I'd suggest that presumption poisons the possibility of forgiveness, whether the presumption that my sins aren't such a big deal so of course you (or God) will forgive them, or (on the other hand) the presumption that no one can forgive the injury that I have suffered, and that of course God will side with me. If we want to live in a world characterized by generosity and forgiveness, if we believe in a God of forgiveness, then we can't afford presumption. In an odd way, presumption constitutes an antithesis of forgiveness. . . . AKMA
Something here resonates even without the "if" - the effective power of presumption, as AKMA suggests, is its ability to ward off, or simply render impossible, vulnerability. The ''poison'' of presumption seems to work as a defense against any openness to the possibility that we need another's autonomous power to effect forgiveness.
But then,
God alone determines who will encounter divine mercy--and that depends not on personal merit (that we can amass and calculate), but solely on grace. Solely, only, exclusively, that's all.
This adds a dimension of uncertainty. The one who we wish to forgive may appear to us to ignore the part about "reckoning a wrong" - which earlier appeared to be essential to the transitive nature of the act.
This appears to put us, as humans, in an interesting double bind (double register?): we must reck to be forgiven, and also, to forgive, not reck whether the other recks.
This introduces a complexity in human transactions that departs from all the usual double-entry reckonings of supply and demand, quid and quo, tit and tat, mutual consideration, etc. As a model distinguishable by its asymmetry from the economics of standard moral bookeeping, it is provocative. It seems to say, forgiveness is not a mutual, reciprocal act like a greeting, a treaty, a war or a deal.
