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Best of intentions: the ethics of forgiveness

Christian Century, Nov 30, 2004 by Harvey Gallagher Cox

IN MANY IMPORTANT respects the ethics of Judaism and Christianity are similar. Both emphasize the oneness of the human family and the responsibility we have for each other. Jesus continued and at times intensified the Old Testament prophets' defense of the poor and the powerless. But there is one matter on which the two traditions have diverged. Whereas Jewish thinking has emphasized actual deeds and their consequences, Christianity has often focused on intentions. Once, in the course of assuring his disciples that it was not so awful if they could not wash their hands before eating, Jesus said, "Out of the heart come evil intentions, murder, adultery, fornication, theft, false witness, slander. These are what defile a person, but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile" (Matt. 15:19, 20). He seems to be saying that the heart, not the hands, is the real source of a moral infraction.

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The distinction is not absolute. Within the Jewish tradition, one of the Ten Commandments prohibits "coveting," which is an inner attitude; and Jesus condemned the pious people who ignored the beaten man on the road to Jericho. Whatever pity may have been in their hearts, they did not do what they should have done. But still, as the two traditions developed over the years, the distinction became a real one. For Christians this was evident several years ago when the Roman Catholic bishops of the United States condemned even the possession of nuclear weapons as a violation of the just war ethic. They argued that in order for these weapons to serve as a deterrent, a potential enemy had to be convinced that in certain circumstances we actually intended to use them. But such an intention, they argued, was already immoral. The underlying premise of their argument is that evil intentions spawn evil deeds, and it is better to nip the foul flower in the bud rather than wait for the wicked action to blossom.

In recent years, however, we have begun to see a certain convergence between these two ways of thinking about moral issues. Prodded by the need to reflect on actual policy options and their probable outcomes, Christian scholars have begun to probe more deeply into the possible consequences of actions, and not just what motivates them. Also, with the dramatic rediscovery of their mystical tradition, Jews have delved deeper into the inner self and its intricate labyrinth of impulses and desires.

I think this convergence is a healthy development. It is needed because once again our technology has outpaced our traditional modes of moral reasoning. There was a time when evil thoughts and evil deeds took place at close quarters. There was a time when you needed to wield a club or a spear to kill your neighbor. Now we can do untold harm to multitudes of people at a great distance, and without feeling personally involved. In her brilliant book Evil in Modern Thought: An Alternative History of Philosophy, Susan Neiman cites this impersonality as one of our gravest ethical dilemmas. It means, she argues, that we can no longer focus on evil intentions as a key to morality. We can now do great evil without intending to. What we need today is more awareness, a wider recognition of how the vast systems we are caught up in can do terrible things and how we can contribute to that evil without even being conscious of it.

This is a disturbing idea. It means that the traditional debate about deeds and intentions needs to be rethought. "I didn't really mean it," should no longer exonerate us so easily, nor should "I had no idea of what I was doing." In our century to be unaware is to be less than moral.

This question came up with an unusual degree of forcefulness in my course on Jesus when we discussed his famous words from the cross: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." I knew 'already that the students had strong feelings, if not always well-formulated ideas, on the topics we took up. But this discussion, more than any other we had, exposed the complexity of the moral world they live in.

It started innocently enough when I asked the students if they were surprised or puzzled that Jesus was ready to forgive those who were at that very, moment torturing him to death. As usual, their responses varied. Some said they were not surprised. That, after all, was the kind of person he was. Others confessed they simply could not understand it. They could not imagine themselves doing such a thing, so it made Jesus less credible as a moral guide by seeming to put him out of reach.

What puzzled all of them, however, was the phrase "for they know not what they do." How, they wanted to know, could they not be aware of what they were doing? Also, just who was included in the "them"? Was it mainly the soldiers who mocked and beat him, or did it include the passersby who taunted him, the officials who had passed sentence on him, the spineless disciples who had fled, the collaborator who had betrayed him for a bribe? Besides, what if they clearly had been aware of what they were doing, so that he could not have said, "they know not"; would he still have forgiven them? It was soon obvious that this single phrase from Jesus lips was packed with layers of moral quandaries.

Best of intentions: the ethics of forgiveness

Christian Century, Nov 30, 2004 by Harvey Gallagher Cox

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