The Rationality of Resentment: When Is Holding a Grudge Justified?

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I’m sitting here thinking about how much I hate people. Not just the usual dislike—the kind of loathing that builds over time when you realize you’re surrounded by a bunch of hypocrites.

Not just the fleeting irritation when some dude cuts you off in traffic or your boss asks you to “go the extra mile” for no extra pay.

No, this is the deep, seething hatred that comes when you’ve been burned, left with nothing but the bitter taste of betrayal, and maybe a few bruised ribs for good measure.

And as I sit here with a drink in my hand, I can’t help but ask: Is holding a grudge ever rational?

The philosophers would probably tell you that grudges are irrational—that they belong in the emotional realm, and we should just let them go.

“Let it go,” they’d say, as if letting go were a simple thing.

It’s not. If it was, there wouldn’t be entire bookshelves dedicated to self-help garbage about forgiveness.

There wouldn’t be endless podcasts about “how to move on” and “let go of resentment.”

Yeah, great idea—except you can’t really forget the feeling of betrayal, can you?

I’m not here to preach some nice, warm-and-fuzzy “just forgive” sermon. If I wanted to do that, I’d probably be wearing a tie and pretending to care about people’s emotional well-being in some corporate office, nodding along while they try to sell me insurance.

But I’m not. I’m here to tell you the truth, and the truth is this: holding a grudge isn’t always a bad thing.

Sometimes, it’s about survival. It’s how we make sure that the assholes who hurt us don’t get another shot.

Why We Hold Grudges: It’s in Our Nature, Baby

Grudges, like many things in life, are rooted in survival.

Think about it: If you live in the jungle, or any hostile environment for that matter, you need to remember who’s out to get you.

Maybe you didn’t get the memo, but we’ve evolved to survive, not to forgive.

If someone punches you in the face, your brain doesn’t say, “Well, that’s okay, I’ll forgive you and move on.”

No, it says, “You just made a mistake, and I’m going to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

That’s the primal instinct at work. We’re wired to hold onto negative experiences because they help us avoid getting hurt again.

It’s like that old trick your grandma taught you: “Once bitten, twice shy.” It’s basic survival. It’s not about emotions; it’s about not dying.

The only problem is, in the modern world, we don’t always need to be that cautious. But guess what? That primal instinct doesn’t care. It’s been around for centuries, and it still runs the show.

The irrational part of us wants revenge. The rational part says, “Let’s assess the situation logically, and move on.” Sure, that sounds nice in theory.

But what happens when the person who wronged you is still out there, breathing, walking, probably doing the same thing to someone else?

You’re supposed to just forgive and forget, as if your pain is some abstract concept to be tossed aside like a used tissue. Sorry, that’s not how it works.

The Rational World vs. The Emotional One

Now, I’m not saying that being completely irrational is a good thing. There’s a reason we have the ability to reason. I’m just saying that, if we were all rational beings, things would be a hell of a lot more boring.

Imagine a world without grudges. It’d be like a bad self-help book. People would just move on, cutting each other out of their lives with no emotional attachment whatsoever.

Relationships would be like business transactions—cold, efficient, and completely devoid of any substance.

Forgiveness, in a purely rational world, is a dead concept. “Oh, you hurt me? I’m going to cut you out of my life and move on with no emotional baggage.”

Fine, I get it. But the problem is, humans aren’t robots. We’re a mess of contradictions. We feel things. We care. We can’t just shut down our emotions when it’s convenient.

Here’s the truth: In a world of purely rational beings, there would be no passion. There would be no art, no music, no poetry. We would live like machines—no room for forgiveness because forgiveness requires a soul.

And if we’re just cold, calculating creatures, we’d probably stop giving a damn about anything at all. What a dreary existence that would be.

Explaining It Like I’m Talking to The Dumbest Kid In School

Alright, kid, sit tight. Let me explain it to you simply. You know when someone kicks you in the gut and then laughs?

Yeah, that sucks. Now, some people would tell you to just move on. “Don’t hold a grudge. Let it go. Forgive them.”

But here’s the thing: When you forgive, you’re not just being nice. You’re pretending like that kick didn’t hurt, like it didn’t leave a mark. And maybe that’s okay if it’s a little jab, but if someone keeps kicking you in the gut, you’re going to want to remember it.

Here’s the deal: Holding a grudge isn’t about being angry for no reason. It’s about making sure that the next time someone tries to kick you in the gut, you’re ready.

You won’t let them get away with it again. But you don’t have to stay angry forever. You can let the anger go when you’re ready. It’s about having control over the situation. It’s about not being a sucker. And that’s not irrational. That’s smart.

Data and Opposing Views: The Other Side of the Coin

Okay, let’s talk about the other side.

We’ve all read those books where some guy goes on a journey to find peace, to forgive, to let go of his bitterness.

The Dalai Lama would tell you that forgiveness is the highest form of wisdom. And maybe he’s right, in some Zen kind of way.

But let’s be real: if someone burned down your house, you wouldn’t be handing them a bouquet of flowers and saying, “Hey, no hard feelings.”

In movies, characters like Michael Corleone in The Godfather don’t forgive—they take revenge. Their grudges fuel their actions. That’s what drives the plot, what makes it interesting.

If he forgave the guy who killed his brother, the movie would’ve ended in 15 minutes. No one wants that. We love the drama, the conflict. And let’s face it, sometimes holding a grudge can feel a hell of a lot better than offering forgiveness.

There’s a scientific argument here, too. Neuroscience tells us that when we hold grudges, we’re activating the amygdala—the brain’s emotional center.

It’s all part of the fight-or-flight response. But guess what? The brain also has the prefrontal cortex, the rational part. The trick is learning how to override the emotional response and make a choice.

The problem is, that takes practice. And sometimes, it just feels better to hang on to the anger.

Table 1: The Rational vs. Emotional Grudge Debate

Rational ForgivenessHolding a Grudge
Prevents unnecessary retaliationKeeps emotional wounds open
Acknowledges danger without emotionMay cloud judgment with emotional bias
Leads to less conflict in theoryMay cause more emotional distress
More efficient and peacefulMore satisfying in the short term

Тhe Absurdity of Forgiveness

Now, here’s where it gets dark. Let’s face it: the universe doesn’t care. Life is absurd. If you don’t believe me, ask Camus or Sartre.

The universe isn’t giving you any cosmic hints on how to live a better life. It’s indifferent. You’re just a speck of dust in an infinite void, and once you’re gone, you’ll be forgotten.

That’s the truth, I think.

So when you choose whether or not to forgive, remember this: The universe doesn’t give a damn. But you do. You have to make the choice. Do you hold onto the grudge, or do you let it go? In the grand scheme of things, it might not matter, but it matters to you.

And sometimes, that’s all you’ve got.

The Story to End All Stories

You want a story? Fine, here’s one that fits.

A few years ago, I worked as a copywriter at a firm—just another cog in the machine. One of the other guys, let’s call him Dave, was a real prick.

Always cutting corners, always talking down to people, always taking credit for others’ work. So one day, I decided I’d had enough. I got my revenge—nothing crazy, just a little well-timed sabotage to ruin his perfect little world.

The next morning, I walked into work, and Dave was gone. Just gone. Apparently, he’d been caught doing something far worse than what I’d set him up for, and he was out.

Fired. A week later, I’m sitting at a bar, having a drink, and I see him walk by. He’s wearing the same sad look I’d seen a hundred times before, only now, it’s pointed in my direction. He doesn’t say a word.

And here’s the kicker: I don’t feel sorry for him. Not one bit. I should’ve forgiven him, right? Let it go. But I didn’t.

So maybe I’ll hold a grudge forever (probably not).

But maybe, that’s one of the things that keep humans alive.

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