Anger is a troublesome emotion. Martha Nussbaum’s stunning book (Anger and Forgiveness: Resentment, Generosity, Justice (Oxford University Press, 2016: 315 pp.) provides
many rich analyses of anger. It provides compelling alternatives to the blind payback characteristic of anger, so well documented in the headlines. Nussbaum notes that we many usefully consult our felt sense of anger as we go about our lives. Unfortunately, anger often gives bad advice (Nussbaum 2016: 127). Enter one of America’s leading public intellectuals, who cross-examines anger to obtain better advice.
Nussbaum acknowledges that anger often has good grounds – anger is well-grounded and to be expected in the face of unwarranted aggression, social injustice, and the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. However, anger is troublesome in ways that other emotions – such as sadness or fear – are not. Anger is distinct from aggression; yet anger mobilizes aggression, itself destructive to individuals and communities. Human beings are notoriously aggressive creatures, and the debate whether we are so by nature or by indoctrination is a dilemma not resolved here. Nussbaum begins by accepting people as aggressive, and she has some compelling proposals for improving on the available pool of talent.
Nussbaum repeatedly – and properly – takes to task the Law of the Talon: “An eye for an eye” leaves both people blind. However, what is troubling is the way we human beings seem to include in the very essence of anger some felt need for “payback.” This is Nussbaum’s proper gloss on Aristotle’s definition of anger, and most people acknowledge that there is a strong sense in which anger wants to get its own back by inflicting suffering on the perpetrator to establish or reestablish the boundary between one person and the other. Though not a genealogical analysis as such, Nussbaum (2016: 208) makes explicit her thesis presented embedded behind a celebrated quote from Nietzsche about the genealogy of morals – and of mercy: “The idea that the ability to forgo retribution is a mark of both personal and societal strength is a persistent leitmotif of the present book.” Nicely said. Personal and societal strength make possible generosity, whereas forgiveness often gets stuck in competitions to see who is the biggest victim or a scramble for the high ground of moral superiority.
Nussbaum makes a strong case that, in the face of anger and wrong doing motivated by anger, forgiveness is over-rated. I repeat: over-rated. Instead Nussbaum suggests that generosity – especially when it is performed from strength – is a bridge from the negative consequences of reactive emotions such as anger and resentment to justice. The devil is in the details, and seemingly endless noodling is required, especially given that one must specify conditions and contexts to motivate the emotions that are phenomenally described.
Many readers (including myself) will be pleased to see boundaries set around forgiveness. As noted by Nussbaum, too often forgiveness only looks backward to the past. Ours has become an age too glib with recommendations to forgive. The issue is that attempts at forgiveness are too often one-sided techniques used in psychotherapy as a way of letting go off a crippling, energy-draining anger that is dominating a person’s emotional life. Nothing wrong with that as such, but is it really forgiveness? Nussbaum has a therapeutic agenda as well as a normative one in transforming anger, but she has little use for the kinds of clichés about forgiveness that occur in contexts of self-help and positive self-talk. No moral implications are involved in the latter; and hypnosis would be better if only it would work (Nussbaum 2016: )125 – 126). Singing lessons and working out at the gym – I am not making this up – are also usefully put on the list ahead of rituals of “public forgiveness” and “anger management.” Even worse: Sometimes such requests for forgiveness are made by perpetrators eager to move on so they can enjoy the fruits of their ill-gotten gains. None of that here. The criteria of forgiveness, which Nussbaum quotes approvingly from Charles Griswold (2007) are rigorous: tell the truth about what happened – explicit acknowledgement of the cost and impact, restitution (in so far as that is possible), authentic commitment to doing better. Likewise, Desmond Tutu’s account to South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (see No Future Without Forgiveness) makes clear that the perpetrator have to demonstrate a commitment to the truth – saying what happened in all its confronting detail – along with sorrow and apology over what happened. Much of the testimony of torture and abuse is not easy to hear – or bear.
What about the possibility that “anger’s payback wish” is simply going to be ineliminable, and many situations exist in which one must not act on it? The debate is joined. Presumably this is where Nussbaum as the advocate the Stoic approach to virtue ethics and the emotions comes on strong. One must practice interrupting the naturally occurring wish to get one’s own back (and case the other suffering) with the equivalent of positive self talk. Get in the habit of rooting out such negative feelings – and then what? More positive self talk? However, Nussbaum does not stop at positive self talk. In addition, positive actions and generous behavior are required: “…[L]ove and generosity get ahead of the angry response, and thus there is no struggle with angry emotion. It seems that it is only be a strained extension that one would call this “forgiveness” […]” (Nussbaum 2016: 120).
From this point of view, Nussbaum’s agenda and contribution is therapeutic. Take the sense of payback and the emotional energy in it and do something generous with it. This leads to “transitional anger” – which becomes a technical and inspirational term for Nussbaum – that acknowledges the wrong but also “gets” that two wrongs do not make a right. If one kills one neighbor, killing the perpetrator is not going to undo the initial killing. Indeed the harm grows and grows. To call out such behavior as “not making sense,” common as it is given today’s headlines, makes perfect sense but seems like a stunning under-statement (Nussbaum 2016: 123). Nussbaum’s frequent reiteration of “What good does pay do?” is clearly demonstrated here. The consequentialism is front and center – as is a call to increase interventions in rehabilitation, education, therapy, healthcare and related promotions of welfare.
For example, I particularly like Nussbaum’s account of The Dance of Anger (Lerner). The grown up daughter finally sets a boundary and defines a limit to her mother’s intrusiveness and seemingly continuous hypercritical commentary. Instead of expressing anger and going round-and-round with the mother in a “payback” of escalating emotional discharge, the daughter, who continues to fume introspectively (“Maggie’s heart was beating so fast, it occurred to her that she might faint” (Nussbaum: 108)), calmly tells the mother to back-off, to be sensible, to respect the decisions being made by her grown up daughter. It works.
I also liked Nussbaum’s examples from literature, which is a rich source of penetrating and incisive clinical material, making possible the reader’s vicarious experience and empathic receptivity. Thus, Theodor Fontane’s novel Effie Briest, a novel too good to be so neglected: the husband, Instettern, discovering Effie’s lapse in chastity years after it occurred, is inclined to unconditional forgiveness, before community values intervene, blocking his path, and ensuring the disastrous outcome (the appalling result itself implying a strong critique of such values). It turns out that no one escapes emotional whipping, though the spiritual devastation is less obvious in the case of Instettern, the husband.
Meanwhile, many people would own a felt sense that the wrong doer, especially in the case of crimes committed by strangers, should be punished – if not with capital punishment at least with incarceration for a long, long time in a super-max prison that Amnesty International claims is a human rights violation due to extreme isolation. And some people intuitively assert that such incarceration should occur even if the individual would never, ever kill again. Yet in the public realm, all-too-often, notwithstanding pious platitudes, prisons are training grounds for further criminality. A fanciful example (mine, not Nussbaum’s): once Cain killed Abel, he had no other siblings; and it was only his brother that inspired the hatred. Remove the mark? One must agree with Nussbaum’s frequent suggestion – I paraphrase loosely: There’s got to be a better way. The answer? As noted, Nussbaum calls it “transitional anger,” standard anger going in the direction of channeling the emotional energy towards payback in the direction of future-oriented improvement.
Transitional anger is the heart of the matter. It is exemplified, according to Nussbaum, in Martin Luther King’s celebrated “I have a dream” speech. After detailing the injustices of slavery and segregation, King could go in the direction of standard anger and payback. I recall Malcolm X’s celebrated quip in Harlem: “You didn’t land on Plymouth rock; Plymouth rock landed on you!” And indeed King does briefly call out the possibility of civil unrest as a response to injustice. However, instead King goes in the direction of a description of a positive future of cooperation and mutual enrichment between black and white people in a post-segregation community.
By the end of Nussbaum’s engaging text, compelling examples from Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and Nelson Mandela are marshaled as paradigms of The Transition. The Transition goes from what might be redescribed as “an eye for an eye” anger to socially useful “speaking truth to power” anger (the latter, my term, not Nussbaum’s). By the end of the text, the Transition is in capital letters. It is being applied to contexts that, for the common person, might reasonably be expected to inspire an anger so vast and deep that only something extraordinary was needed to overcome it. The injustices against which Gandhi, King, and Mandela fought were so formidable and entrenched that the reader cannot help but wonder whether The Transition might have required a superhuman measure of grace to overcome what Nussbaum describes as the “magical” aspect of the need for payback. How else to overcome the felt need for payback that seems so essential to anger?
Speaking for myself, I did not even imagine that “magical payback” had any proper application until Nussbaum started marshaling examples and arguments that payback is never appropriate and must always be overcome. Usually when Freud talked about “magical thinking” such as the omnipotence of thought (see Totem and Taboo (1912)), there is an underlying grain of [psychological] truth to the magic. Thus, the magical, superstition “step on the crack, break your mother’s back” conceals aggression (if not a death wish) against one’s mother. I fear to step on the crack as a reaction formation against my negative, aggressive feeling towards the mother, wishing her harm for some real or imagined slight. What then is that against which the “magical payback” of anger is a reaction formation? Nussbaum gets around to clarifying the mechanism of the magic almost as an after thought: “retributive wishes are often a displacement from underlying powerlessness” (Nussbaum 2016: 208). Bingo. The bell goes off.
This insight may usefully have been elaborated by Nussbaum, and the lack of elaboration is the basis for the discontent that I felt with Nussbaum’s otherwise admirable and incisive analysis. Any exceptions to the rule that payback is not appropriate may usefully be understood in terms of this displacement and the dynamics of power. Magical payback is not always magical. Having big ideas also makes one a big target; and Nussbaum provides her own counter-example in the case of dignity violations, status violations, narcissistic injuries, and broken agreements. Payback is useful and an effective method of enforcing contracts and agreements in a zero-sum game in which one individual’s loss is the gain of the other party. There are penalties and sanctions attached to the agreement, which are meant to provide an incentive over and above the generosity and kindness of (e.g.) business persons to hold to the terms of the agreement. Such sanctions use the infliction of financial pain to restore power to the injured party. The ultimate payback may be to refuse to participate in the pending or proposed deal. A detailed example of this authentic and ineliminable payback is engaged below in a counter-example provided by Robert Frank (1988). We take a step back to provide context.
The victim – or survivor, assuming there is one – of an injury, insult, or crime has experienced loss of power. This is bold statement of the obvious – perhaps hidden in plain view. Though Nussbaum does not mention it (in an otherwise impeccable work of scholarship), Hannah Arendt argued persuasively that, in many contexts, violence is the opposite of power. In addition to overt threats and outright aggression, pending loss of power is a trigger for anger – and anger for violance. Government, institutions, and individuals tend to succumb to the temptation to substitute force – violence – in the face of loss of power in an attempt, often vain but sometimes effective enough, to restore the power and “legitimacy” of their authority (Arendt “On Violence” (1970)).
Granted that our system and society is doing a bad, miserable job of dealing with payback – and “there’s got to be a better way” – is the felt need for payback inappropriate, irrational, and misguided? Does payback then make no sense? Why is it so alluring to so many?
The fundamental maneuver that Nussbaum undertakes is first to acknowledge and then diminish the specific role that payback plays in the dynamics around social status, honor, and narcissistic injuries related to dignity and respect.
Above I promised details of a counter-example. The counter example to the senseless and irrationality of payback is provided by Robert Frank (Passions Within Reason: The Strategic Role of the Emotions (1988)). The short version of the counter-example is that people refuse to participate in an unfair system. This refusal amounts to unleashing consequences that privilege payback between parties such that both parties involved end up suffering. People put being treated fairly ahead of avoiding suffering. Rational? Irrational? From the perspective of calculative rationality, it is not rational. But if the game is rigged, then taking one’s marbels and going home may well not be irrational, even if not completely rational. It turns out that honor (status) and fairness are closely coupled. “Fairness” is often a correlate and marker of status, and payback functions effectively in reestablishing status. In that limited sense, payback is not irrational, yet not wholly irrational in that it works as an effective method of restoring the integrity of a broken agreement, though once again numerous conditions and qualifications apply. Whether this is described as rational or not (and it does seem to be irrational under at least one well-defined definition of calculative rationality), the result is that what Nussbaum describes as “payback” is privileged as an expression of speaking truth to power that makes a difference. Hence, the counter-example. Note: the following “game theoretic example” is selected from (Agosta 2010) to which the reader may refer for additional background.
In the Ultimate Game (UG), one player is given a set amount of money—say twenty dollars. He is then required to hand over, at his own discretion, a portion of the money to a second player. If the second player declines the offer, then both players get zero; otherwise, they get to keep the cash according to the proposed offer. From a rational point of view, where rationality is defined in terms of narrow self-interest, if player #1 offers one out of twenty dollars, then player #2 would still be better off taking it, since one dollar is more than zero dollars, which is what #2 had at the start. However, that is not what happens in the real world. Such “low ball” offers by player #1 are overwhelmingly refused by player #2. The second player forfeits his own narrow self- interest. Of course, the questions are: Why? What does it mean?
The standard interpretation is that the offer indicated above is grossly unfair. The individual is dishonored by the offer, even insulted by the lack of respect displayed in such a presumptuous proposal. This leads to righteous indignation (a particularly nuanced form of anger) and the punishing (sanctioning) of others’ unfair behavior, a sanction (“payback”) that also has a negative consequence for player #2, though not as great a loss for #1 (who loses $19) while #2 only loses $1.
The less standard interpretation, though consistent with the above-cited intuition on basic fairness, is that this conclusion is the result of a process of reasoning that is akin to Aristotle’s phronesis, deliberation about what is good for the flourishing of the human being in context, rather than a rationally mathematical optimization. To deploy the distinctions of the Rhetoric, the logos is the mathematical calculation that articulates the explicit judgment that one dollar is more than nineteen. Duly noted. The emotion – as Aristotle would say pathos – is the disclosure of righteous indignation based on the possibility—conspicuous by its absence—of a fair division of the assets that treats each participant with respect and gives each a mutually satisfying share of the proceeds. The ethos is the intelligibility of the situation—integrity in a broad sense of workability (not necessarily one that blames or praises) that assigns one individual the function of division and the other that of approval of the division. The proposed division of one part of twenty does show a certain character—or more precisely lack thereof—and one that, in most cases, arouses the response of righteous indignation. Hence, reason is constrained by the passions, even if not their slave.
If one would like to discover a paradigm context disclosive of righteous indignation, this is what it looks like—being asked to agree to get one dollar while the other gets nineteen. Both parties have some power—the one to propose a distribution, the other to veto it. Now bargain!
The message is delivered as a decision, “Deal!” or “No deal!” based on the emotion that emerges from social reference to the other in interrelation. Yes, the emotion gets translated into some propositional content, but the latter does not exhaust the nuances of the interrelational context and why it matters. The latter motivates the decision, the commitment, and it is the mattering that discloses how the situation engages the participants, not cognitively but affectively as beings-in-the-world to whom things matter. The individual who proposes a losing division of one dollar to nineteen dollars not only gets the propositional content “No deal!”—the individual also gets no money. Payback? Looks like it to me. And it is this latter case where the rubber of righteous indignation meets the road of mutual respect.
One thing is clearly demonstrated, based on experience. Players in the underdog position overwhelming refuse such low offers. When asked why, they say the offers are “unfair,” “disrespectful,” even “dishonoring.” Being treated unfairly is a status issue and of the essence in any discussion of anger. In a broader sense, of course, we start to get the idea that a wide sense of rational self-interest does extend to being treated fairly, not just in the long run, but in individual instances.
What is clear is that when an individual experiences (whether expressed or not) righteous indignation at a dishonored agreement, broken promise, or unfair proposal, the emotions are recruited to keep one’s agreements, promises, proposals, and sustain the commitment to treat other individuals or groups with honor and respect. The eruptive affect of righteous indignation supports the commitment of a fair distribution, and, in other scenarios, this affect supports people keeping their agreements—at the cost and impact of everyone getting less. An entire class of affects requiring social referencing to others, such as shame and guilt and including moral sentiments, contributes to solving the problem of how creatures of limited generosity and strong self-interest can reasonably adhere to commitments.
Though payback is often not the best approach, and we would do well to heed Nussbaum’s guidance about finding better ways through transitional anger, payback is ineliminable and is useful in selected, well-defined contexts. At the risk of casuistry (though in a positive sense), payback is the indirect consequence to taking one’s marbles and going home. I lose one marble, but the other loses even more. It is my intention not to be disadvantaged even more than I already am disadvantaged; but, it is in the nature of this game that the other may get disadvantaged by an order of magnitude. I suppose we shall have to ask forgiveness – and Gandhi might even do so (but disingenuously?) – that the enactors of boycotts, work stoppages, and civil disobedience at least momentarily enjoy the distress of the robber barons, exploiters, and oppressors.
Now a risk exists of perpetrating a narcissistic injury by damning with faint praise. While Nussbaum makes reference to the evidence and arguments of evolutionary psychology, Seneca and the Stoics did not. Nussbaum’s project is therapeutic and normative, not genealogical, developmental, or hermeneutic. Ultimately anger is not a rational process. Indeed the emotions writ large are not rational processes. Under one anti-Stoical paradigm, the emotinos are a prelinguistic information system parallel to – but distinct from – cognitive and propositional processes (e.g., Darwin 1872; Griffiths 1997; Agosta 2010). The emotions disclose the environment as mattering ontologically and phenomenologically to the individual as regards integrating his or her well being and prospects of flourishing. The “fight or flight,” amygdala hijack of anger that we human inherit from our biologically related mammalian ancestors becomes a platform that is elaborated in interpersonal and community relations. If one sneaks up behind a cat and pulls its tail, then one is going to get scratched. And no one would blame the cat for doing so: “You got what’s comin’ to ya.” No transitional anger is needed. But if one breaks one’s promises, dishonors one’s agreements, and cheats on one’s commitments, then one is going to hear about it from the offended parties. A boycott, strike, or civil disobedience does indeed take the anger up a level, but the payback is palpable enough. Generosity is no where in sight. I suppose a strike is generous in comparison with burning down the factory; but there is a nuance here that might usefully be called out. Maybe that is what Nussbaum meant all along – and (I boldly suggest) it is engaging extension of the argument – but I found no discussion of the use of such tactics as “occupy Wall Street” (which shuts down the street so bankers can’t get to work) as part of The Transition. And, under at least one anti-establishment interpretation, no one would blame the injured, aggrieved parties for doing so. “You got what’s comin’ to ya.” It is just that the transitional anger is likely to be both tactically and strategically complex in its nuances and symbolic in its manipulation of considerations of status, honor, and respect. Payback LIVES.
In pursuing the Stoical project of translating the irruptive upheaval of the emotion into a thought, the emotion is often lost in translation. Anger – whether informing one of a looming threat or not – is therapeutically transformed into transitional anger from which the passion is drained out and the angels of our better natures predominate. No one said it was going to be easy. The therapy aims at a future in which the injuries that arouse anger are dealt with in a process of restorative justices. Life is not fair; but the task of society is to bring forth fairness in the face of life’s injustices.
Nussbaum has a keen sense that a major source of anger is narcissistic injuries. She usefully cites D. W. Winnicott on empathy and playing. Adam Smith is cited on sympathetically putting oneself in the other person’s position by an imaginative “top down” act of empathy; but the individual who directly associated failures of empathy with narcissistic rage was Heinz Kohut (1971). (See also Hicks on Dignity (2011) in which one may almost mechanically substitute “empathy” for “dignity” without changing the meaning.) When people do not get the empathy, respect, or dignity to which they feel they are entitled, they get angry – really angry. Dignity violations are common in both daily life and intractable conflicts around the globe and a first step in transitional anger is responding empathically to repair the breakdown in the relatedness.
Now, shifting gears, I am at risk of committing another narcissistic injury when I suggest that Nussbaum’s engagement with Kant is perhaps excessively filtered through the late Bernard Williams, who we all honor without condition or qualification and for so many reasons (but not necessarily as a mainstream Kant scholar). Nussbaum may usefully review Kant and – it gets worse, H.L.A. Hart – before asserting that payback is with merit only a bridge to transitional anger (that by definition lacks anger).
The counter-argument to establish the validity of payback in selected but essential cases is that payback is not justified by its consequence, deterrence or any other form of utility. Get ready: It is not even justified by retribution, which continues to operate at the level of an “eye for an eye.” Rather it is justified by establishing the responsibility of the agent for his or her actions. In Kantian terms, payback does this by subordinating the otherwise arbitrary will to the autonomously activated law. The will is thwarted – and that is inevitably painful. While the legal process takes the personal anger or desire for retribution out of the loop, the common person – the public – continues to find satisfaction in punishments even though they do not bring the victim back to life because the punishment demonstrates that the will of the perpetrator is subordinate to the law. Thus, H.L.A. Hart:
“…[M]eeting the moral evil of misconduct with suffering is, as Kant urged, good per se, so that even on the last day of society, the murderer not only may but must be executed [. . . ] this, he must say, is something morally ‘called for’ independently of its place in a social mechanism designed for the protection of society or other beneficial effects” (Hart 1968:75)
This morally “called for” demonstrates that the will is not a capricious source of spontaneity but subordinate to a law that reflects its own structure of agency. Punishment establishes the will’s subordination to the law and the “pay off” – not in Nussbaum’s sense of retribution but in Kant’s sense of autonomy – is to establish that the individual is responsible for her or his intentional, voluntary actions. But the extra suffering doesn’t do any good! The utilitarian consequences are indeed a factor, but not the decisive one here. It doesn’t do any good if the good was imagined to bring back the victim from the dead – but the payback or at least the possibility thereof does make a difference. The difference acts like a penalty clause in a contract or agreement. The difference is to the hold the individual (or organization) responsible. Thus the battle is joined (again). In a society that is better than the one in which we presently operate in the USA , we would send far fewer people to prisons and more to treatment, education, and rehabilitation programs of various sorts. Point granted. However, the point of the payback is to hold the individual responsible to the law (agreement) to which (arguably) the individual has at least implicitly agreed. Hart again:
“If you strike me, the judgment that the blow was deliberate will elicit fear, indignation, anger, resentment: these are not voluntary responses; but the same judgment will enter into deliberations about my future voluntary conduct towards you and will colour all my social relations with you. Shall I be your friend or enemy? Offer soothing words? Or return the blow?” (Hart 1968: 182)
One may argue that promptly and proportionately returning the blow – based on an immediately rush of adrenaline upon receiving the threat – is not the best way of establishing the boundary between one person and another. One may usefully marshal transitional-anger and isolate, distinguish, and split away the payback. If a someone hits you, mobilize transitional anger and fill out the police report; and let the system work for you without passion or payback. Definitely. But if this were the grammar school yard playground – or devaluing academic politics – admonishing the perpetrator about a better future or telling the teacher might not be the best approach. If one’s Pearl Harbor is bombed, get ready to fight World War II. If one is on a narrow path facing a hungry mountain lion, reach for one’s weapon (if one is fortunate enough to be carrying one). If one is negotiating contracts and agreements with supposedly well brought up, civilized members of the community, be sure to include a sanctions (payback) clause. One hopes that one does not have to use it, but if one does, then one does. When considered in context, any choice of a response is bound to be a mixture of utilitarian and retributive considerations. The point is that there is an element of holding responsible that is not reducible to retribution, but is the source that the common person generally regards matters as well handled if the wrong doer is made appropriately to suffer. The attempt to use violence – including organized violence such as the police – to reestablish power, authority, or the boundary between one individual and other is rarely the best method. But it is an effective method that works. In that sense, it is rational and a means that produces the end.
Nussbaum’s contribution is substantial and compelling. The present work, Anger and Forgiveness, is the latest in Nussbaum’s series of engagements with key emotions widely construed such as love, disgust, shame, sympathy, pity, and related. While I have had my disagreements with the underlying limitations of a Stoical account of the emotions (see Agosta 2010), so has she! Her work is moving towards a cognitive but prelinguistic account of the emotions – the affective appraisal system is like a musical theme – it has content and a structure, but not a narrowly linguistic syntax (Nussbaum 2016: 253, 258). I leave the movie, Twelve Angry Men, for a separate discussion. I have benefited greatly from my counter with this book – and her work. In conclusion, I recall the words of Hannah Holborn Gray: Education is not intended to make people feel comfortable, it is meant to get them to think. It worked. I know that was the effect on me of this text. Nussbaum succeeds in all of the above – and in depth.
Agosta, Lou (2010). “Heidegger’s Clearing of the Affects Using Book II of Aristotle’s Rhetoric.” Philosophy Today. Winter 2010: 333–345.
Arendt, Hannah. (1970). On Violence. New York: Harvest Books (Harcourt).
Darwin, Charles. (1872). The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965
Frank, Robert H. (1988). Passions Within Reason: The Strategic Role of the Emotions. New York: W.W. Norton.
Griffiths, Paul E. (1997). What Emotions Really Are. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999.
Griswold, Charles. (2007). Forgiveness: A Philosophical Exploration. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Hart, H.L.A. (1968). Punishment and Responsibility: Essays in the Philosophy of Law. New York: Oxford University Press.
Hicks, Donna. (2011). Dignity: Its Essential Role in Resolving Conflict. New Haven: Yale University Press.
Kohut, Heinz. (1971). The Analysis of the Self. New York: International Universities Press.