Anger and Forgiveness

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by Martha C. Nussbaum


  casual cases, we could read Louise’s reaction critically and uncharitably,

  saying that her gratitude betrays unwise and inappropriate dependency

  on two undependable people. But why not just allow her to enjoy the

  surprise, uncriticized, and feel an emotion wishing them well? So long

  as she doesn’t alter her basic strategy of prudent caution, why can’t she

  simply enjoy the windfall? In short, if generosity to self is a good thing,

  why not exercise it here?

  These two cases are different from the casual cases because they con-

  cern important goods to which Louise is rightly attached: her work in

  the first case, the opening of her university’s Center in the second. Given

  that her emotions are rightly attached to these important goods, someone

  who unexpectedly promotes those goods elicits a more robust type of

  gratitude than in my casual cases. It’s not just, “Finally there is a competent Comcast tech to deal with,” it’s “This person has seriously advanced

  an important project.” Had the person proven unhelpful or even damag-

  ing, Louise should have avoided anger (turning things over to the law if

  the damage were serious enough). She can certainly get good comments

  from others, and she did. But in this windfall case, why not feel a limited

  sort of gratitude, and why not wish that person a limited sort of recipro-

  cal benefit? If he were to send her something for comments, she might

  even reciprocate, and given that her basic rule is that colleagues take first priority and everyone else is optional, this would be a gratuitous good

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  deed. Once again, it’s not as if there’s too much pleasure and delight in

  life. When gratitude comes as a windfall, too much censorious question-

  ing betrays an ungenerous disposition.

  There is a further argument in favor of limited gratitude in such

  cases: the emotion enhances future cooperation. The workplace

  involves relationships that are limited. They do not involve trust of the

  deep sort involved in intimate relationships, only a more superficial

  type of reliance. But they do concern intensely important matters, so

  it’s useful to encourage moral sentiments that make everyone’s lives

  go well.

  VI. Well- Being Damage: Turning to the Law

  The Middle Realm, as so far analyzed, is fundamentally a comic

  domain. Comedy so often concerns vices of overinvestment in things

  that actually have slender importance: vanity, miserliness, obsessive

  attention to reputation. For the Stoic, the whole of the Middle Realm

  is comic, because none of the things others do to us is serious. But

  that is wrong. There is genuine tragedy in this realm, when things that

  people rightly prize are damaged by non- intimates: life, health, bodily

  integrity, work and employment, major aspects of one’s property, even

  property that has emotional though not financial value. We should also

  include here reputational damage serious enough to obstruct work,

  employment, and friendship; and we should include dignitary damage

  of a sort that constitutes discrimination violative of political equality.

  Finally, we include such damages inflicted on people we love, not just

  on ourselves.

  Even here, my analysis does not collapse the Middle Realm into

  the intimate realm. In the intimate realm, I hold, the relationship itself

  is of intrinsic value, so the grief, loss, and anxiety that we rightly feel

  when things go wrong take the other person, and the relationship itself,

  as their object. In the Middle Realm, we rightly grieve, or feel anxiety,

  about the well- being damage to self or loved ones, but the stranger who

  inflicted that damage is, or should be, incidental to our focus. Still, it’s

  right to do something about the damage, and that is where we need the

  Eumenides.

  It’s not an accident that these serious well- being damages are the

  offenses that the law takes seriously. In some cases it took a while (sex-

  ual harassment), in some cases the boundary is disputed and differently

  drawn in different countries (hate speech), and in some it is very squishy

  and hard to adjudicate (defamation). Still, a central question the law typi-

  cally asks is about the seriousness of the well- being damage. A “hostile

  The Middle Realm

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  work environment,” for example, in the law of sexual harassment, has

  to be one that rises above casual offense to some serious obstruction.

  The conduct has to be “severe or pervasive,”21 “threatening or otherwise

  deeply disturbing.”22

  We’ll discuss the legal/ political aspects of some of these cases in

  chapter 6. But we still have to think about the victim. Here we have many

  cases of people who have been damaged, often severely, by other people,

  often with wrongful intent, or at least with negligence. We’ll ask later

  how the status of the victim is appropriately acknowledged by legal

  institutions. But what is the victim’s appropriate emotional reaction?

  Once again: these cases are unlike those discussed in chapter 4 because

  no reciprocal relation of trust exists between the parties, and usually no

  relationship at all— unless it be what Thomas Scanlon calls the “bare

  moral relationship,”23 the set of expectations and norms that bind people

  just because they are human and moral— added to which is often shared

  membership in a political community. But this is a thin relationship, and

  in most cases there need be no future connection between the parties,

  except to the extent that they are joined in a legal proceeding.

  Grief is an extremely important and legitimate part of such cases,

  responding to the significance of the loss that has been inflicted (not the

  relationship loss, as in intimate cases, but the well- being loss). That is

  clear. And victims have to deal with that grief, which is often very dif-

  ficult. But what about anger?

  In such cases, anger at the perpetrator is understandable, and it

  would be surprising if most victims did not have a period of real anger

  with a desire for the perpetrator to suffer, or to do badly in some way. The

  first thing we can say, however, is that victims should turn the business of

  dealing with the perpetrator over to the law, rather than taking matters

  into their own hands. That is the fundamental shift that Aeschylus shows

  us, and our next chapter will discuss it further. There is often a residual

  desire to punish the offender oneself, and law even understands this up

  to a point. The defense of “reasonable provocation” in the common law

  of homicide involves the idea that a person who has killed in the “heat

  of passion” after a “sufficient” or “adequate” provocation— defined in

  terms of the normative figure of the “reasonable man”— and without suf-

  ficient “cooling time,” can win a reduction of the level of offense from

  murder to manslaughter. A provocation defense is mitigation, however,

  not excuse: the person is still judged severely for not turning things over

  to the law. But it is interesting that the law shares our idea that anger

  takes a while to rein
in, and may be judged less harshly right after a dam-

  age than after a lapse of time.

  In most cases, however, the victim does not become a perpetrator, but

  turns matters over to the law. Even in these cases there is an emotional

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  analogue of the provocation defense. That is, we should not judge people

  severely if they are very angry at the perpetrator for a short period of

  time, and if they focus, during that time, on wanting the particular per-

  petrator who has harmed them to be punished. It’s very understandable

  that the individual face and body of the perpetrator may dominate a vic-

  tim’s thoughts and dreams for a while. If the fixation on the perpetrator

  becomes an ongoing obsession, however, we would be correct in blam-

  ing the person (and urging her to seek treatment for the problem). What

  would be acceptable would be anger for a brief period, followed by move-

  ment toward a Transition in which the victim’s focus now becomes social

  welfare, and how the legal system can promote it. Rather than obsessing

  about the individual traits of the murderer or rapist or thief, one focuses

  on the crime in a more general way, and seeks the type of engagement

  with law that will promote the well- being of other victims or potential

  victims— just the Transition that Angela made in chapter 2. Often victims

  focus on the type of crime from which they themselves have suffered, just

  as people who have been ill seek social welfare through a focus on their

  own (or their family’s) particular disease, and this seems all right if not

  ideal, just so long as overall social welfare is sufficiently promoted by the collectivity of such efforts.

  As we’ve insisted, victims do need to mourn and to deal with the

  losses they have experienced. But that need not entail ongoing payback

  fantasies about the perpetrator. By turning things over to the law, they

  transform the injury, making it not just about them, but about what

  makes society go better. Once again, we need to insist that a person’s

  dignity does not require hounding an individual and obsessing angrily

  about that individual. Letting impartial justice take its course is not

  a pusillanimous response. How are things improved by adding one

  excess to another? Obsessive focusing on the future suffering of the

  perpetrator just implicates me in the perpetrator’s hostile and degrad-

  ing conduct. Why should that conduct have the power to make me turn

  into a dog? Whether the offender should be made to suffer becomes

  a purely forward- looking question, which institutions will handle in

  their way.

  What about forgiveness? By the same token, focusing on forgiveness

  for the particular offender is questionable, because of the way in which

  it rivets thought to that individual and that past. It’s the same question

  as in chapter 4: if an inner struggle with anger can be won no other way,

  perhaps this focus on inner forgiveness is appropriate. But we should

  be skeptical when therapists tell us so, since that is their trade. Perhaps

  focusing on work, or on constructive political efforts, would be just as

  good or better. Where grief is concerned, people usually think that pro-

  longed therapy wrestling with sadness is unnecessary— it’s necessary

  The Middle Realm

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  only in cases of obsessive pathological mourning. Why should we think

  differently about anger? In intimate cases the person is deeply entwined

  in one’s life, so a broken relationship, like a death, takes time and effort to heal. But there’s no necessity that the interaction with a stranger would

  have this feature, and one should discourage obsessive focusing by

  whatever means seem to work.

  But doesn’t the anger of victims deter? In this sphere we must care-

  fully distinguish this claim from the claim that punishment deters. That

  claim is plausible, and we shall investigate it in our next chapter. But

  the first claim is not plausible. Of course if victims never noticed rape or

  murder there would be no statutes dealing with them, and thus no deter-

  rence. And both victims and others do need to be in a frame of mind to

  support whatever policies are useful in deterring crime. Sometimes the

  advocacy of victims is useful in galvanizing the public to take a certain

  type of offense seriously, as has happened in the case of drunk driving

  and sexual harassment. But in these cases it is overwhelmingly the mag-

  nitude of the loss and suffering of victims (and their families) that has been socially useful, not their anger. And victim behavior has been overwhelmingly Transitional rather than retributive. So I see no reason why

  victims and their families should nourish and indulge an otherwise use-

  less and fantasy- ridden anger on the speculation that this emotion would

  contribute to optimal deterrence.

  VII. The Gentle Temper

  Seneca’s advice is easy to state, difficult to follow— as he himself acknowl-

  edges by depicting himself as repeatedly falling into anger, even after

  years of self- attention. (I’ve followed his example in this chapter, both in my stories about myself and in my portrayal of my alter ego Louise.) But

  he reminds us that there is much we can do to insulate ourselves from

  temptations. He urges Novatus to surround himself with people who are

  not irritating, and this can at least sometimes be achieved. More gener-

  ally, one may try to avoid scenarios in which one will be provoked (for

  example, by not searching one’s own name on the Internet all the time,

  and by not reading reviews of one’s own books). Finally, to those of us

  in the legal profession, he offers chastening advice: avoid lawyers and

  lawsuits!

  And he also offers what is good advice always: cultivate a sense of

  humor about the vagaries of life. “Anger must be confined in many ways;

  let many [possible occasions of anger] be converted into play and joking”

  (III.11.2). (Although Seneca does not say so, teasing by a friend may be

  the best way to achieve this “conversion.”) Conversion typically requires

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  stepping out of one’s own immersion in one’s ego- injury: “Step a long

  way back and laugh” (III.37). Aristotle’s insight about the “gentle temper”

  here receives further support. But Seneca also recommends something

  further, of great importance: an attitude of amused detachment toward

  ourselves, so that we simply don’t take what happens to us as the most

  world- shaking thing. It probably isn’t. To the extent that it is of serious

  weight, we should turn things over to the Eumenides.

  6

  The Political Realm

  Everyday Justice

  The general object which all laws have, or ought to have, in com-

  mon, is to augment the total happiness of the community; and

  therefore, in the first place, to exclude, as far as may be, every

  thing that tends to subtract from that happiness: in other words,

  to exclude mischief.

  But all punishment is mischief: all punishment in itself is evil. …

  If it ought to be at all admitted, it ought only to be admitted in as

  far a
s it promises to exclude some greater evil.

  — Jeremy Bentham, The Principles of Morals and Legislation, ch. XIII

  “At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge,” said the gentle-

  man, taking up a pen, “it is more than usually desirable that we

  should make some slight provision for the Poor and destitute,

  who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in

  want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want

  of common comforts, sir.”

  “Are there no prisons?” asked Scrooge.

  “Plenty of prisons,” said the gentleman, laying down the

  pen again.

  — Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

  I. The Eumenides

  Aeschylus depicted the creation of legal and political justice out of archaic attitudes of retributive anger. The Furies, existing only to track down

  wrongdoers, inflicting pain and ill, become kindly and forward- looking,

  blessing the land and seeking the well- being of its inhabitants. They also

  become rational, listening to the voice of persuasion. As guardians of

  law they continue to discourage lawbreaking by inspiring fear. But they

  put their anger to sleep (832– 33). They focus on preventing wrongdoing

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  rather than on payback. Their prevention strategy includes a capacious

  plan for social prosperity and welfare, the amelioration of hunger and

  illness, and the inclusion of all citizens. But it also includes the creation of a system of criminal justice.

  My next two chapters investigate the political domain, asking about

  the consequences of the critique of anger for some aspects of political

  institutions. Aeschylus gives us suggestive images, not a theory. The

  fifth-century BCE Athenians who watched his play were passionate

  about democracy. But in the area that interests us they thought too little

  about institutional design. There was no public prosecutor, an office that

  at least promises impartial judgment about which offenses merit pros-

  ecution. All prosecutions had to be initiated by a citizen.1 (There was also

  no distinction between criminal and civil law.) This system gave rise to

  many problems, including the likelihood of hostile prosecutions of con-

  troversial individuals (such as the prosecution of Socrates, initiated by

 

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