An Eye for an Eye or a Heart for a Hurt?

By all accounts, the world is a lopsided place. Quite literally, it takes on an uneven core, and much of its internal systems behave in a parallel manner. Check a left-handed amino acid here, a tilted heart there, a future we move toward but never escape; the universe is full of nudges. But whether we reason from a smaller or larger scale, imbalance sometimes deems a necessary tension to prompt movement towards harmony. As the physician Albert Szent-Gyorgyi famously quoted: “Life is nothing but an electron looking for a place to rest”. And so, in the wake of betrayal or loss, humans may instinctively search for a way to even out that negative charge in order to find their own peace. We’re motivated by a desire to right a wrong, to reset the emotional and moral equation. The search for justice – whether external or internal – is a response to moral imbalance. Sometimes, it means acceptance. And sometimes, it bears resentment. Take revenge and forgiveness. Both are highly intrinsic and deeply human reactions. So how come one arises quicker to the surface than the other?

Revenge is an ageless hunger that transcends time. Voiced in Shakespearian verses of Hamlet and echoed by modern figures like John Wick, it devours the spirit but feeds writers a brilliant plot. It surpasses pages and fiction as humans face challenges in their day-to-day lives that offer the choice to fulfill the delectable act of revenge. Be it that one kid getting smacked mid-chew because they decided to launch their lunch at someone’s head, or the man who downplayed his wife’s struggles, leading to her indifference to his. Either way, revenge is broadly defined as the act by which the one who feels wronged or offended causes harm, physical pain, psychological discomfort, or other punishment in response to the perceived wrongdoing (Wang et al., 2018).

This brings up the next point: why do we feel the need for revenge in the first place? The desire for revenge is the causal factor of many forms of aggression. It is estimated that between 10% and 20% of homicides worldwide are motivated by revenge (McCullough et al., 2012). Given the emotional toll, it might seem obvious that revenge is not a worthwhile response. And yet, it persists – not in spite of its destructive potential, but because revenge contributes to the preservation of social order. Let us not lose sight of the fact that in human evolution, before complex formal justice systems with governments, states and laws existed, people relied on personal retaliation as a means to detert harm, protect their loved ones and property (McCullough, 2008). In his book Beyond Revenge, McCullough (2008) states further how revenge sends a broader social message: “don’t mess with me,” which helps define acceptable behaviour within a group. It can even foster cooperation by punishing selfish behaviour, encouraging group-beneficial actions, which have been key to building civilisation. 

From this perspective, our modern justice systems seem as formalised, institutional expressions of the same vengeful instinct humans depended on: both arise from a need to respond to perceived offence, protect social orders, and discourage future wrongdoings. But it is when those systems fail or are absent that the distinction becomes evident. Yes, revenge may contribute to evolutionary benefits, but the act itself has no direct intention of resolving or mending a transgression. While retribution is bound to general principles and limits the amount of punishment, revenge is personal in nature: the emotion is connected to the specific feeling that you have to harm the “guilty” (Nozick, 1981). Neuroscience backs up this instinct: when carrying out or even fantasizing about revenge, studies show activation in the brain’s reward centers, especially the striatum (de Quervain et al., 2004). Moreover, people also want to experience the infliction of suffering themselves, accompanied by pleasure in the suffering of the other, which explains why the lawful punishment can only partially satisfy the need for revenge (Orth, 2004).

It’s true, revenge might initially give the impression of a sense of balance with a sweet flavour, but it is a temporary state that quickly turns bitter. As soon as the consequences of the vengeful action unfold, their weight tips the scales back to disorder, resulting in a never-ending loop of instability. Multiple studies show that those who seek revenge tend to hold onto anger and bitterness longer than those who choose forgiveness or reconcile (Carlsmith, Wilson, & Gilbert, 2008). Rather than resolving the hurt, revenge can amplify it – leaving individuals with lingering frustration, regret, or a deepened sense of emotional unrest, like an euphemistic, emotional equivalent of picking at a scab. So if revenge continues keeping the wound open, could forgiveness give it space to heal?

Though forgiveness is often depicted as the liberation of the shackles bound by the past, it begins by learning how to carry the weight differently. It is the walk with the heavy burden that ensures strength along the way. Yet as much as these words may read well on paper, they faintly translate to emotional relief. It’s understandable why we question whether to forgive at all, especially when the offender shows no remorse or acknowledgement of their wrongdoing; only worsening the load on our shoulders. But then again, the challenge of grasping forgiveness and its absurdity just might be what makes it so transformative, and potentially leave the offender more rattled than any act of revenge ever could. 

Like revenge, forgiveness has inspired a wide range of characters who embody its paradoxical nature. In Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe, for instance, Uncle Tom’s life is marked by brutal injustice, violence, and enslavement. Yet even as he is beaten and ultimately killed by the cruel slave owner Simon Legree, Tom refuses to hate him. He prays for Legree’s soul and forgives him. This act of forgiveness is not weakness – it is Tom’s final, defiant expression of moral strength. Stowe uses Tom’s forgiveness to expose the inhumanity of slavery while elevating nonviolence as a radical, redemptive force. And this is not just fiction speaking. According to the French philosopher Jacques Derrida, forgiveness is described as a complex act: a true gift (without explanation), a paradox beyond reason, something secretive, and a kind of strength shown through restraint. Derrida argues that real forgiveness isn’t about setting scores or demanding change, it ends the cycle. 

Though forgiveness requires no physical action, it is anything but a passive and dismissive gesture. It does not ignore harm or injustice, but resists it by refusing to mirror it and become what it opposes. Unlike revenge, which feels instantly satisfying due to its reward system, forgiveness offers no such instant gratification. Forgiveness is associated with reduced amygdala activation, implicated in fear and anger, and increased activity in the prefrontal cortex, enabling higher emotion regulation and empathic processing (Ricciardi et al., 2013). Its demand for conscious effort comes to show that forgiveness is a process, one that can’t be rushed or taken as a default reaction, nor is it expected to be one. It’s a difficult, maybe even irrational act, but one that holds the potential to heal what reason alone can not. 

Some might consider time to heal the pain, while others wish it came with a pause button. But the truth is, no matter our faults or accomplishments, regrets or amends, time will pass regardless, for it doesn’t pause on our victories or slow down for our chagrins. It doesn’t discriminate between those who seek revenge or forgive, and remains an indifferent force to our actions. While time flows the same for everyone, our responses to hurt are shaped by individual experience and meaning. Behind a reason in action, a method in madness, is a person desperately trying to move past their darkest hour, though each action carries its own emotional cost. As long as the aggrieved party is aware of said outcomes, how they decide to confront a violation is up to them. Revenge is an ongoing cycle, a motion without movement that binds people to the past. Forgiveness is an end.