“Hasta la vista, baby” was a fitting phrase for Boris Johnson’s last goodbye to parliament. It’s not just that he has for decades systematically torn up every page of the rule book of statesmanship and propriety. There’s a whole doctoral thesis to be written on the semiotics of his sign off. The Spanish is a familiar “until we see each other again,” but the addition of “baby” makes it a reference to a film in which the speaker says it to someone he is about to shoot to smithereens. Johnson’s words were both a promise and a threat, chilling for many either way.
If we ignore the allusion to vengeful violence, why shouldn’t Johnson be able to suggest “I’ll be back”? The United Kingdom may already have ceased to be a majority Christian country, but Christian ethics remains a powerful guiding force. And Christianity’s most distinctive moral message is its emphasis on forgiveness. Even as he was dying on the cross, Jesus is reported to have said of his killers, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”
When it comes to Johnson’s numerous misdemeanours, Conservatives seem eager to forgive and forget as soon as possible, with many not seeming to think there is anything to forgive. Many have even signed a petition demanding that Johnson was put on the leadership ballot. The absolution option has been advocated ever since Partygate. Ahead of Sue Gray’s report, back in January, Michael Gove told Andrew Neil: “The prime minister has been clear that mistakes were made and he’s taken responsibility for those. I’m sure that when the report is published there will be from individuals concerned recognition, contrition and so on and you know we owe them an element of Christian forgiveness.”
In April, several MPs were also talking of pardoning the PM. In a debate over whether to refer the prime minister to Committee of Privileges, Tim Farron said, “I believe—and this is one of the most radical and offensive things about Christianity—that forgiveness is available for everything and for everyone.” Alexander Stafford similarly said, “Forgiveness is at the core of what we believe. The prime minister has offered a heartfelt apology and his contrition.” And Steve Baker said Johnson had given “an apology worthy of consideration of forgiveness.”
As the Christian protagonists in this debate know very well, however, forgiveness is not something that Jesus commanded us to give unconditionally. There is an imperative to offer forgiveness, but for that offer to be taken up, the offender has to play their part.
Many who think forgiveness should be unconditional point to a passage is in Matthew’s Gospel, in which the apostle Peter asks Jesus, “How many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?’ Jesus replies, “I tell you, not seven times, but 77 times.” Forgiveness would seem to be boundless.
But just before this, Jesus gave instructions on how forgiveness should be pursued. If your brother or sister sins against you, you first try to resolve the problem together. If they don’t accept their guilt, you should “take one or two others along” so the witnesses can establish the truth. If that doesn’t work, you take it to the church (not a formal institution at the time the Gospel’s were written) and if they still won’t accept responsibility, “treat them as you would a pagan or a tax collector.”
I’m no Christian, but Jesus’s teachings on forgiveness here and elsewhere seem spot on to me. Forgiveness is not something we should grant to others from on high, whether they are ready to accept it or not. Rather, forgiveness is a process aimed at reconciliation which requires the guilty party to do their part to mend the broken relationship.
The Christian politicians begging for us to forgive Johnson have generally attached these conditions. Gove wanted to forgive Johnson on the assumption that he would show “recognition, contrition and so on,” Stafford talked of Johnson’s “heartfelt apology and his contrition,” and Baker of “an apology worthy of consideration of forgiveness.” Forgiveness for all was conditional on Johnson showing he had accepted blame and was ready to change.
But of course, there is no reason to believe Johnson feels genuine remorse or sees any need to reform his character. When he finally announced he would be stepping down, his speech was so defensive and begrudging that it wasn’t even clear he had resigned. He blamed “the herd instinct” of Westminster, and said it was “eccentric” to seek a change of leader but “them’s the breaks.” These were not the words of a man full of remorse. Theresa May was right not to clap him when he gave his last words as PM to parliament. Other MPs showed him a respect that he had not done nearly enough to win back.
Even if we were to forgive Johnson, it is simplistic to think that means we should also airbrush out his record of persistent lying over decades in politics. True remorse requires acceptance that a price has to be paid for your wrongdoing. No one who truly appreciates the scale of their major transgressions would ask to be treated the same as those who have been blameless.
If you could forgive a child abuser, you would still not put them in charge of a kindergarten. If your partner has repented for their ruinous gambling, your accepting their apology would not require you to allow them to set up an account at William Hill. If Johnson proved he was worthy of forgiveness, which he has not yet done, we would not welcome him back to high office.
The most Johnson or any advocate of Christian forgiveness could ask is to allow him to go off and enjoy his political retirement, on the understanding that he should not profit from his ill-spent time in office. Earnings from memoirs or speeches should be ploughed into charitable causes. If he were truly repentant, he’d go quietly, head bowed, not seek power once more.
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