Keeping Score

“It’s human nature to inflate your own contribution to the relationship and minimize your partner’s. Couples who are always taking notes on who’s done what for whom waste energy, and ultimately both feel as if they’re in the loss column. Decide if the relationship as a whole gives you joy and comfort, and if it does (and it better, at this point), then commit to always being on the positive side of the ledger—aim to be generous and do as much as you can for your partner, as often as possible. . . . Be willing to wipe the slate clean if and when your partner messes up, as she or he will. . . . Achieving real love and a sense of partnership will likely involve forgiveness that, at the time, feels unfair and even embarrassing.”—Scott Galloway, The Algebra of Happiness: Notes on the Pursuit of Success, Love, and Meaning (2019)

Your boss has made it very clear: if you’re late for work one more time, you’re getting fired. So when you wake up late because of last night’s power outage, you’re freaking out. Because you need this job. Really need this job. In less than ten minutes, you’re out the door and speeding like a demon on the highway. To make your exit, you’re forced to cut some guy off. He lays on his horn and yells out horrible obscenities at you. You feel bad about cutting him off, really you do, but you forgive yourself soon after you get to work on time. Because you had a really good reason. Because you need this job. Really need this job. Of course, the guy you cut off doesn’t know any of this. And he’s red-in-the-face furious, overflowing with righteous indignation. When he gets to work, he tells everyone he knows about the asshole who nearly killed him on the way to work.

Next week, you’re driving to work on the same highway—on time, this time—when some asshole rockets past you at an ungodly speed. Wow, you think to yourself, what an inconsiderate, selfish jerk! Doesn’t he realize how reckless he’s being? A moment later, another asshole cuts you off to make his exit. This time you’re furious. You lay on your horn and yell out horrible obscenities at him. You’re red-in-the-face furious, overflowing with righteous indignation. When you get to work, you tell everyone you know about the asshole who nearly killed you on the way to work. Of course, the guy who rocketed past you at an ungodly speed doesn’t know any of this. He was in a hurry to get to his daughter’s school. The principal called him at work to tell him that a freak accident had left his daughter bleeding and unconscious on the gymnasium floor. The other guy—who cut you off to make his exit—was trying to get his pregnant wife to the hospital in time. He felt bad about cutting you off, really he did, but he forgave himself a moment or two after his son was born. Because he had a really good reason: his wife was hemorrhaging severely, and without medical assistance, she and his newborn son might have died.

Like you, I have a self-righteous inner accountant in my head who loves to keep score; loves to keep track of how much I’ve done for you, how much you’ve done for me; how much I owe you, how much you owe me. If he graded us solely on what we did and didn’t do, you’d at least have a chance (albeit a slim chance) at a fair trial. We’d have to correct for the natural human tendency to see (and remember) all the good stuff we do and only some of the good stuff others do. Still, if we stuck to the facts, the process might, on occasion, produce a just result. But my self-righteous inner accountant isn’t nearly this fair, and yours is probably no better than mine. The lawyer in my head will say anything to win, anything to get me off, anything to make me look good.

What’s more, he’s been known to cook the books. How? Well, the self-righteous inner accountant in my head grades you only on what you do or don’t do. Alas, not so for me: I, like you, get points for what I do and don’t do. But I also get points for good intentions, for being considerate, for good stuff I think about doing. For instance, let’s say we’re married, and I want you to stop leaving your dirty clothes on the bathroom floor, whilst you want me to stop leaving the toilet seat up. Every time I see myself putting the toilet seat down, I’ll smile a self-satisfied smile, pat myself on the back, and give myself some points for being a considerate spouse. But since I’m not you, I won’t be there to see you picking up your dirty clothes and putting them in the hamper six days in a row. I will, however, notice the one time you forget to do it. I’ll notice that one time, on the seventh day, that you left your dirty clothes in a nasty little pile on the bathroom floor. And when I’m telling you off later on, I’ll say that the fact that you failed to pick up after yourself just proves what I’ve long suspected: namely, that you’re a selfish, inconsiderate jerk. Of course you’ll indignantly protest: “But I remembered to do it six days in a row, and besides, you left the toilet seat up last night, and I told you how important that was to me!” To which I’ll indignantly reply: “But I remembered to put the toilet seat down six days in a row!” Things will, at this point, escalate to screaming and shouting and nowhere nice.

Is there a way out of this familiar story of domestic warfare? I believe there is. All of the truly great wisdom traditions of the world provide us with ways to emancipate ourselves from pointless cycles of resentment and bitterness. From the Roman Stoics, especially Epictetus, we can learn the fine art of forbearance: how to assume the best in those who piss us off, how to be as kind (and forgiving and compassionate) to others as we so often are to ourselves. For instance, if you were driving to work with Epictetus, and some guy cut you off to make his exit, the philosopher would tell you to assume that the guy had a good reason for doing what he did. Maybe his wife’s in labor in the backseat. Maybe he just got a horrible call from his daughter’s school. Maybe he’s gonna get fired if he’s late for work. Does this make cutting someone off in traffic okay? Of course not! But assuming the guy had a good reason takes the sting out of it by shutting up your self-righteous inner accountant.

The religious traditions of the world are, at their best, equally good at freeing you from the prison of your own resentment and bitterness. For instance, The Lord’s Prayer (Matthew 6:9-13) has Christians the world over reciting these salubrious words on a daily basis: “And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us.” What’s more, the passage is followed up with an explicit warning: “if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins” (Matthew 6:15). The strategies to be found are diverse, but they all come down to the same thing: Don’t keep score.

—John Faithful Hamer, Love Is Not a Liquid Asset (2020)