two hours by members of the parole board. And I could just feel that it wasn't about what was supposed to happen yet; it just wasn't happening—that I had come there to say something and it just wasn't being said yet. Next, Power explained, she read her parole statement. In the interview, she describes what occurred after that: The next part of the hearing is that I sat on the side, and members of the Schroeder family talked to the parole board. And I sat on the side of that room with a really open heart and listened to people talk about their loss and their pain. I would say that I opened myself deliberately to the suffering because that's an obligation you have if you've hurt someone. And I want to say that these are all outside of what I think of as legal obligations. These are human obligations. I don't think they can be compelled by a Department of Corrections or a justice system. I think they can be invited and encouraged and freely given. That they're human responsibilities. BA: OK. KP: And so I just sat there and I was struck by how very much like me the people in that family were. BA: Sure. KP: That two of the brothers could've been my neighbors or people that I worked with, people who were customers in my restaurant. I mean, they were. And that there was enmity between us because I had hurt them felt just cosmically wrong. The language I have for it comes from the writings of Howard Zehr about restorative justice: that crime, or any kind of violence, violence hurts people. And something is torn. Something that ought to be right, which is that people are well with each other, is made horribly wrong. They have terrible losses, and they are deeply hurt, and that can't ever be taken away, or what I would think of as fixed. But it can be made better—by some restoring acts. And that includes me hurtingfor how they feel, really feeling it, and knowing that I caused it. And the irony here is that of course the more human, the more prosocial you are, the more you really will feel how terribly wrong it is to bring suffering into the life of other people. BA: Right. . . . you wanted obviously to let them know . . . the feelings that you had, the remorse you felt for the family and everything else, and

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there was a kind of extraordinary act that you did at the parole hearing I wanted you to explain. KP: Yes. It was clear to me from some of the family members' statements to the parole board that they didn't really believe what I was saying—because it was attached to my request to be paroled and go home to my family. And it became really clear to me that as long as those two things were joined, the communication that I intended to make was not going to be complete. And so after they spoke, then I returned to face the parole board and was allowed to speak again, and so I said at that time that it was really clear to me that my intended outcome wasn't happening yet—which is that these people would know that I know that I hurt them and that I feel really bad about that, and that I acknowledge how terribly wrong how I acted was, and that if they couldn't believe that statement because it was connected to my request for parole, then I would withdraw my request for parole. (Ahearn, 1998) We are fortunate to have not only Power's words to the parole board and not only Power's description of her acts during the hearing, but also a number of independent descriptions of what transpired in that room on March 6, 1998. The Boston Globe described the sequence of events that led Power to withdraw her request for parole as follows: An hour after making her apology, Power sat in her closed parole hearing on Thursday night [March 6, 1998] as Clare Schroeder, daughter of the Boston police offer who was her victim, said, "It is only very recently that Ms. Power has expressed her remorse . . . in an unreserved and unqualified manner. Anyone in her position, reasonably intelligent and faced with the possibility of gaining parole, would express similar sentiments." Soon after hearing her motives questioned, Power tearfully asked to withdraw her parole request, letting her words of contrition remain untainted by self-interest. (Canellos, 1998, March 7) The New York Times wrote the day after Power's hearing that her act of withdrawing her request for parole had left the people in the hearing room "stunned" (Goldberg, 1998, March 7). The Boston Herald was more specific, quoting Clare Schroeder as saying that when Power withdrew her parole request, "There were several seconds worth of silence . . . [as a] quiet . . . hung over the hearing room . . . No one expected that [Power's waiver of her right to parole]" (Ford, 1998, March 7). How then did the Schroeder family respond to Power's act? Erin Schroeder (like more than one of her siblings, a Boston police officer) told the Boston Globe immediately after the hearing, "I was very happy and I was very surprised . . . It wasn't what I expected. I have to say I respect it" (Canellos, 1998, March 6). Clare Schroeder agreed, telling the Boston Globe that she felt good about the parole hearing and describing it as "a valuable experience for all of us.

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Katherine got a chance to see and hear the impact of her crime on other people and I got a window on her personality that I hadn't seen before" (Canellos, 1998, March 7). Finally, Clare Schroeder told the New York Times, "I respect what she did . . . And I think it must have been an extremely difficult thing for her to have done. From a personal point of view I think she did the right thing, and I appreciate that . . . I think that Katherine is sincere . . . I think what we heard last night was an unqualified acceptance of responsibility and apology that I have not felt in her statements in the past" (Goldberg, 1998, March 7). Perhaps not a full-fledged statement of forgiveness, but something close. According to North (1998), Stage 5 of the process by which a perpetrator earns forgiveness entails the perpetrator's coming to desire forgiveness from her victims. Then in Stage 6, the perpetrator asks for forgiveness, and in Stage 7 waits for the response of her victims. In Power's case, there were victims at both the interpersonal and the societal levels. On the day she surrendered, Power formally asked her society what it would require of her to earn forgiveness (Stage 6). On October 2, 1999, the day she completed her prison sentence, Power had earned societal forgiveness. The process has operated differently, however, at the interpersonal level. Upon her surrender, without waiting to be asked, Power's family gave her their forgiveness. With regard to the Schroeders, however, because of Power's sensitivity to them and her conviction that she has no right to ask or expect anything from them, that part of her story does not fit the rubric of these last four stages of Norths framework. Stages 8 and 9: The perpetrator accepts the victims' forgiveness, and victim/perpetrator reconciliation occurs Again, the Saturday late in 1999 that Katherine Power completed her prison sentence, she had earned and accepted the forgiveness of her society. But, contrary to North's hypothesized Stages 8 and 9, at this point Katherine Power has not been offered the gifts of interpersonal forgiveness or reconciliation from the Schroeder family, her specific victims. Again, she accepts this painful state of affairs, as she explained in the Murphy's Law interview a month after the parole hearing: "A person who's harmed other people has no right to expect anything from them in the way of forgiveness. If we achieve non-enmity, I will feel that we are all very fortunate. . . . What I hope for is that their hurt has been touched as much as it can be touched by anything I'm able to do to right what I've done" (Ahearn, 1998). Immediately before Power uttered these words, the interviewer, Bob Ahearn [BA], had repeated to Power [KP] some rather unforgiving sentiments that Clare Schroeder had uttered on his show after Power's parole hearing, and then asked Power what she would wish to say to Clare Schroeder if she were present then: BA: I had Clare Schroeder on this show. She was running for Governor's Council. I asked her this question. If you could say anything to

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Katherine Power, what would you say? And her answer was, if I remember, she goes: I don't know. Our lives went two separate ways; we really have nothing in common. And that was about the end of it. Now I wanted to ask you the same question. If you could look right at the Schroeder family in a room, what would you tell them? What would you say to them? KP: What I said in the room in parole. . . . I would say it again. That I know I hurt them in their life and I am deeply, deeply sorry for that. And my awareness of that has transformed me as a person. That when I leave prison, my social debt, my legal debt, will be discharged. But the changed person I am goes with me for all of my life. (Ahearn, 1998) Clearly, Power has used her years in prison to engage in a profound process of reflection on issues such as regret, responsibility, and forgiveness. She seems to have done all she could to try to comfort the Schroeder family with her unequivocal expressions of remorse and responsibility. That her efforts have not to date been crowned with the fullness of forgiveness, as they might have been in an ideal world, is not, I suspect, all that unusual. Indeed, Power's experience ought to lead us to understand that the realization of the last stages of North's nine-stage sequence is probably too much for most wrongdoers to hope for—especially when the damage is as dire as someone's death.

Conclusions The process of systematically applying a high-quality theoretical model to Katherine Power's narrative has had a number of benefits. For one thing, North's theory lends structure to Power's narrative. Second, North's model clarifies for us why the process of an offender's earning forgiveness is unlikely to completely succeed. With its nine (count 'em) stages, there are simply so many places where something can go wrong. In turn, Katherine Power's narrative both enriches and problematizes the theory. Power's story enriches North's theory by, for example, foregrounding the emphatically relational character of the process by which an offender might go about earning forgiveness. Power's story highlights the fact that whenever someone commits a crime (or even a noncriminal transgression), she has damaged not only society in the abstract, but almost always another person, a family, and a community as well. Again, it is as Hannah Arendt stated, "No one can forgive himself . . . forgiving . . . enacted in solitude and isolation remains without reality" (1958, p. 237, cited in Tavuchis, 1991, p. 47). Elaborating on Arendt's assertion, Tavuchis spells out why forgiveness must be a relational process: "interior probing, interrogation, and anguish are not enough to restore an offender to a state of social grace or put things right. . . . Until these inchoate feelings and ruminations surface, purged of all traces of self-pity and, most important, articulated in the presence of the offended other, they serve only as soliloquies with

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little or no consequence or meaning" (1991, pp. 120-121, italics added). Powers story supports Tavuchis's insight that a crucial element of an offender's task is to articulate her regret and remorse—"in the presence of the offended." Power's narrative makes manifest how the "deepening" of the process of earning forgiveness (Enright, Freedman, & Rique, 1998, p. 53), too, is based on relational processes. These relational processes, as lived by Power, included doing excruciating work with a therapist; reconnecting with the Catholic theology of confession, reparation, and forgiveness; and making personal efforts to meet her felt obligation to her victims to make things as right as she could (Zehr, 1995). On the other hand, Katherine Power came to know that for a criminal offender forgiveness cannot be either a purely intrapsychic or even a purely interpersonal matter; it has to be socially authorized. Power had to give up her defensive posture toward a punitive, shaming criminal justice system and acknowledge that private self-forgiveness is a contradiction in terms. To earn society's forgiveness, she had to submit herself to society's definition of what would constitute meaningful amends—namely, doing her penance in a "penitentiary." Power has now earned the forgiveness of her society by having completed the prison sentence it assigned her. Her societal exile is over. Purely interpersonal conceptualizations of forgiveness, such as North's, tend to neglect the larger societal ramifications. Besides fleshing out the importance of the interpersonal dimension and contributing the idea of the societal dimension of the task required of a perpetrator who hopes to earn forgiveness, Power's narrative problematizes the theoretical model in at least three other ways. First, Power's narrative demonstrates that self forgiveness is a more complex process than articulated in North's model. Self-forgiveness may follow rather than precede (unasked-for) forgiveness by others. More unexpectedly, Power's narrative shows that self-forgiveness may depend on the perpetrator's first forgiving significant others. Second, Power has given us compelling reasons to question the wisdom of Stages 6 and 7 of North's model, in which the perpetrator explicitly asks her victims for forgiveness. As Power points out, to ask or expect forgiveness from one's victims can be to add insult to injury. Third, Power's narrative reveals the limits of reconciliation not fully acknowledged in a theoretical model that culminates in reconciliation. Power contributes the hard-won and sad wisdom that an amicable—even a civil— relationship between a harmdoer and her victims is in many cases too much to expect. As she has said, Power will consider herself and the Schroeders very fortunate if they are able to achieve a state of "non-enmity." On this count, Powers narrative is consistent with the less stringent, perhaps less naive, conceptions of reconciliation posited by a number of scholars (e.g., McCullough, Pargament, & Thoresen, 2000; Murphy, in Murphy & Hampton, 1988; Scobie & Scobie, 1998). In her novel, Ceremony, Leslie Marmon-Silko writes this about the power of narrative: "I will tell you something about stories. . . . / They aren't just en-

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261

tertainment./Don't be fooled. / They are all we have, you see/all we have to fight off/illness and death" (1977, p. 2). I would argue that Katherine Power's story shines as a model of the process of fighting off ethical illness, a model of ethical development. The narrative perspective reminds us too that identity is a story (McAdams, 1987). I conclude, then, by asking what Power's comprehensively revised narrative tells us about her present postfugitive, postprison identity. Some would interpret Power's narrative as a story of a radical new beginning, a story of a marked break with "the damaging legacy of the past" (Scobie & Scobie, 1998, p. 397). For example, no longer does Katherine Power conceive of herself as she did at age 20 as Woman-Warrior-against-War. By age 50, Power had earned a new identity as Woman-of-Peace. I would argue, however, that Powers new identity is more about integration with, rather than a break with, her past. Power herself views her narrative trajectory in this less discontinuous way, as seen, for example, in this statement: "You could say I tried to forget what I'd done in my life. . . . But you know, we just can't forget. The real work is to incorporate it into who we are" (Ahearn, 1998). Power has earned through her surrender, confession, and public reparation the opportunity to—again, in her words, "continue to reconstruct her self as whole" (personal communication, May 18, 2000; italics added). With her reconstructed life narrative, Power has earned back her right to the original identity she was reaching for in her youth in such a tragically misguided way. Always she was a seeker of peace. By now I have related Power's story to a number of disparate audiences, and in doing so I have witnessed how intensely her story resonates. I have come to believe that so many people respond so warmly to Power's story in part because we all hear it as wrongdoers—for who of us is not a wrongdoer? In this fiercely punitive culture of ours, Power's story is profoundly moving because it is a story about the redemptive possibility of wrongdoers to earn an identity that is whole—admirable and imperfect, accountable and forgiven.

Notes Correspondence may be addressed to Janet Landman, History & Society Division, Hollister 319, Babson College, Wellesley, MA 02457. Preparation of this chapter was supported by a Spring 2000 course release granted by the Board of Research of Babson College. I am also grateful to Sharon Lamb for a critical reading of an earlier version of this manuscript. Most of all, I thank Katherine Power for her unfailing openness and generosity in working with me on this project, including responding to more than one draft of this chapter. 1. At the same time, Murphy acknowledges that there is "social and personal danger" in feelings of retributive hatred, danger that might be "minimized if these feelings—instead of being ignored—are institutionalized" (Murphy & Hampton, 1988, p. 92). He suggests that presentencing statements represent a positive example of institutionalizing these feelings.

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Index

absolution, 90, 91, 97, 102, 182 abuse, 5, 27, 28 agency response and, 222-28 authentic guilt and, 49 forgiveness and, 43, 46-48, 89-90, 103-4, 127-28, 163, 180, 183, 186 gender politics and, 184-88 perpetuation of, 25, 85, 167, 181, 186 victim reactions to, 159—60 of women, 155, 156, 163-64, 180-81 See also battered women; rape accident, 22—23 Affinito, Mona Gustafson, 11-12, 88-109 African Americans, 10, 186, 188 age, forgiveness and, 32, 57, 67 agency, 220-21 intent and, 22-23, 60 in psychotherapy, 113, 116-18, 124, 129 recovery by offender, 215-29, 250 recovery by victim, 159 self-forgiveness and, 132-33 women's cultural status and, 156 Ahearn, Brian, 242, 256-57, 258 alcoholics, 27, 163, 166, 167, 218, 227-28 ambivalence, 162, 167, 168, 176, 188 amends, 59, 123-24, 157, 239 American Mental Health Counselors Association study, 59—66

anger, 20—23 appropriate, 21-22, 23, 31, 90, 92, 166 differing views of, 8, 9, 72, 157, 160 forgiveness therapy effect on, 72, 156, 157, 160 gender differences and, 66 group, 166 letting go of, 56 management of, 33 misplaced, 21-23, 86 as overreaction, 78 overwhelming, 159 understanding and, 28-29, 32 variant releases for, 160 voicing of, 103—4 women and, 10, 12, 156, 159-65, 168, 185 anxiety, 9, 46, 54, 56, 72, 73, 125, 158, 160 misplaced generalizing and, 79-80 apology, 5, 26-27, 56, 144-45, 160, 165, 167-68, 250, 257 Arendt, Hannah, 240, 259 Aristotle, 21, 23, 29, 35-36n.2 arrogance, 141-43, 217 attitudes, 23-35, 64-65, 68, 98-100, 118,182 Augustine, St., 24, 28, 46-47, 129 Austin, J. L, 17, 19, 20-21, 27, 84 autonomy project, 224-25 Azmitia, Margarita, 57, 66, 67 265

266

INDEX

battered women, 5, 167-68, 235 refraining by, 85 self-protection and, 126 social ego and, 175-76 unrepentant abuser and, 155, 156, 167 victim role and, 164 battered women's syndrome, 46, 163, 183 Baumeister, Roy E, 6, 57, 59, 167 benevolence, 3, 148, 150, 157 Berlin, Isaiah, 29, 35 blame, 27, 90-91, 97-98, 109 Bosnian war survivors and, 197, 209 of self, 5, 81-82 of victim, 105,164,234 Bosnian war, 10, 12, 192-209 Buber, Martin, 43, 49 Buddhism, 65, 129 Butler, Bishop Joseph, 19-20, 22, 23, 24, 34,36n.2,44, 117 Card, Claudia, 222, 223-27, 228 Care, Norman S., 12-13, 160, 215-29 carelessness, 36n.2 Cargas, Henry James, 238 caring, 25, 98, 163, 166,185 Casarjian, Robin, 90, 102 Catholicism, 102, 253-54, 260 Ceremony (Marmon-Silko), 260-61 Chernoff, M., 57, 66-67 child abuse. See abuse children Bosnian war and, 193, 197-209 forgiveness by, 32, 57, 180 forgiveness of, 183 Christianity, 97-102, 141 earning forgiveness and, 239 forgiveness counselors and, 184-85 forgiveness stages and, 198 resentment and, 233, 236 turning other cheek and, 46, 99-100, 144 unilateral forgiveness and, 10, 19, 35n.l, 43, 46, 47, 51n.8,101,102, 119, 127, 161, 187, 197 Clinton, Bill, 189, 229n.l cognitive theories, 3—4, 7, 43, 136, 173, 236 community vs. individual, 12, 101-3 degrees of violation and, 179-82

distribution of responsibility and, 172-73 earning forgiveness and, 232-61 forgiveness as gift to, 161—62 forgiveness repercussions and, 165-67, 198-99, 259, 260 gender theories and, 185, 186 mercy and, 107 psychoanalytic theory and, 174 psychotherapeutic goal and, 156 reconciliation benefits, 188 war survivor perspectives, 195—209 compassion forgiveness as, 55, 56, 76, 92, 157,168, 172,202 social benefits of, 161, 162, 183 women and, 12, 166, 167 compensation, 123-24, 140, 143-44 condoning, 6, 12,55,83,91 confession, 102, 201, 202-3, 208 public, 232, 248, 259-60 conflict resolution, 173, 177, 182-83, 185 constitutive luck, 226, 227, 228 context, 9-10, 67, 100, 155-90 psychoanalysis and, 172-90 reframing and, 83-84, 236 war survivors and, 193-209 women's forgiveness and, 10, 12,

155-68 cost/benefit analysis, 106, 136-51 counselors/therapists context and, 100 feminine anger and, 185 forgiveness decision and, 9—12, 50, 66-67, 89-90, 103-9, 158, 184-85 forgiveness definition for, 92—93 forgiveness research with, 11, 54—69 forgiveness training needs, 68-69 goal of, 114 religiosity level of, 58-59, 184-85 social/political beliefs and, 182 See also forgiveness therapy; psychotherapy; therapist-client relationship Course in Miracles, A, 101 crimes against humanity, 155, 195, 209 criminal justice system, 96—97, 236, 260 Croats, 200, 201 Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly, 3, 4 cultural context. See context

INDEX

Darrow, Clarence, 50-51 death penalty, 96, 97 defenses, 161, 176, 189,236 denial, 6, 55, 138, 161, 235 Denton, RoyT., 55, 57-58, 68 deontological arguments, 49-50, 128-33 depression, 46, 56, 72, 73, 102, 125, 138, 158, 160, 228 Derksen, Wilma, 95, 103 Descartes, Rene, 30, 31 determinism, 10-11, 18-21, 27, 29 Deveney, Sara, 57, 66—67 DiBlasio, Frederick A., 56, 58-59, 68,

157 Dizdarevic, Zlatko, 199-200, 208-9 dogmatism, 42—43 Dorfman, Ariel, 160 double standard, 184, 189 Dowd, Maureen, 229n.l drive psychology, 176 Dryden, John, 241 duty, 48, 102, 119, 127, 140

267

family intergenerational forgiveness and, 218

unconditional forgiveness by, 252-53, 254,258 of victim, 95-97,103, 248-59 women and, 163, 186-87, 189 See also abuse; incest family therapy, 177, 189 fear, 54, 78-80, 90 feminism, 10, 163, 183-85, 187 fiduciary relationships, 113, 114, 116, 122, 124

Fisher, Eugene, 100, 155 Fitzgibbons, Richard P., 4, 6, 8, 77, 86, 88, 91, 103, 108, 156-57, 196-97, 198,199,202 Focus Partnering, 145-51 forgetting as defense, 161 forgiveness vs., 55, 57, 91, 236

as forgiving, 6, 31-33, 66, 215, 222 intentional, 189,236-37 forgiveness

alternatives, 8-9, 12, 143-51, 199 Eastern religions, 65, 68 Eichmann, Adolph, 50 emotional relief, 93, 108, 160, 164 emotions acceptability of, 5, 119-20 control over, 31 misplaced, 86 responsibility for, 159 in self-forgiveness, 122-23 See also negative emotions empathy, 57, 67, 69, 162, 203, 236 enemy, function of, 186 Enright, Robert D., 4, 6-11, 41, 43-50, 55, 62-63, 67, 73, 76, 79, 82, 86, 88,91,92,103,108,125-26, 156-57, 160,238,242 forgiveness definition, 92, 196—97 reconciliation definition, 202 See also forgiveness therapy ethics, 18, 138-51, 155, 181, 185, 188 evil, 49, 50 excuses, 6, 18-21, 23, 55, 157, 237 refraining and, 83-84, 85-86 unrepentant wrongdoer and, 156 Exline, Julie Juola, 6, 59, 167 explanations, 18-19,27-28

appropriate, 125—26 arguments against, 22-23, 44, 54, 82, 138-39, 155-56,164,184 arguments for, 25-26, 34, 72, 93, 108-9, 125-31, 158, 164, 184 characterization, 73-76, 236-37 components, 62—63

definitions of, 6-7, 55, 90-93,103, 157,196-97,198,202, 233-34 earning, 237-61 feminization of, 173, 186 four models of, 56-57

as gift, 7,11, 19, 47, 67, 76-78,157, 161-62, 234 internal preparation for, 116—21, 165 philosophical counseling and, 41-52 practical problems of, 216-21 as process, not end, 104, 235 reconciliation vs. See reconciliation triad components, 43-50 unconditional. See unilateral forgiveness withholding of, 137-38,218 "forgiveness" letter, 105-6 forgiveness therapy, 5—6, 10, 72—86, 156-61

268

INDEX

forgiveness therapy (continued) counseling model, 103-8 critiques of, 73-82, 86-86, 189, 199 definition of forgiveness, 92-93 genocide and, 12, 192-93, 196, 203 outcomes of, 46, 72-73, 85,158 phase or stage model, 3, 7-8, 11, 12, 56, 57,63,77-78, 83-86, 156-57, 160,198-99,235 women victims and, 156 Forward, Susan, 90, 91 Foucault, Michel, 183 Foundation for Inner Peace, 109n.3 Fox, Matthew, 239 Frankfurt, Harry, 25, 27 Freedman, Suzanne R., 6, 9, 56, 62-63, 76,82,157,160 freewill, 18 Freud, Sigmund, 5, 34, 42, 89,114, 176 Gandhi, Mohandas, 26, 34 Garrod, Andrew, 12, 192-209 gender forgiveness inclination and, 57-62, 66-67, 69,162-63,166 forgiveness politics and, 184-88 See also women generosity, 67, 92, 140, 148, 150, 222-23 genocide, 12, 25, 49, 180, 192-209, 218. See also Holocaust Gilligan, Carol, 7, 162, 185, 201 grace, 35n.l, 188 guilt, 5, 54, 57,177, 182-83,188 blame and, 98 burden of, 52n.l3 inappropriate, 105 judgment and, 97, 98-101 moral vs. legal, 240 neurotic vs. authentic, 43, 49 self-forgiveness and, 121-22 victim feelings of, 92 Haaken, Janice, 12, 164, 172-90 Haber, Joram Graf, 44, 234, 236 Hacam, Berima, 195-96 Hampton, Jean, 4, 42, 233, 234,236, 237, 254 happiness, 3, 9, 42, 114 Hargrave, Terry D., 55, 91

Harrington, Anne K., 11, 54-69 healing, 8, 12, 21, 72, 73, 104, 141, 95 Heine, Heinrich, 24-25 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, Jr., 22-23 Holmgren, Margaret, 10, 12, 44, 45, 46, 112-36 Holocaust, 10, 48-49,101, 155, 165, 201-4, 234, 237-39 humanistic psychology, 4, 5 Hume, David, 18, 36n.5 hurt feelings, 66, 92, 104, 181 identity construction of, 230-3In. 18, 261 narrative perspective on, 233 See also self incest, 45, 54, 56,116,160, 165, 168 indignation, 22, 33, 34,234 individual differences, 202, 220-21, 227 integrity project, 223-27, 228 intention, 22-23, 24, 30, 31, 56 intentional forgetting, 189, 236-37 Islam, 10, 65, 100, 200, 201, 202 James, William, 227 Jampolsky, Gerald G., 97, 101 Jesus, 99, 100, 161, 187 Judaism, 10, 47, 99-102, 187, 239. See also Holocaust judgment, 97-101 justice, 4, 12, 88, 90-103, 150, 209 justifications, 20-21, 237 Kamprath, Nancy A., 57, 66, 67 Kant, Immanuel, 18, 117, 140, 151, 222-23 Klein, Melanie, 36n.5, 176-77, 181, 188-89 Kohlberg, Lawrence, 7, 201 Konstam, Varda, 11, 54-69 Krog, Antjie, 90-91, 103 Kurt, Tajma, 195-96 Lamb, Sharon, 3-13, 81, 155-68, 234, 239 Landman, Janet, 12—13, 232—61 letting go, 32, 56, 157, 164, 234 Linnet, Jakob, 57, 66, 67

INDEX

Lombardo, Nancy B. Emerson, 11, 54-69 love, 19, 101, 175 forgiveness as, 49, 50-51, 55-57, 72, 92, 157, 168, 198 for others over self, 140-41 social benefits of, 161 luck factors, 80, 226, 227, 228 Marmon-Silko, Leslie, 260—61 Martin, Michael W., 55, 57-58, 68 Marx, Fern, 11,54-69 Marx, Karl, 46, 89 May, William E, 230-3 In. 18 McCullough, Michael E., 4, 5, 7, 9, 59, 158, 163 medical mistakes, 218—19 Meister, Robert, 34, 36n.6 memory, 179, 236-37 Mengele, Joseph, 48-49 mental health, 12, 181, 248 definition of, 114-15 as forgiveness benefit, 156-59, 177, 186, 189 gender conformity and, 164 mental illness, 25, 27-28 mercy, 4, 100-101, 107-8, 237 Minow, Martha, 234, 236, 237 misplaced generalizing, 79-80 mistakes, 22, 216, 218-19 modularity thesis, 220-21, 225, 226 moral development, 66, 129 Bosnian youth and, 197-98, 201-4 gender differences, 185 moral ends, 5, 8, 42, 114-15, 188, 222-23 moral superiority, 183 motives, 7, 27, 84, 158, 162, 184 "moving on," 26, 199, 220-21, 222 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 218 murder, 95-98, 102, 103, 192, 232-61 Murphy, Jeffrie G., 2n.3, 4, 5, 8, 10, 11, 19-20, 23, 24, 26, 35n.l, 41-52, 90, 103, 108, 112, 114, 118, 119, 125, 126, 127, 134, 163, 231n.23, 233-34, 236 Muslims. See Islam My Own Country (Verghese), 218-20 Nagel, Thomas, 36n.4 narratology, 233, 242-61

269

Nazis, 20, 43, 49, 100, 106, 107, 165, 192, 234 deathbed forgiveness plea, 155, 201-4, 237-40 negative emotions, 3, 8, 56, 120, 162, 168, 232 Neu, Jerome, 10-11, 17-35 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 50, 82, 163 nonrepentant wrongdoer. See wrongdoer, unrepentant North, Joanna, 56, 79, 158-59, 238-42, 244, 246, 249-52, 258-60 object relations theory, 174, 176-77, 178, 181-82 offender. See wrongdoer offense. See wrong/wrongdoing oppressed groups. See context Ozick, Cynthia, 49 pardon, 55, 156, 157, 162, 167, 183 Pargament, Kenneth I., 5, 7 patient-physician relationship, 113—14 peace of mind, 101, 102, 131, 155, 160, 215, 216, 227 penance, 102, 232, 239, 240, 248, 259-60 perpetrator. See wrongdoer pessimistic natural temperament, 227 philosophical counseling, 41-52, 114 positive psychology, 3 post-traumatic stress disorder, 8, 193-96 power, 9, 82, 126-27, 142, 163-65, 183-85 Power, Katherine Ann, 13, 232-33, 243-61 Prager, Dennis, 98-99 process models, 56, 235, 242-46, 249, 259-60 Proctor, Judith H., 56, 58, 59, 157 Protestantism, 64, 102 provocation, 32-33 pseudo-forgiveness, 7, 163, 164, 186 psychoanalysis, 5, 12, 65, 172-90 psychodynamic psychology, 65 psychotherapy attitude changes from, 28 Bosnian war trauma and, 12, 194—96 directive vs. humanistic, 4-5

270

INDEX

psychotherapy (continued) forgiveness issues and, 6, 11, 66—67, 88-109, 112-36, 139, 156, 158 goals of, 114, 124-34, 156 philosophical, 41-52 psychoanalysis vs., 172-73 See also counselors/therapists; forgiveness therapy public penance, 232, 239, 240, 248, 259-60 public testimony, 195, 248 Puka, Bill, 12, 136-51 punishment, 12, 56, 237 criteria for, 93-95, 105-7 "eye for eye" dictum, 99 mercy option, 107—8 as price of forgiveness, 36n.5, 243, 244 revenge vs., 94 of war criminals, 209 Radial, Kenneth C., 4, 7, 9 Ralph (case), 47-48, 90, 103-4, 127-28 rape, 5, 9, 61, 78-79, 164, 168, 192 Bosnian genocide and, 193, 195, 201 legitimate resentment and, 234 victim blame and, 164 rationality, 42, 44, 197 Rawls, John, 22, 23, 45, 229n.2 reaction formation, 182, 189, 235 Reagan, Ronald, 100 reconciliation, 91, 148-49, 199 definition of, 235 forgiveness vs., 55, 182-83, 188, 189, 202, 235, 237, 241 limits of, 259, 260 war survivors and, 202, 209 reframing, 3, 67, 69, 83-86, 236, 239, 240 regret, 232, 233 expression of, 123—24, 260 relational theory, 185 relationships forgiveness benefits, 58 forgiveness ill effects, 138 forgiveness inappropriateness, 92-93 mental health indicators in, 181 trust betrayal and, 34, 140 women as keepers of, 12, 162-63, 166-67, 175-76, 184-86, 189 See also family

religion, 4, 6-7, 10, 98-100, 202 Bosnian war and, 200, 207-8 self-respect and, 45, 118 therapist and, 58-59, 184-85 See also Christianity; Islam; Judaism remorse, 54, 155, 157, 167-68, 244-45, 248-52 articulation of, 260 reparation, 5, 12, 36n.5, 168, 188, 189 repentance, 5, 11, 26, 56, 134, 201, 202, 229n.3, 237, 253 atonement and, 239 Christian view of, 98-99 as forgiveness condition, 10, 46, 47, 48-50, 98, 128-29, 183, 202, 236 process of, 242-46, 249 See also wrongdoer, unrepentant resentment, 8, 11, 19-28, 31, 33, 72, 75, 92, 117, 150, 157 appropriate, 22, 23, 48, 90, 163, 168, 234 Christian view of, 233, 236 love vs., 50-51, 56 overreaction and, 78 self-respect and, 44, 45, 112, 118, 125 respect, 117, 118, 125 responsibility, 27, 155, 165-66, 172-73 absolution of, 90 authentic guilt and, 50 for beliefs, 31 confession and, 203 deontological vs. teleological view of, 49-50 determinism and, 21, 27 for emotions, 159 excuses and, 18-20, 85-86, 237 free will and, 18 legal vs. moral, 249-50 self-forgiveness and, 122 therapist-client relationship and, 115 two faces of, 35 victim's acceptance of, 105 wrongdoer's acceptance of, 248 restitution, 56, 121, 122-24, 239 restorative justice, 95-96, 167-68, 209, 256 retributive justice, 4, 49-50, 93-95, 108, 130, 151, 234

INDEX

revenge, 56, 106,158, 236 arguments for, 8, 10, 11-12, 48-49, 151 gender differences and, 66 punishment vs., 94 retribution and, 93-94, 209 as right decision, 11-12 self-perpetuating, 93, 107, 108, 181, 207 Richards, Norvin, 11, 72-86 rights, 102, 163, 165, 185, 197 Rique, Julio, 6, 9, 56, 62-63, 73, 76, 82, 157 Rokach, Ami, 246 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 218 Ryle, Gilbert, 30, 232 Sartre, Jean Paul, 31 Schroeder, Claire, 257-59 Schroeder, Walter, 13, 232, 242-49, 256-60 Schurer, Jennifer, 11, 54-69 scientific literature, 54, 55-59 self community vs., 101—3 true vs. false, 30-31 unforgiving vs. forgiving, 179 self-blame, 5, 81-82 self-esteem, 125, 138, 156 Focus Partnering and, 147-48 forgiveness therapy and, 72, 73, 158 self-forgiveness and, 122 See also self-respect self-esteem movement, 102 self-exploitation, 139—41 self-forgiveness, 98, 121-24, 131-33 earning, 240, 252, 253, 260 healing from, 8, 21 internal preparation for, 116—17 nature of wrong and, 112 other-forgiveness and, 13, 34-35, 178, 215-17, 240-41, 254 punishment criteria and, 107 receipt of, 49-50 as relational, 259, 260 self-help, 4, 156-58, 161-62, 165-66 selfishness, 140-41 self-respect, 8, 11, 13, 44-46 appropriate anger and, 22 bases of, 229n.2

271

forgiveness compromising, 126-31, 163, 164 forgiveness increasing, 56, 72, 125 resentment and, 44, 45, 112, 118, 125, 234 therapist-client relationship and, 117-19 self-righteousness, 26, 158 self-sacrifice, 91, 98 Seligman, Martin, 3-4 Serbs, 200, 201 shame, 52n.l3, 57, 67, 182, 242-43 victim feelings of, 92, 104 Shriver, Donald, 93, 108, 237 Siegel, Bernie, 101 Sierra Leone, 172—73 sin, 143, 155, 188 repentance of, 98-99 sinner vs., 24, 28, 30, 31, 46-47, 128-31, 132-33 Smedes, Lewis B., 89, 97, 99, 101, 234 smugness, 142—43 social ego, 175-76 Socrates, 25, 30, 36n.3 South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission, 90-91, 103, 167, 195, 209, 234, 239 Soyinka, Wole, 239 Speer, Albert, 240 Spinoza, Baruch de, 28-29, 31, 32 splitting, 181-82, 187 Stael, Madame de, 17, 35 Stone Center, 185 Strawson, Peter, 19, 44, 163 substance abusers, 54, 58, 61 forgiveness of, 89-90 Summerfield, Derek, 194-95 Sunflower, TMWiesenthal), 155, 201-4, 237-42 superego, 175-76, 182, 183, 185, 188, 189 Tavris, Carol, 8, 163 Tavuchis, Nicholas, 240, 259-60 Templeton Foundation, 8—9 therapist-client relationship, 112-16, 118, 122, 124, 128-31 therapy. See counselors/therapists; forgiveness therapy; psychotherapy Thomas, Joshua M., 12, 192-209

272

INDEX

Tillich, Paul, 99 trust, 34, 114, 140, 167 Tutu, Bishop Desmond, 91, 93, 107, 209 unconscious processes, 173-74, 189 understanding, 17-35, 83-85, 127, 236 unilateral forgiveness, 8, 57, 198 arguments against, 45-52, 125-26 as Christian virtue. See Christianity definition of, 6-7, 157-58 determinism and, 19 by family, 252-53, 254, 258 repentance incentive and, 134 society and, 161—62, 165—66 unrepentant wrongdoer. See wrongdoer, unrepentant vengeance. See revenge Verghese, Abraham, 218-20 victimology, 4, 125, 126, 140 women and, 164-66, 180-81, 186 VOMA (Victim Offenders Mediation Association), 95, 106

wrong/wrongdoing, 20-28, 45, 91-93 addressing, 116-17, 126, 127 continuum of, 20-21, 179-82, 180 data gathering and, 104-5 mistake vs., 216 non-recognition of, 122 normal vs. abnormal reactions to, 181 obsession with, 79, 158-60,178 provocation and, 32—33 randomness of, 81 response to, 104, 118-21 symbolic, 44 unforgivable, 18, 91, 112, 180-81, 192-93, 203, 218 voicing of, 103-4 wrongdoer, 215-61 act separated from, 24-25, 28, 30, 31, 46-47, 128-33, 161 agency recovery, 215-19, 250 authentic guilt of, 43, 49 "begging for forgiveness" by, 167, 183 change of heart and, 24, 168 compassion/love for, 55, 56, 76, 92,

157,168,172,202 Walrond-Skinner, Sue, 184-85 war situations, 172-73, 192-209 Weisel, Elie, 49 Wiesenthal, Simon, 106, 155, 201-4, 237-42 Wilson, A. N., 52n.l3 Wink, Walter, 99, 254 Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 30—31 women, 10, 12, 81, 155-68, 180-81, 189 psychoanalytic theory and, 175-77, 184-88 See also battered women; feminism; gender Worthington, Everett L., Jr., 4, 7, 9, 158, 163

earning forgiveness by, 232-61, 238—42 forgiveness therapy and, 73-76, 160 interaction with, 36n.5 objective view of, 127 pity for, 34 reframing by, 239, 240 reframing of, 67, 83-85, 236 repentance by, 11, 26, 134, 236 understanding of, 30-31, 83-85, 127, 236 unrepentant, 25, 109, 125, 128-29, 155-57,161,162,167,168,183 See also self-forgiveness Zehr, Howard, 96-97, 256