Dead Man Walking Compassion and Forgiveness Quotes

Part of compassion is realizing that you could be that other person over there. Here, Prejean is working with poor kids and recognizing that she's better off than they are not because she's morally better, but just because when she growing up, her parents had more money. For her, compassion means not just putting herself in their shoes, but also realizing that if she had been in their shoes, she'd probably be just like them. You don't wear the shoes; the shoes wear you.

So this is a kind of double flip of compassion. On the one hand, Prejean is acknowledging that she can't judge people who lose a loved one and want revenge—she can't know that she'd do any better. At the same time, Jesus tells her that she needs to meet hate with love. That means all hate, whether the violence of the murderer or the desire for revenge on behalf of the victim. Jesus says Prejean can't hate anyone. It's a tough rule.

Compassion here is not just for the murderer (who shouldn't be killed), but also for the public (who should be protected). But can these two things be reconciled? Prison is pretty horrible—is it mercy to condemn someone to life in prison? Prejean focuses on the death penalty; she doesn't really engage with the question of whether prison itself is humane or fair or merciful. But we suppose one book can't talk about everything.

Millard Farmer is explaining why juries are more likely to give the death penalty to people who murder whites. Juries are generally majority white, and white people feel more compassion for white victims. Compassion, then, is not necessarily a force for good, or forgiveness. Instead, it sometimes works as a spur to vengeance—and as a racist spur to vengeance at that.

Pat, the murderer, feels compassion and concern for Prejean—though there's some self-interest there, too. Does that make the compassion invalid? Surely there's a measure of selfishness in much compassion or caring for loved ones; people don't want to go on without those they love. But that doesn't necessarily make it fake.

Prejean encourages Pat to forgive those who want to see him die. Again, forgiveness is presented as being in part a matter of self-interest. Hate hurts the hater. It certainly hurt Pat; if he'd been a free and loving man in the first place, he maybe wouldn't have committed the horrible murder, and then he wouldn't be in this mess.

The chief of corrections is acknowledging that scheduled death, in which the condemned man knows the hour of his death, is essentially torture. He argues that this is what people want: they want the condemned man to suffer for his crimes. There's maybe some truth to that… but it's also the case that people don't necessarily think of execution as torture. They don't put themselves in the position of the condemned man; they have no compassion for him. Lack of compassion and lack of forgiveness go together.

This is one of the letters sent to Prejean after Pat's death. It's not exactly true that she offered no gesture of compassion to the victims' families, but she does feel like she could have done better. The letter-writer isn't so compassionate; in fact, the letter-writer sounds like a jerk, the sort of troll you'd want to avoid online. But the troll does make Prejean think that she should have been more compassionate towards victims' families. Prejean takes troll lemons and makes compassion lemonade.

Millard argues that Robert Lee Willie is childlike and therefore worthy of compassion. It's really never exactly clear that this is the case. Robert cares about his family, and has some insecurities—he's human. And he seems to crave acceptance, which could be seen as childlike. But if he's childlike, it's a pretty unpleasant child. In any case, does someone have to be vulnerable and sympathetic to deserve compassion? Robert is an awful person in most respects. Does that mean his life has no dignity or meaning? Do you have to pretend he's more sympathetic than he is in order to make him deserving of compassion?

This is a very painful scene, as Vernon and Elizabeth tell Prejean about how their daughter Faith was found murdered. The book insists that you feel compassion for their plight, and not just for that of the men being executed. It challenges you, in fact, to feel compassion for both. Can readers manage that? Is Prejean betraying Vernon and Elizabeth by arguing for Robert's life?

Compassion shifts to talk of rights. The question, though, is whether rights can be an adequate response to pain. Can justice provide Vernon with a sense of closure? Is revenge a compassionate solution, in the sense that it will help those who suffer? Vernon thinks it will; Prejean is not so sure.

Prejean is trying to convince Robert that violence is not a good solution to world problems. Robert's politics are very confused, but he likes the idea of strong solutions and strong leaders—you know, like Hitler. It's not clear that he ever really changes his mind. Pat seems really remorseful at the end of his life, and he seems to want to choose a path away from violence. Robert… it's not so clear. He's a hard guy to love (though Prejean gives it a try).

Elizabeth asks Prejean to be the Harveys' friend again, even though they had a falling out over Robert's execution. Vernon and Elizabeth are certainly vengeful in a lot of ways; they support the death penalty and want Robert to die. But they repeatedly reach out to Prejean, and even after she hurts them by speaking against Robert's death, they forgive her. People are complicated.