Even as I write this, I'm still convincing myself that it's a good idea to approach the matter of sin, and Sin itself, this early on. Largely I comfort myself with the reality that this personal inquisition is merely intended to meet the satisfaction of my own belief; I'm not trying to prove this with acute perfection to any standard other than my own. Still, I do hope, as I continue to think on the matter, to propose a perspective of Sin somewhat unique—not that I intend to contradict the traditional doctrine of Sin, but I fancy it to be held as a clerical term when I do not believe it to be as such; we think Sin to be exclusively subjective to religion, and I believe this is true, but that isn't to say there is no sin apart from religious doctrine. (Note: sin and Sin will be differentiated momentarily.)
Before I get to Sin, however, I want to clarify a cardinal virtue of my perspective that is important to understand how I view sin. Religion is a type of World View; that is, a lens by which we view the world. Sort of like going to the optometrist and sitting in the seat where you're being asked, "Which is clearer: A, or B?" The optometrist flips lenses back and forth and relies on your ability to distinguish the clearer of the two—a strange idea, if you think about it, for how precisely do we actually know what the 'clearer' view is? One may argue that we know it by the feel of the shape of things and reasoning thereafter, which is a fine idea. So that is to say we have an idea of reality, but we long for the clarity by which to view it and make sense of it—and that is the purpose of a World View. Without one we are near-sighted, for we can only comprehend the immediate and find anything beyond the tip of our own fingers blurry and confusing. A World View, therefore, must answer life's four basic philosophical questions coherently: origin, meaning, morality, and destiny; where do we come from? why are we here? how ought we conduct ourselves (if at all)? and where are we going? Christianity is a World View, as are Buddhism, Atheism, Hinduism, Nihilism, and Taoism. Like staring through the lenses, there is a lens which produces a true clarity of reality; it's not merely important to have a lens, as some would argue, but that this lens produces a coherent view of reality. The reason I mention this, as it pertains to Sin, is truly to express that Sin is an element of reality and must therefore make sense; I intend not to explain something into existence, but to explain something already existent—an important distinction and a cardinal virtue of mine.
In my family it has never been important for shoes to be taken off at the door, but I have been to many homes where that was part of the house rules. One walks in the door, glances at the ground, notes the shoes, and kicks off their present pair in observed propriety. Socially this is considered polite, and most often even if it wasn't necessary a home owner would appreciate such a gesture. Let's say, however, that I were to go to my friend's house where they do this and ignore the rules: I walk in the house, my friend kindly informs me of the rule, and I ignore her and walk right on to the carpet. Now she's annoyed with me for my rudeness, and rightfully so. After a moment of standing on the carpet, I stare at her and see her annoyed expression; I walk off the carpet, kick off my shoes, and declare, "There." Chances are my friend isn't going to suddenly correct her expression to a smile, and wander into the living room to sit down as if nothing had happened. Albeit my shoes are off and the rule is therefore satisfied, so what's the problem? In a word, the issue is the relationship, and something did happen when I blatantly chose to disobey her. The rule here is entirely subjective and could have been anything, and the matter goes deeper than general social propriety that we ought respect the rules of another home; one could point out that the issue of the shoes didn't create the problem, but rather brought the problem to light—something wrong was brought to the surface, something not good, and it acts as a barrier, a wall in our relationship. Again, the issue is not the broken rule, it's the relationship.
Here a word is popularly used to describe this sensation of self, and it's a particularly simple word, 'hurt'; that is, in that situation I would have hurt my friend. Odd, really, as she is physically well, and emotionally there was no such abuse. Even psychology becomes a bit muddled here, as one may come from a life of terrible abuse from one's parent, receive some terrible wounds, and ultimately overcome said abuse and become psychologically well again—which is important: the person may be well again, and truly so in every measurable way—but the relationship will never be the same again. Back to my friend, it is entirely possible that I have not wounded my friend psychologically or otherwise, but it hurt, and the important question is why. It is an incredible thing, if it is true, that a person should on some level grieve the relationship itself.
By this point I shall apply the words "sin" and "Sin" to the situation. Please follow the definition as I'm providing and intending them, and try to refrain from immediately denouncing the subject matter based on my use of vocabulary. Disagreement is welcome, but please disagree with a step of the process and not the conclusion in spite of the process of thinking.
For me to walk into a place which belongs to my friend and disobey her rules, that is sin as a verb. Truly, I would have sinned against my friend, for I caused greater division in our friendship. That division itself and the division in me—for the sin came from somewhere—is, capitalized, Sin, the noun. If I may, then, it is important to recall that the issue in the home was not the shoes, it was the broken relationship; nor was—as we so satirically remark upon—the issue in The Garden of The Fruit stolen from the tree, it was the broken relationship between Man and God. Likewise (and this is risky of me to say, I know) neither is Hell the issue of fire or the lack of pearly gates, it is the separation of Man and God on account of the already present division. I do not say this, however, even to suddenly attempt and prove Christianity! I do not! But merely to clarify that it is the same division between Man to Man that is addressed Man to God. This is important: Even if I were not a Christian, I would still admit to Sin on these terms! For there is division; I have seen it, caused it, and received it. There may be a group together under one house with a father, mother, and children, but they may yet be the furthest thing from a family on account of some unseen division; observed in their conduct and experienced in their hearts. Christianity takes this but a step further, and says, "Yes, there is a division in the hearts of men and women, but there is also a divide in the heart of Man; indeed in the very soul." And sin, it is vital to realize, is always between two people—a person may beat and severely psychologically or otherwise wound an animal, but the sin was not against the animal (however there was Sin); in addition, there is not great tragedy or wrongness between two animals fighting, but there is a tragedy and wrongness when Man goes to war. I shall, as pertains to such creatures, lose to animal lovers and zoologists, but I would merely concede sin, then, to be between two creatures; suffice it to say, it takes two: persons, families, teams, or nations. I will conclude my thoughts, as pertains to psychology with a quote from Dr. Hobart Mower, one time professor at Harvard and Yale and president of the American Psychological Association:
"For several decades we psychologists looked upon the whole matter of sin and moral accountability as a great incubus and acclaimed our liberation from it as epoch making. But at length we have discovered that to be free in this sense, that is, to have the excuse of being sick rather than sinful, is to court the danger of also becoming lost. This danger is, I believe, betokened by the widespread interest in existentialism, which we are presently witnessing. In becoming amoral, ethically neutral and free, we have cut the very roots of our being, lost our deepest sense of selfhood and identity, and with neurotics, themselves, we find ourselves asking, “Who am I, what is my deepest destiny, what does living mean?”
I want to conclude this with the consequence of Sin, in broad strokes. Entire books have been written on the subject, both secular and religious, and one of the greatest and most spoken questions in university classrooms today is on the origin and nature of evil—which is, if I may, the space within the divide. It is vitally important, in this subject, to consider where Dr. Hobart Mower expresses courting the danger of becoming lost. Perhaps this sound melodramatic, but indeed it is not. I should be forever lost in my relationship with my friend if I were to forever neglect the divide within the relationship itself; it is not like Columbus getting lost and discovering America, one does not accidentally resolve a broken relationship—it takes great intention, reality, and, in a word, forgiveness; that is, in order to fill a hole in the ground one must acknowledge it, accept it, and fill it. So many at this point get hung up on the offense itself. We often deny Sin, for it is a messy business, and insist that the problem lays entirely with the shoes, or disrespect, or disobedience.
In the Bible there is the Gospel according to the Apostle Luke, and in that book is one of the greatest stories I've ever encountered that sums up the reality of Sin. In the story there are two sons of a good father. One day the younger son decides he would like his inheritance immediately; either for his father to drop dead now, or give it to him atypically. At this point, culturally, one expects to hear the intervention of the older son, but he remains conspicuous by his silence. The father, however, loves his sons and divides the inheritance between them. Both have extremely dishonored the father, and the younger one therefore resolves to leave home. Again, culturally, it is likely here that the community performed a special ceremony here and broke jars of bitter herbs and spices as the son left to signify that he can never come back. So the son is gone, and lives in extravagance for a time—not necessarily wickedly, but ostentatiously. Finally, having squandered his wealth, the youngest finds himself working with pigs (the lowest of cultural jobs) and so hungry he craves what they're eating. At this point the son, in the Greek, comes to himself; much like waking up or sobering up from being drunk, and becomes aware of his own situation. He reasons that even his father's servants don't live so terribly, and he will therefore go home, say he's sorry, and ask to be a hired servant—as to eventually buy himself back. The son goes home. At this point if it is true, as it likely was, that the ceremony of exile was exercised, then in order to get back into the village the son would have to go between two lines of all the men of the village who would attempt to stone him as he ran through, but he had clearly resolved on the matter. While the son was crossing the distance, however, the father sees him and runs out to him. In order to get to his son quickly, the father must run, and to do so he would have lifted his dress—which was dishonorable for an old man to expose his ankles—but the father clearly felt it was worth it. Upon reaching his son he put his robe on him, kissed him passionately (in such a way as between equals), and welcomed him home. At this point the son, deeply moved, confessed, "‘Father, I have sinned against both heaven and you, and I am no longer worthy of being called your son." And he left it at that. (Luke 15:11-32)
There is more to the story, and I believe it stirs the heart of the Christian and non-Christian alike; anyone who has ever been truly hurt. But I want to end the story there to acknowledge a powerful truth: the son in the story had previously resolved to be asked a servant in order to pay his father back, but when it came down to the passionate forgiveness of his father, no such request emerged. He realized at that point that the problem was not the lost money, but the broken relationship; that he had sinned against his father. It is, I believe, direly important that we acknowledge the presence of Sin in our relationships and within ourselves. From there it is an important question to search as to where Sin came from, and to call the problem for what it is—the issue of actions, thoughts, emotions, and even evil itself are not the roots, but the leaves; for "the problem at the heart of humanity is the problem of the human heart." Sin is real, let us accept this.
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