For many, the case of Stanley Tookie Williams is about the wrong of the death penalty. Quite succinctly, the argument is this: If any man deserves not to be put to death, it is one who has so turned his life around that he is writing books for children—books of such quality that he garnered a nomination for the Nobel Prize.
My own view is that the real issue raised by the case of Williams is not about the death penalty, but forgiveness. In a word, the question is this: Under what conditions do we forgive a person for heinous criminal behavior? And I must confess that it is not clear to me that many who claimed that Stanley Tookie Williams should not have been put to death have given this matter the thought that it deserves. For suppose his death sentence had been commuted? Would they have been happy? Or would they have thought that he no longer deserves to be in prison? If it is true that Williams was such a changed man, then surely many ought to have thought that he should have been set free. And if not, then why not?
To hear many tell it, good deeds alone warrant forgiveness. But that cannot be quite right. If I should kill your child and go on to write books that inspire the world, I should very much hope that this feat on my part will not appease you. For my writing books that inspire the world is absolutely compatible with not having an ounce of contrition over the wrong of killing your child that I committed with my very own hands.
As a self-respecting person, I would hope that you would not be moved to forgive me unless there has been profound contrition on my part for the wrong that I did and unless I came before you with moral shame asking you for forgiveness. After all, wrongdoing is not the sort of thing that is to be understood in terms of a balance sheet: 1 death equals 6 good deeds of this or that kind; hence, I am owed forgiveness simply virtue of having performed those deeds.
And there is the rub. I am at a loss as to how so many were able to pass glibly over this far from trivial matter. How many among his supporter would have thought it just wonderful to forgive him had it been their child or sister or parent that Williams had killed, but had never shown an ounce of contrition over having committed this wrong? Would their righteous indignation have been assuaged by the fact that he was now writing marvelous books for children? I think not.
Arnold Schwarzenegger decided not to commute the sentence; and a key factor in his decision was just the fact that Mr. Stanley Tookie Williams never displayed any contrition for the wrong that he did.
Now, I have not confused the issue. Although the concern was that Mr. Williams not be put to death this was tantamount to asking that he be forgiven precisely because there was no serious contention on any one’s part that Williams had been wronged in any way. Indeed, not even the race card was played—a rarity in this society nowadays. The Rev. Jesse Jackson, who is a master at playing the race card, did not do so in this instance.
What made Mr. Williams’s case enormously noteworthy is just the fact that he made an extraordinary turnabout in his life. And for that he is to be commended. This he ought to have done, however horrible his past life was.
But forgiveness is tantamount to a kind of moral erasure—not in the sense that one forgets the wrong done but in that it no longer counts against the person. As such, forgiveness requires moral ownership of the wrong that one has done. At Yom Kippur, no one is exempt from asking for forgiveness. And he who thought that his good deeds exempted him might very well be the person who most needs to ask for forgiveness. We own (in the sense of acknowledge) our imperfections.
There is a parallel with the Christian model. It is in asking forgiveness that Jesus is said to forgive. Significantly, one is not owed forgiveness merely on account of one’s good deeds. As I understand the doctrine: A person who saves a thousand lives from drowning but who does not ask Christ for forgiveness remains a sinner. Christianity, then, requires moral ownership of one’s sinful nature.
I have drawn attention to this point because it highlights the importance of having the appropriate moral posture with regard to one’s wrongdoing. And it is that moral posture that was notoriously lacking on the part of Stanley Tookie Williams.
I have argued with great force, in “Forgiving the Unforgivable,” that even a Nazi could merit forgiveness provided that he has the right moral posture with regard to the wrongs that he has committed, which requires contrition and thus moral ownership of his heinous past. Forgiving a Nazi who showed no contrition would be utterly despicable, however much good he went on to do. And if a Nazi were to maintain that his good deeds since then entitled him to forgiveness, we surely find that utterly fulsome. Needless to say, things hardly change if someone else makes such a claim on behalf of the Nazi.
Williams, of course, was no Nazi. Still, we have enough of a parallel.
I hold that Schwarzenegger made the right decision. To have commuted Williams’s death sentence for no other reason than his good deeds would have been to set a most unwelcome moral and legal precedent.
Forgiveness for heinous wrongdoing is a sacred gift that is given to the wrongdoer. We cheapen both forgiveness and ourselves if we forgive in the absence of the appropriate moral posture on the part of the wrongdoer with regard to the wrongs that she or he has committed.
