A few years ago I was in the company of a group of people, most of whom knew a guy we all loathed, or at least those of us who knew him loathed him. We each told stories of his treachery and wickedness. At one stage one of the group said (for the purposes of this column I will call the loathsome person Jack): "Poor Jack, he is his own worst enemy." There was a chorus of: "No, he f . . . ing isn't."
Jack is hated by his family. His former wife hates him. His children hate him. His father and mother hated him. There is a Woody Allen film in which Woody plays the part of a criminal. The narrative of the film is interrupted by interviews with his father and mother, both heavily disguised because of their shame. In that case the father loathed the son but the mother found excuses. Not in Jack's case. His mammy hated him too.
When his wife was coming out of a maternity hospital having given birth to one of their children, she discovered the basket carrying the baby was too large to get into the posh new sporty car he had bought himself. He hit her in the face with his fist on the footpath outside the hospital door. Hitting her was a regular occurrence and for weeks on end over many years she couldn't go outside their home because of the bruising on her face and body.
Jack is hated by everyone he ever worked with. He robbed the company for which he worked of hundreds of thousands of pounds. He was fired from that job and also, subsequently, from another.
My reason for hating him is that he pretended to be a friend and professed concern that a person perceived as an enemy would assail us (one has to be very careful here for all parties are very litigious). And while pretending to assist me to ward off the encroachments of the perceived enemy, at all stages he was in cahoots with the enemy and aided, abetted, guided and plotted with them. None of this matters now, not to me anyway - but the treachery of it!
I don't know where this guy is now. He approached me in the Shelbourne bar a few years ago and I told him what to do with himself. I saw him on the street just before Christmas but he didn't lift his eyes from the ground to enable me to repeat the exhortation. I think he is living in a Third World country, which is very distressing for the Third World country, although they may not know it yet.
There is an arresting phrase in the "Our Father", a prayer that is otherwise a piece of pious gobbledegook. The phrase is, "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us."
I'm prepared to wipe the slate clean right now for most people who have trespassed against me, provided my slate is wiped clean by those I have wronged. I would like however to retain a few on the list - there are two vastly overpaid valets who spring to mind and, come to think of it, their master can be thrown in as well. But, if pushed and if really promised that my slate would be wiped clean, I'd agree to take them off the slate.
But not Jack. No way. Not Jack.
What is arresting about that passage from the "Our Father" is the starkness of the tradeoff: "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us". It isn't "as we forgive most of those who trespass against us" or "as we forgive those who trespass against us, except for Jack". More than that, and even more persuasively, it is a trade-off we would regard as fair if, from a disinterested vantage point, we were to construct the rule.
But can it be that we have to take everyone off the slate, that we have to forgive everybody, no matter what they do?
OK, so what Jack did to me was pretty trivial in the overall scheme of things. But what if he had murdered everyone I love, having tortured them for weeks on end beforehand? What even if he had not tortured and murdered them but had deprived those I love of food while they were starving and allowed them to die a horrible death? Could I forgive him his trespasses as I expect others to forgive me for mine?
Not bloody likely.
But then, isn't it just that which I do to others - deprive their loved ones of food while they are starving and while I have plenty? According to the United Nations World Food Programme in a report issued on Monday, there are 830 million people around the world suffering from chronic malnutrition. The hot spots of hunger are large swathes of territory in sub-Saharan Africa and parts of Asia. Over 200 million of these hungry people are children under five.
How can I expect them to forgive me my trespasses against them, especially when I go on doing it and show no indication of mending my ways? Most of these people, whose loved ones I deny sustenance and allow to die horrible deaths, don't quite see it that way, but does this make any difference?
True, there is not the direct relationship between them and me that I have posited between Jack and my loved ones, but does that make a difference? And if I expect those to wipe my slate clean, how can I demur at wiping Jack's slate clean?
Because, that's different.
vbrowne@irish-times.ie