nlike the bad, the Good will survive only if it is cultivated.  It may be true, as Aristotle claimed that we are neither morally good nor morally bad on account of human nature.  But then there is that other claim that he made, namely that it is so much easier to get thing wrongs than it is to get things right.  And one reason why it is so much easier to get things wrong than right is that doing what is right so very often requires persevering in the face of all sorts of desires to do otherwise.  So while it may true that we are neither good nor bad owing to genetics, there is a very real sense in which the momentum is often in favor of the Bad. 

The momentum is favor of the bad on three accounts: The first is that there are so many ways to achieve the bad.  The second, which is related to the first, is that it rather easy to achieve the bad even while aiming for the good.  By contrast, it is very rare that anyone aims to do what is bad only to be stunned that she or he brought about that which is good.  And if that happens, it is easy enough to turn the good produced into something horrendously bad, whereas recovering from the bad is typically very difficult to do.

The third consideration is brought home to us by the poignant case of Kitty Genovese.  The bad that everyone did consisted in simply the fact that they did nothing at all.  She was beng murdered outside of her home (in the Queens borough of New York city) while 38 witnesses did absolutely nothing to save her, despite her cries for help.  No one did so much as even pick up the telephone to call the police for help.  What makes the fact that 38 people did nothing at all to so riveting is precisely the fact that anyone of them randomly chosen would most certainly be considered a law-abiding and upstanding citizen. 

There is something profound here that is easily missed nowadays, namely that being a morally good person in Aristotle’s sense is not just about being a law-abiding and upstanding citizen.  For that is compatible with merely minding one’s own business and not in any way wronging others.

Alas, the heroes whom we admire are never those who are just about doing nothing more than minding their own business.  From those who ran the underground railroad that enabled blacks to reach freedom from slavery to the people of the French town of Le Chambon who sheltered Jews in their homes to officers who risked their lives to rescue people trapped in the World Trade Center: These people are moral heroes for the very reason that they made the well-being of others their own business.

ike fine wine and food, acts of gratitude are savored by their beneficiaries.  Like rubies and diamonds, acts of gratitude are held up time and time again for our appreciation.  Like rays of sunshine, acts of gratitude have a warmth that never grows old.  Gratitude at its best is a marvelous and adulterated acknowledgement of a respect in which another has been good in an unqualified way.  And one has to be a curmudgeon for sure not to take delight in being the object of another’s gratitude.  On the one hand, few things give a better return for the effort than an expression of gratitude; on the other, an expression of gratitude is typically one of the easiest and most inexpensive things to offer another.  Interestingly, we are rather good at discerning whether an expression of gratitude is genuine or not. 

Unless it is done in the right way and at the right time, an expression of gratitude will appear rather contrived.  The expression itself has to be ever so sure; yet, moments leading up to it can be rather like a stealth bomber: the recipient just does not see that the expression of gratitude is coming.  We talk about debts of gratitude.  The truth of the matter, though, is that gratitude at its best does not feel like a debt that is being paid off.  Rather, it is more like a natural spring of water that bursts forth. 

Gratitude is a moral power.  And as such it can be utterly disarming.  When the members of society have become too busy for expressions of gratitude they have become too busy indeed.  If social lubricants exist, gratitude is surely first among these, as gratitude can be shown just as easily to a perfect stranger as it can be to a loved-one. 

Perhaps the most extraordinary note of gratitude that I have received in my life came from a Philosophy 191 student whom I have never met (because he did not want me to meet him).  He claims that I helped him to appreciate the love of his parents for him.  Like rays of sunshine . . . .

If love is a universal language, surely gratitude is a part of its vocabularly.

Now, there is a very mistaken view out there that goes like this: 

If I am entitled to it, then gratitude for being given it is rather unnecessary. 

In a word, the problem with this view is that it runs roughshod over the motives with which a person has given that to which the other is entitled.  We can see this very easily by looking at the parent-child situation.  If our parents raised us, loved us, and properly took care of us, then they have given us precisely the things to which, in some rather straightforward sense, we were entitled.  Yet, only the most callous of persons would conclude that he did not owe his parents gratitude.  For it is not just that they did things for us, but they did those things with a love that has no equal in terms of motivation.  There is no way for gratitude to not be appropriate towards parents who unthinkingly went without and worked tirelessly so that their children could have what they needed? 

A student may have rightly earned a grade of “A”.  Yet, that is compatible with the professor having a devotion to her or his intellectual flourishing that is not written anywhere in the professor’s job description.  Moreover, it could very well be that were it not for that professor’s unfailing commitment to her student’s intellectual flourishing, then in turn would not have been motivated to the extent that he was.  Did the student work incredibly hard?  Absolutely!  But the backdrop against which that hard work came about was the professor’s commitment to his development.  Gratitude is owed. 

From the other direction, a professor is entitled to a measure of respect from her students.  And any number of students, simply out of fear being reprimanded, may show the professor the respect that she demands.  Yet, it is often the class that there are sufficiently many in the classroom whose commitment to respecting the professor has a moral depth to it, quite independent of the professor, that makes teaching an electrifying experience.  And to those students: gratitude is owed. 

The butcher and the car mechanic who take pride in their work are all owed gratitude, precisely because it is important to them that their customers get a quality product.  They will treat their customers right even when they could get away with not doing so. 

The idea that we are entitled to quality service makes perfectly good sense to me.  But a sense of entitlement that excludes arrogance is none other than a form of narcissism; and narcissism can only be understood as a form of meanness.  Any form of posture towards others that is indifferent to the goodwill that others exhibit constitutes a form of meanness. 

As this year draws to an end, I am struck by how filled my life is with moments of gratitude.  Countless are the ways that so many of you have made 2005 so remarkably rewarding for me.  Perhaps a life that is simply filled with gratitude is far from being everything.  But this much is clear: a life that is not is surely one that is not much of anything.  And I owe that precious moral lesson to you.

Thank You

he classical idea of a miracle is, of course, an event that defies the laws of nature in some way.  So in the Old Testament the parting of the Red Sea or getting water from a completely solid rock are both paradigm examples of miracles.  It would be fair to say that it has been a very long time since anyone has recounted an event that defied the laws of nature.  In fact, I doubt if many people actually believe in miracles of the sort recounted in either the Old Testament or the New Testament. 

However, I think that there is something to the idea of a miracle that we can hold on to even if we do not have an event that defies the laws of nature.  Let us define this much weaker notion of a miracle as follows.  It is an event (a) the occurrence of which has an enormously positive effect upon one’s life and (b) the occurrence of which is so improbable that one is not in any way warranted in believing that such a thing would happen.  When I think about the extraordinary success of Star Wars (the original trilogy whose first film appeared in the late 70s), I think of miracles of this sort.

The technological wizardry of the film was indeed fascinating.  But that cannot begin to explain the success of the film.  Nor can the plot, which is as simple as it gets: good versus bad, with a little romance lite thrown in for good measure.  That success of the original series has, I believe, just about everything to do with a hope that is shared by most of its viewers: the hope that if our lives could be sufficiently attuned to the Good (with all that this implies in terms of complete self-mastery), then we could produce miracles of the sort that I have just defined.  For the series of films suggested that when an individual is sufficiently attuned to the Good, then she or he gets to waltz with the improbable. 

Waltzing with the improbable was the essence of Yoda.  The essence of his persona was not that he performed miracles of the biblical kind.  Rather, it was that he was able to avail himself of probabilities that most never could see if only because he knew when and when not to do a thing.  Moreover, he always did whatever he did in just the right way. 

I do not know whether George Lucas had read Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics.  But recall Aristotle’s thought that there are many ways to things that are wrong, but only one way to do that which is right.  In Star Wars, Lucas plays out this point with uncanny brilliance. 

Chanukka and Christmas are both about miracles.  In the former case, oil for lighting the menorah lasted 8 days when it should have only lasted 1.  In the latter case, Christ is born.  In recent year, of course, both events on the religious calendar have come to be more about spending money than anything remotely miraculous.  In fact, religion almost seems to get in the way of the moment.

Part of the problem may be that people are celebrating the sort of miracles that seem not to occur any more.  Yet, if my assessment of Stars Wars is correct, then miracles can still occur provided that we humans are properly attuned to the Good.  They may not defy the laws of nature, but their impact can utterly defy the imagination.  And I have come to wonder whether technology with all of its wonders has become an insuperable impediment to individuals being properly attuned to the Good. 

Having the latest has become a kind of cultural imperative.  People are distraught, not because what they have is not working or does not do the job more than adequately, but merely because they do not have the latest kind of whatever it is.  This desire for the latest has become a kind of fetish fed by technology itself.  This craving for the latest item has increasingly warping our relation to ourselves and to others.  And this, in turn, makes doing the right thing in the right way increasingly more difficult.  Not only that: We are increasingly less responsive to those who so behave towards us. 

If the behavior of Black Friday is any indication, then in their eagerness to have the latest, way too many people will literally trample upon others.  And a person who is ready to trample upon another for a mere thing is not likely to even notice, much less be moved by, a smile.  And a gesture of kindness is more likely to be misinterpreted as a threat.

Friendship and romantic love stand as two of the greatest miracles of life.  And every indication is that either relationship has to happen in just the right way in order for either to flower as it should. 

Friendship and romantic love is about two entirely unrelated people becoming marvelously inseparable and flourishing, with each trusting the other in ways that were heretofore simply impossible even to imagine.  Each kind of relationship takes otherwise mundane pieces of behavior and endows that behavior with significance, because the mundane now affirms and nourishes in ways that simply cannot be anticipated.

Not only that, it turns out time and time again that the mundane is a vehicle a very special opportunity—an opportunity that would not have come about had it not been for the fact that either was so accustomed to the other in just the right ways. 

And if that were not enough: the mundane never gets old.  How could the mundane get old when it is the occasion for so much that it is wonderful?  The very wording here speaks to the ways in which friendship and romantic love, at their best, are miraculous.  For by definition, the mundane is supposed to be that which is tiring and unrewarding?  Yet, that mundane walk that a couple regularly takes across a bridge—the walk that increasingly we do not have time for because we are so busy—may be just the thing that keeps alive their passion for one another.  It is the occasion for the gifts come about rather than the gifts that come about being an excuse for the absence of such occasions. 

There is no gainsaying the miracles that defy the laws of nature.  And I, like most, would not mind fixing my eyes upon such an event.  Or so I suppose.  In the meantime, though, I am so very pleased that I have been the beneficiary of some extraordinary miracles of life.  If a miracle that defies of the laws of natures comes along that will be just fine.  But it will have to be a pretty good one in order to complete with miracles that have touched my life.  If there is a God, I cannot believe that he would want it any other way.  That is Chanukkah as it should be.  That is Christmas as it should be. 

f there are any natural gifts, the kiss is surely one among them.  The simplest of gestures, the kiss means so much in so many ways.  We begin life with the kiss.  When things are as they should be, our parents kiss us to show us affection and to comfort us.  They kiss us to express their delight in what we have done and in moments of great joy.  And everyone us takes much delight in that simple parental gesture.  The kiss: a simple gesture that can be riveted with pure tender affection.  In these instances, there is no more to it than an expression of tender affection.  More importantly, though: there is no less to it than that.  Children grasp the importance and significance of kissing, though ne'er a lesson in kissing is taught. 

The kiss seems almost instinctual.  Pick up an infant; and it rather impossible psychologically not to kiss the child while holding her or him in one’s harm.  If the kiss is learnt behavior, as some theorists suggests, it surely has a deep emotional cast to it.  For the kiss is readily forthcoming on the part of children. 

This kiss also serves as expression of pure tender affection between people of enormous good will.  Outside of North America, we have all seen the kiss between sports players when an extraordinary point is scored.  But even in North American—that towering citadel of masculinity—a kiss on the cheek can take place on very special occasions between very good male friends.  Thus, it may occur between dear friends on the occasion of a dear friend’s wedding or the loss of a loved-one on the part of a dear friend.  Significantly, these moments come with a kiss between the dearest of friends rather than a mere hug.  And when a loved-one is at death’s door, there is the ubiquitous kiss on the forehead.

There is no other part of the body, save the lips, that could be the vehicle for an expression of pure tender affection of the most person kind.  Some parts of the body are rule out automatically owing to their own specific function and location.  Obviously, the genitals (to say nothing of the anus) could not play that role.  But then neither could the feet.  For by the time most individuals are well into adulthood, the feet have long since lost the sense of purity that they had during everyone’s infancy. 

That leaves us with the hands.  The touch is extremely symbolic; and there can be no doubt that it can, and often does, serve as an expression of tender affection.  The level of touch between two individuals is obviously a symbol of closeness.  Yet, the touch of the hands seems to be a very long ways from having the status of the lips that provide the simple kiss. 

I would imagine that part of the explanation has to do with the fact that the kiss occurs on a part of the face: the lips, the cheeks, or the forehead.  We naturally do not want anything that could cause damage to be near our face.  Thus, at the general level, the hands make us too vulnerable in that regard; whereas the kiss from the lips does not.  There is also the consideration that symbolically the face is uniquely representative of each individual.  It embodies the essence of who we are.  So a kiss involving the face of the body of two individuals involves what is a quintessential aspect of each person.

To be sure, much is communicated though body language.  Watch a person walking from behind and we get a sense of the individual’s age.  Still, only the face is so very revealing of a person’s thoughts.  So with a kiss we take that part of the body, namely the face, that is a quintessential aspect of who we are and use it to express pure tender affection. 

Romantic kissing is not about tender affection.  It is about sexual intimacy.  And that is a different form of interaction entirely.  In fact, one can engage in romantic casing without having feelings of affection for a person at all.  One-night stands often involve just that.  Lots of bodily fluids are exchanged, although neither one of the parties involved has any thought of seeing the other again.  It cannot be at all insignificant that our first experience of the kiss has nothing whatsoever to do with sexual intimacy.  Thus, the significance of the kiss as a form of pure tender affection is well in place and sealed in our thoughts long before we involve ourselves in matters of sexual intimacy. 

If one’s life is rich enough, one will have feelings of tender affection for a number of individual for whom one does not have the slightest sexual desire.  And it seems to me that it is a very good thing for the difference between the kiss of pure tender affection and the kiss of sexual intimacy to be codified in cultural practices.  I should think that the richness of our lives is ineluctably tied to the fact that both have an abiding place in our lives: pure tender affection and sexual intimacy.  Not only is the difference of fundamental importance, but there is this: If we are sufficiently blessed, then we begin life with the former and, if we live long enough, we end life with the former.  Humanity as we know it would be very different, indeed, if things were the other way around. 

If this is right, then the sexualization of a culture may do more ham than is realized.  Not because sex is inherently bad (as surely it is not), but because humanity cannot be what it should be if it does not have a secure place for pure tender affection.

So often in the world the simplest things in life can be so very profound.  The most natural gift of all, namely the kiss of pure tender affection, is surely a case in point. 

he Ayatollah Ali Meshkini of iran holds the following view:

or 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.