There is no way that society could function in our crowded urban spaces, rural villages and homes without forgiveness. We have people bump into us, drop things (and sometimes break them) and say the wrong thing several times a day. Some of these are actually crimes, such as coming into contact with someone else recklessly – an assault. But if we took umbrage at each one, we would be eaten up with grumbles and rage, and we would be known as someone to avoid, someone who took slights easily, someone to give a wide berth to in the pub.

Yet when the crime and the hurt are serious, we often laud and wonder at someone who does forgive, though we may not be at all sure we could do that ourselves. The example of Gordon Wilson, whose daughter Marie was killed in the Enniskillen bombing in Northern Ireland by the Provisional IRA, is often cited. He was an ordinary person, a draper, but what he did was very much seen as extraordinary. He said ‘I bear no ill will. I bear no grudge’ (Belfast Telegraph, 2008). He called for a spirit of forgiveness and reconciliation, and he became a peace campaigner in relation to the Troubles in Northern Ireland. He sought to meet with representatives of the Provisional IRA, to understand the reasons for that bombing, and did so. Later, the leader of Sinn Féin formally apologised for the bombing.

Neither our forgiveness of the small things, nor Gordon Wilson's forgiveness of the bombing, are acceptances of or agreements with the acts to which they refer. The acts remain wrong, to be condemned. The forgiveness, if it occurs, is for the person who did the wrong, not for the nature of the act (Griswold, 2007; Shapland, 2016). Forgiveness, though, like many other social acts, is a complex social interaction. I argue in this chapter that it has other messages and purposes as well, directed at a multiplicity of audiences. I shall be considering the social context and patterning of forgiveness here, rather than its meaning or results solely for the individual who forgives.