My curiosity on this subject was first kindled when I read a quote from Paul Flowers, disgraced Chairman of the Co-op bank, who claimed that sin was an ‘old-fashioned term, which I rarely use’. Given that Flowers was also a Methodist minister and had been accused of financial mismanagement, coke-sniffing and using rent boys, it seemed perhaps a term he should embrace. (To be fair, the statement, which came in response to Jeremy Paxman's Paul Flowers,
My interest was further aroused by Paul Vallely in an article in Vallely 2014, p. 7.
But it was when I read Francis Spufford's book Francis Spufford 2012, p. 28. One of the major obstacles to communicating what belief feels like is that I’m not working with a blank slate. Our culture is smudged over with half-legible religious scribbling. The vocabulary that is used to describe religious emotions hasn’t gone away, or sunk into an obscurity from which you could carefully reintroduce it, giving a little explanation as each unfamiliar new/old term emerged. Instead it's still in circulation, but repurposed, with new meanings generated by new usages; meanings that make people think they know what believers are talking about when they really, really don’t. Case in point: the word ‘sin’, that well-known contemporary brand name for ice cream. And high-end chocolate truffles. And lingerie in which the colour red predominates... Spufford 2012, p. 24.
So, is the word ‘sin’ outdated? Does it have no more than ironic usage in twenty-first-century popular parlance? It is this question that forms the basis of this article.
I am not the first person to address these questions in the twenty-first century: Hugh Connolly (2002), Gary Anderson (2009), Jason Mahn (2011), Derek Nelson (2011) and Paula Fredriksen (2012) have all found reason to explore the issue. Each of these, however, has begun with history and theology and rarely delved further into the thought processes of today's postmodern secular Western society. I decided to start the other way round, beginning in the twenty-first century and where necessary working backwards, to establish how the s-word got where it is today.
I began by trawling through newspaper references to the word ‘sin’ and attempting some analysis of where and how they appear. Although I looked at many articles and news items with some connection to ‘sin’ published over the last few years, I thought a more systematic approach was also needed. Therefore, using the database Newsstand and selecting at random a 16-day period, 2–17 March 2015, I made an analysis of all uses of the word. See the Appendix for a full analysis. Source:
My initial discovery was that to find the word used in contemporary media you must turn first to the sports pages, where half of all entries were found in the use of the term ‘sin bin’. For the uninitiated, like me, this refers to the penalty box used in rugby (and ice hockey) where any player engaging in dangerous play is sent to sit out for a period of the game. During this time the player is not replaced, so there is an element of letting the side down. The term occasionally transfers over into more general usage, such as the suggestion reported in several papers that MPs in the House of Commons should be sent to a ‘sin bin’ for barracking opponents: ‘Bring on the sin bin for MPs whose noise betrays contempt.’ Zoe Williams, ‘Opinion: Bring on the sin bin for MPs’,
The word ‘sin’ has also found a place in contemporary financial usage with the use of the term ‘sin stock’ for investments in tobacco, alcohol and defence, and ‘sin taxes’ for levies on alcohol, tobacco and, potentially, sugar. This latter example highlights a problem of my analysis, as I tried to discern whether the word was being used seriously, or ironically of mild wrongdoing (‘the worst sin of all, changing the recipe and taste of what was the best chocolate in the world’; ‘Cadbury is being led to disaster’, Janine Thomas, ‘Want sweet success in the kitchen?’, ‘Top searched destinations of 2015’, Jeff Prestridge, ‘Ofgem's “ban” is in a league of its own’,
Within the former, there were several examples that touched on self-indulgence in one form or another (‘the cardinal British sin, talking about yourself’; Brian Appleyard, ‘If the shoe fits’, Gillie Sutherland, Anthony Cummins, ‘The Critics: Fiction’,
Spufford is entirely right, though, in his comment that the word is still in wide circulation, albeit as ‘half-legible religious scribbling’, an observation evidenced by the number of ‘sin’ figures of speech still in common usage. Spufford 2012, p. 24. Both these examples were artificially swollen by new media releases: the first the film Katie Glass, ‘Glass House: Help, I’m a serial flat-sharer’, ‘It's spring and the Sun is out’,
But what of more serious uses of the word? For its use in an intentional Christian religious context, one has to turn to those smaller local papers that occasionally include a column from the local vicar or a letter from some strident believer. Other than that, reports of religious statements were generally tinged with editorial scepticism, as of the bishop who felt gay people should not be parents, Bishop Kevin Doran, quoted in ‘Gay People are not necessarily parents’, Christopher Woodhouse, ‘Preacher claims 50 shades could cause sex crimes’, ‘Christian nursery worker rejected yoga’, ‘Quote of the week’,
In national papers, ‘sin’ linked to religion was far more prevalent in an Islamic context (nine entries) than a Christian one. Examples include the British-born jihadi who craved martyrdom, asking ‘When will Allah pick me? It must be my sins’, Joe Hinton, ‘Dozens of UK Jihadis dying on front line’, ‘Boko Haram swears allegiance to Isil’,
But what are the activities that the secular UK media seriously consider to be ‘sin’? On the evidence of this sample, the most prevalent were racism (six entries) and financial misconduct (five), though suicide, murder, pornography and envy were also mentioned.
To sum up, however, it seems that Boyd Tonkin's comment, that ‘the audience will always root for warm-blooded sin over cold-hearted sanctity’, Boyd Tonkin (speaking of Jeremy Clarkson's dismissal from
To provide some comparison, I also examined uses of the word ‘evil’ over the same period. First to be noted is that ‘evil’, with 805 entries, gets a bigger press than ‘sin’. From this total, 287 related to fiction: film, TV and theatre drama, novels and computer games (‘evil villains’, the battle between good and evil). Another 105 referred to brutal crime; while other activities include the condemnation of gay people (9), dog poisoning at Crufts (5) and cruel tweets (4). There were, of course, a fair number of ironic references (the Tories, José Mourinho, capitalism, FIFA) and more trivial ones (sugar, motorists as seen by cyclists, calories, the fashion industry). The incidences of a Friday 13th and a partial eclipse brought a rash of articles on superstition and evil spirits (33), and the Christian religious context was again mainly limited to local papers. For more detail, again see Appendix.
It is noticeable that 205 mentions referred to what could be described as structural rather than personal evils: governments, ideologies, institutions, companies, etc. By far the highest of these with 105 mentions was Islam and Islamic terrorism. Figure swollen by reports on ‘Jihadi John’.
However, at the end of all this, what is for me the most interesting statistic is the number of times that ‘evil’ and ‘sin’ appear in the same article: a mere 15 times over the same period. Of these, six appeared in Irish papers, a higher incidence noticeable in the separate usages as well. Of the total number of references, the highest other category was fiction with 287 entries, followed by crime with 105. Twenty-two referred to the societal evils of various substances: drugs, tobacco, alcohol, sugar, baby formula milk (though only one mention of the evils of money). Apart from terrorists and criminals, the only individuals mentioned as evil (all ironically) were well-known institutional figures. Most others were figures of speech or ironic and trivial mentions.
The only use of the word ‘evil’ in relation to ordinary British people was a report of a crowd of onlookers gawping at a suicidal man threatening to jump from a tall building. Some jeered, telling him to ‘Go on, jump’, while others took selfies. The man eventually jumped to his death.
In summary, this analysis highlights a notable difference between the popular usage of ‘sin’ and ‘evil’. Sin, if used at all seriously, refers predominantly to individual cases of personal, and sometimes private, misdemeanour. By contrast, evil is something done by ‘the other’: terrorists, murderers, Nazis, or those in political or commercial power. Evil's prevalence as a term rather than ‘sin’ arguably indicates a tendency to divert responsibility for the world's wrongs away from ordinary individuals, and locate it in less personal organisations and systems. The use of ‘evil’ and the trivialising of the term ‘sin’ threatens to replace an understanding of responsibility for the cumulative effect of many small wrongs with a desire for scapegoating.
Having gained some understanding from this overview of the newspapers, it became clear that understanding the contemporary usage of sin was a potentially massive agenda. I now wanted to incorporate as many references as possible to relevant contemporary popular culture. So, to limit the scope, just two main areas of focus are included in this paper: the first looks at the tone of irony which suffuses so much of contemporary Western culture and at the pursuit of pleasure which very often underlies it; the second deals with sex, the dismissal of ‘sin’ as a term for any consenting adult activity, and the fury at institutional abuse. Out of these foci it will be possible to note the way the term ‘sin’ has slipped in contemporary usage, and give some initial pointers about whether it ought to be recovered by the Church.
Perhaps as good a way as any to begin to chart the overwhelming presence of irony in Western culture is a comparison between two films, both released in the UK in the summer of 2014, but arriving with us from outside and within Western culture respectively:
Mark Kermode,’ Film reviews’, Jonathan Landreth, ‘How China made sure there’d be no touch of sin at the Oscars’, 1 March 2014, Tania Branigan, ‘China must end silence on injustice warns Jia Zhangke’,
In contrast, ‘Saturday night. Me and all the other suckers, sucking up the juice. I get that way sometimes: empty in the gut, hollow in that lonely place and wishing I had an excuse to break somebody's face. It was just another Saturday night.’ ‘This place stinks. I never used to notice – not when I danced. Now I smell everything . . . I know exactly where I am. I know exactly what I am.’ ‘This rotten town. What it can’t corrupt, it soils . . . It soils everybody.’
Both films have the word ‘sin’ in the title, both portray horrific violence, and both explore the theme of ‘city’.
But now let us look at one particular city, and then move on to consider the indulgence and fantasy it epitomises.
My wider trawl through newspaper articles brought up many on Las Vegas – mainly for boxing bouts, star performances and starlet walkabouts – and in every case it was known at some point by its alter ego of Sin City. That is curious, because what epitomises Vegas these days is not vice, gangsters and drugs, but a giant simulacrum devoted to fantasy and sensory indulgence: an hourly erupting volcano, a first-floor Grand Canal, a never-ending circus show. Even its dark underbelly of gambling is rarely now enacted in the live drama of the gaming tables, rather it is the ‘slots’: the deadening lone interaction with a machine. It is, to use Umberto Eco's term, an ‘apex of hyperreality’. Umberto Eco, quoted in Kelton Cobb, Baudrillard 1981, p. 1. Baudrillard 1981, p. 2.
Does this suggest that when, as we frequently do, we find the s-word used as a metaphor for some sensory indulgence, it may be completely devoid of any assumption of a real underlying condition?
In answer, let us look at some of the products that this hyperreal metaphor has been used to promote. You can buy Sinful women's clothing, a range of rather ordinary tee-shirts and sweatshirts, emblazoned with ‘Sinful’ across the chest; or Sinner sunglasses, whose website proclaims ‘Follow your dreams just like we do’. Michael Gadd, ‘Sexy Silhouettes and Lashings of Lace’, Mike Anderoesz, ‘Games blog’,
Then, of course, there is indulgence of the taste buds. In 2003 Magnum famously launched a range of Seven Deadly Sins ice creams, under the slogan ‘Give in to it’. ‘Greed’ was tiramisu, ‘Jealousy’ was pistachio, ‘Lust’ was strawberry, and so on. All, of course, contained chocolate.
The marketing for GU Puds, while it does not use the s-word, adorns each packaged dessert with a series of slogans aimed at the same effect: ‘Pleasure is everything. Give in to happiness. Reject propriety, embrace variety. Prudence is sooo 1658. Life is fleeting; clasp it with both hands. Seek delight. Trust your impulses. Ordinary is pointless. Break free. All hail the GU decadents.’ Item bought in January 2015. Slimming World, on Mark Jackson, ‘Having her cake and eating it’,
The sense of food transgression need not be related to calories, however; another aspect is the breaking of a taboo as expressed by the Jewish author Howard Jacobson on his pleasure in a bacon sandwich: ‘Whenever I eat one I feel the very, very sweet, ecstatic consciousness of sin and the brown sauce makes it positively orgasmic.’ Sebastian Shakespeare, ‘So Camilla, what's cooking?’,
There are several elements at work in Jacobson's use of the s-word here. Irony, of course, since contemporary reason tells us there is no real damage likely to be caused by eating pork. It also signifies defiance, a pride and gleefulness in the rejection not just of a social norm or a parental prohibition, but also of an outmoded religious code, and ultimately God. Beyond that is the clear suggestion that it is not just the taste of bacon that provides the pleasure, but the very act of taboo-breaking. The ‘very, very sweet ecstatic’ state, coupled with the ‘orgasmic’ brown sauce, give the act of eating a sexual frisson and with it perhaps a faint reminder that the ancient taboo is based around a sense of uncleanness and defilement.
Jacobson's ecstasy-inducing sandwich brings to mind the term ‘jouissance’. Coined by the postmodern psychoanalyst Jaques Lacan, its nearest English translation, ‘enjoyment’, fails to communicate the dark edge which the French word conveys. Using Freud's definition of the ‘pleasure principle’ as the instinctual seeking of pleasure and avoidance of pain, Lacan suggests that ‘jouissance’ is a more irrational seeking of pleasure, which may lead on to pain, related to ‘transgressive violations, the breaching of boundaries and breaking of barriers’.
This is a very different view from that of Paul Ricoeur, who makes clear the difference between the ‘finitude of pleasure’ and the infinitude of ‘happiness’, which latter he describes as ‘the perfection of the total work of man . . . the termination of a destiny . . . the fullness of . . . beatitude’. For Ricoeur, the temporary satisfaction of pleasure, which as something rooted in finitude, is necessarily flawed and fallible, has eclipsed the ‘perfection of pleasure’ found in true happiness. Drastic action is needed: ‘A certain suspension of pleasure is necessary for the radical significance of happiness to be made clear and for pleasure itself to be reaffirmed.’ Ricoeur 1965, pp. 93, 95 and 96.
But the twenty-first-century Western zeitgeist is, as yet, unlikely to turn to suspension of pleasure. Credos of psychological hedonism – that pleasure or pain are the only things to motivate us – and ethical hedonism – that only pleasure has value – inevitably predominate in our consumerist landscape. Propelled by capitalism, fuelled by advertising, facilitated by a massive media machine, the drive for ever-increasing indulgence has arguably never been stronger and the s-word has been harnessed as part of this consumerist drive. Far from being something from which to flee, sin is seen here as something worth flirting with, perhaps even desiring. ‘Sin’ is ironic. Despite this, though, does the ironic and often deliberately cynical use of the word still carry echoes of an earlier and deeper meaning? Perhaps we have discovered our first pointer for the recovery of the concept in the Church.
Nowhere, it seems, is the ‘sin’ word more contended than in the sexual arena. The availability of birth control and the need for population limitation has irrevocably separated sex from procreation in the Western world, and an underlying philosophical drive towards personal freedom has abolished a whole raft of taboos: primarily sex outside marriage and same-sex relationships.
Writing in 1966, Paul Ricoeur seemed to imply that sexuality would not be the future battleground for ethics:
It is not from meditation on sexuality that a refinement of the consciousness of fault will be able to proceed, but from the non-sexual sphere of existence: from human relations created by work, appropriation, politics. Ricoeur 1967, p. 29.
Ricoeur must have been aware of the ‘sexual revolution’ of the 1960s, but perhaps he underestimated how much further it had to run. Nearly fifty years on, issues of sexuality are still proving to be a major field of conflict, at least within the Church. It remains to be seen, however, whether our preoccupation with this arena leads to the ‘refinement of the consciousness of fault’ that Ricoeur desired.
The underlying morality of sex had, of course, begun to shift very much earlier than the ‘swinging 60s’. Writing in the 1970s, the psychiatrist Karl Menninger asked the same question as this paper in his book The amazing circumstance is that some time after the turn of the present century, this ancient taboo, for the violation of which millions had been punished, threatened, condemned, intimidated and made hypocritical and cynical – a taboo thousands of years old – vanished almost overnight! . . . It is not difficult to see why ALL sin other than ‘crime’ seemed to many to have disappeared along with this one. Menninger 1973, p. 36.
Whether the change was quite as instant as Menninger claims is arguable, but certainly nowadays no one believes the rumours of blindness, hairy hands and stunted growth. Even the Catholic Church has toned down much of its previous rhetoric against masturbation, while still teaching that it is ‘an intrinsically and seriously disordered act’. Menninger 1973, p. 36.
Curiously, though, masturbation is still a taboo subject, or at least it is in serious contexts. It is a different matter when it comes to humour, where it has become the source of numerous jokes: famously, there is Cameron Diaz's hair gel in Peep Show, 2008, series 5, episode 2, ‘Jeremy's broke’. It should be noted that this breaks a different taboo from male masturbation, more linked to issues of impurity than the concept of natural law.
In the internet era, however, with ever-available and increasingly extreme pornography exploitatively using women and children for arousal, and with sex addiction reported as massively on the increase, perhaps masturbation should again be taken seriously. Over 10,500 people in the UK used a sex addiction online recovery programme in the 18 months from January 2014, reported by Martin Daubney, ‘The lust generation’,
But beyond the harm done by the practice itself is another danger. Masturbation's status in moral discourse (or perhaps, its lack of status) is a telling indicator of the contemporary attitude towards ‘sin’ in general. When society sweeps away a taboo such as this, the whole concept of sin is discredited. As John Portmann remarks, referring to masturbation, alongside birth control and loss of virginity: ‘Since so few people believe in them any more, these over-the-hill sins risk ruining the reputation of other, genuinely dangerous sins.’ Portmann 2007, p. xvii.
It is not only the sins, however, that risk losing their reputation in today's culture, but also the Church itself. Here I will focus primarily on the Roman Catholic Church, because it has been such a target for contemporary media, as an authority structure discredited and in disarray. To serve as examples, let us look at two recent films.
The movie
‘That's certainly a startling opening line,’ replies Father James, and the man goes on to explain that he was raped by a priest, orally and anally, for five years. He states that in revenge for this crime he is going to kill Father James in one week's time.
There’d be no point in killing a bad priest. But killing a good one, that’d be a shock, wouldn’t it. I’m going to kill you, Father . . . because you’ve done nothing wrong. I’m going to kill you because you’re innocent.
Thus the film's premise is set up and it takes us through the week leading to Father James’ personal Calvary. Every parishioner seems to have some dark secret to hide, and the laconic priest accepts them all, not without challenge, but certainly without blame: ‘I think there's too much talk about sins, to be honest . . . I think forgiveness has been highly under-rated.’ Despite his matter-of-fact kindness, his parishioners are cynical. One comments behind his back: ‘Good man, fine man, makes you wonder what he's hiding.’ The most telling moment comes when the priest catches up with a little girl walking alone down a country lane. He chats quietly, walking alongside her, until the girl's father drives up and angrily gathers up the child, his silent fury indicating the assumption that a priest alone with a child must be contemplating paedophilia.
The priest keeps his appointment at the beach and meets his death, taking upon himself the sins of the Church of which he is part.
It is no surprise that
In a recent TV series entitled
Another recent movie, also set in Ireland and based on a true story, told of a different aspect of abuse. ‘Those girls have nobody to blame but themselves and their carnal incontinence. What do you expect me to do about it now?’ ‘I tell you what you could do. Say Sorry. Apologise. Stop trying to cover things up. Get out there and clear all the weeds and crap off the graves of the mothers and babies who died in childbirth.’ ‘Their suffering was atonement for their sins.’ ‘One of those mothers was 14 years old!’ ‘The Lord Jesus Christ will be my judge, not the likes of you.’ ‘Really? I think if Jesus was here now, he’d tip you out of that fucking wheelchair and you wouldn’t get up and walk.’
Sin and atonement are closely linked here; in this case the Sister's response showed she felt the mothers and babies were experiencing atonement, while Sixsmith's response indicates he felt they were being scapegoated. This difference of perspective highlights the contemporary uncertainty over where to locate and how to describe personal responsibility, which is thus a contributing factor to the slippage of the usage of the s-word.
In April 2014 Pope Francis did show himself willing to apologise, taking responsibility for child sex abuse by clergy and asking forgiveness for the damage caused. He committed the Catholic Church to stronger action on child protection and tougher penalties to offenders. David Batty, ‘Banksy wades into Catholic Church abuse scandal with new sculpture’,
Abuse issues are at least clear-cut. No one doubts that such institutional corruption deserves the label ‘sin’. It stands in its own category of wrongdoing, more to do with power and control than lust per se, while also pointing up the dangers of repression inherent in celibacy. When it comes to sexual activity by consenting adults, however, it is a different issue. In official Catholic Church documents, the term ‘living in sin’ continues to be used for those in any sexual relationships outside marriage (including remarried divorcees), and the Church officially bans such people from receiving communion. Pope Francis, who is forthright and frequent in his use of the s-word, has largely avoided the term in reference to sexual matters and is working hard to loosen attitudes. In March 2015 an old family friend of the Pope leaked the news that the pontiff had privately told a divorced woman ‘living in sin’ that she could receive Holy Communion. The Vatican did not deny the news but said that ‘if’ the Pope had these conversations they were private and did not have any bearing on the teaching of the Church. Matt Roper, ‘Pope told divorced woman “living in sin” she could receive Holy Communion’,
All the while, as the institution resists change, its attitude to sex is frequently derided by outsiders, particularly those who were previously inside. The once logical connections between sin, atonement and salvation have been turned inside out as the Church's stance is considered utterly untenable. Pop diva Madonna, who has a long history of shock tactics using religious iconography, illustrated this recently with her song ‘Holy Water’, released in March 2015:
Madonna Ciccone, Martin Kierszenbaum, Natalia Noemi, ‘Holy Water’,
In these lyrics what was once considered ‘sin’ now becomes salvation, and Madonna takes it upon herself to provide a priestly absolution.
In 2014, a newer and more thoughtful artist, Irish rock musician Hozier, had a hit single with a related message in ‘Take Me to Church’. Against a video depicting gay intimacy, the lyrics claim, ‘There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.’ The Church he describes, however, is harsh and unforgiving:
Hozier, ‘Take Me to Church’, Columbia, Ruby-Works, Universal-Island, 2013.
In an interview, Hozier explained how the song grew out of his childhood frustration with his church background: ‘Growing up, I always saw the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church. The history speaks for itself and I grew incredibly frustrated and angry.’ Andy Greene, ‘Behind Hozier's Unlikely Rise’, [T]he church through its doctrine would undermine humanity by successfully teaching shame about sexual orientation . . . There is still that kind of public relations tactical retreat of saying ‘We love the sinner but we hate the sin’. It's a backhanded way of telling someone to be ashamed of who they are and what they do. James Shepherd, ‘Q & A: Hozier on Gay Rights, Sexuality and Good Hair’,
The use of the word ‘sin’ to engender a sense of shame is also recognised by the other end of the theological spectrum; for instance, Micah J. Murray, an evangelical media commentator, says:
I’m done. I can’t look my gay brother in the eye anymore and say ‘I love the sinner but hate the sin’ . . . Despite my theological disclaimers about how I’m just as much a sinner too, it's not the same. We don’t use that phrase for everybody else. Only them. Only ‘the gays’ . . . It's a special sort of condescending love we’ve reserved for the gay community. Micah Murray, ’Why I can’t say love the sin, hate the sinner any more’, 31 December 2013,
The application of the word ‘sin’ to homosexual activity brings the issues surrounding the term into sharp relief. It seems that no use of the word ‘sin’ provokes as much rage, both considered and irrational, as when applied to homosexuals, as these news items demonstrate:
A born-again Christian nursery worker . . . was fired for gross misconduct after telling a lesbian colleague her lifestyle was a sin. Singer Ariana Grande turned to the Kabbalah faith after her homosexual brother was rejected by the Catholic faith. ‘When my brother was told God didn’t love him, I was like, “OK, that's not cool” . . . [The Church] said Spongebob Squarepants is gay and he's a sinner and should burn in hell . . .’ ‘My brother was told God didn’t love him’, Actress Lea DeLaria unleashed an expletive-filled rant at a Bible preacher on a New York subway train . . . The exchange became more unpleasant when he mentioned the ‘sin’ of homosexuality. ‘Moment Orange is New Black actress unleashed expletive-filled rant’,
One of the reasons that the application of the s-word to homosexuality has brought it into such sharp contention is that, while ‘love the sinner and hate the sin’ is a regular mantra of the Church, it is difficult to separate identity and activity in the sexual arena. Homosexuality, as with all sexuality, not only describes certain behaviours, but also profoundly embraces someone's sense of identity, and so it is often felt that to call it ‘sin’ therefore implies a wholesale rejection of a person's humanity.
It is for this reason that there has in some quarters been a retreat from using the s-word in this context. So, for instance, evangelical leader Steve Chalke rocked the evangelical community in 2013 by taking a stand for gay marriage, refusing to treat gay people as ‘pariahs’ and ‘blame them for who they are’. Christopher Bunn, ‘The radical evangelical whose support for gay marriage is rocking his field’, 23 January 2013, David Willey, ‘Pope Francis has said gay people should not be marginalised’, Jenn Selby, ‘Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby discusses gay rights with Muslim students’,
However, he too was careful to uphold his Church's position by reiterating opposition to gay marriage. These statements show a humility and compassion that must be applauded, but they do, of course, raise a rather large question. If the two senior church leaders of the Western world describe themselves as unqualified to judge, then who, if anyone, can evaluate what is sinful behaviour any more, and on what basis can they do it?
The danger of avoiding sin-talk in the sexual arena is that it easily leads to throwing out the concept of personal sin altogether. It can create a strange vacuum, as theologian Patrick Cheng discovered. In his book One of the things that puzzled me, however, was that sin or grace was rarely discussed from the pulpit. Yes, there was a condemnation of the evils of homophobia within religious and secular institutions. And yes, there was a condemnation of structural evils such as racism, sexism, poverty and violence. However there was little to no discussion about individual sins that separated us from God, our neighbours and our true selves. Nor was there any discussion of the amazing grace that made us whole . . . At best, I have found that LGBT Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender. Cheng 2012, pp. 3–4.
While Cheng acknowledges that ‘This silence is understandable because so many LGBT people have been deeply wounded by sin-talk’, he points out that ‘Ignoring the doctrines of sin and grace deprives us of the theological tools to describe the true state of the world’. Cheng 2012, pp. 5 and 6.
There are small signs that it is not only within the theological arena that there is a yearning for the language of sin.
One of the most highly applauded TV drama series of recent times is Maureen Ryan, interview with Vince Gilligan, 8 August 2012, Kyle Roberts, ‘Breaking Bad: Why society still needs “sin language”’, 16 August 2012, Vince Gilligan, in Ryan 2012. Vince Gilligan, interview in
A similar sort of yearning is expressed by Katie Carr, a character in Nick Hornby's novel Hornby 2001, p. 193.
At an earlier point in the novel, Katie describes what drove her to the church:
When I look at my sins (and if I think they’re sins, then they are sins), I can see the appeal of born-again Christianity. I suspect that it's not the Christianity that is so alluring, it's the rebirth. Because who wouldn’t wish to start all over again? Hornby 2001, p. 181.
It is clear that the word ‘sin’ is in trouble. It is no longer common currency, or at least not in the way the Church has understood it for centuries. Moreover, use of the word is frequently dismissed as a bad thing in itself – though not everyone is quite so damning as Richard Dawkins, with his assertion that ‘The Christian focus is overwhelmingly on sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin sin. What a nasty little preoccupation to have in your life.’ Dawkins 2006, p. 285.
However you describe it, though, society continues to have a deep malaise, which needs to be diagnosed and named. While the word itself may be in trouble, an understanding of sin is indispensable, as theologian Alasdair MacIntyre asserts: ‘Christianity would collapse without a working sense of sin.’ MacIntyre 2007, quoted by Portmann 2007, p. 27.
Karl Menninger maintains, ‘The clergyman [ Karl Menninger 1973, p. 198.
This then is the dilemma: in the face of widespread changes in meaning, can the word ‘sin’ really still be used, given that the concept remains so crucial? Since we cannot wipe the slate clean, how do we cope with its residual cultural usage, which as we have seen is often far from helpful?
In conclusion, then, what pointers for the rehabilitation of sin-talk can we draw from our survey of its use (and avoidance) in contemporary culture?
Francis Spufford, with whom we began, offers one route. He works around the difficulties of the word ‘sin’ by appealing instead to the ‘common ground’ of human experience. Speaking about ‘the HPtFTu’, Spufford suggests that ‘almost everyone recognises this as one of the truths about themselves’. Spufford 2012, p. 27. Rowan Williams, quoted in Tate 2010, p. 50.
The other route, of course, is to recover the word ‘sin’ itself. If, as Paul Tillich claims, ‘There is a mysterious fact about the great words of our religious tradition. They cannot be replaced . . . There are no substitutes for words like “sin” and “grace”’,
Picture language such as ‘stain’, ‘trespass’, ‘burden’ and ‘bondage’, for example, may resonate much more with human experience (which is why the Bible is so full of it). Care must be taken, however, with metaphors that potentially convey the wrong image. ‘Debt’ and ‘disobedience’, for example, are grounded in sound biblical concepts, but, without that background, immediately conjure up images of a demanding, autocratic God, which could be counter-productive. Pope Francis uses what might be one of the more appropriate metaphors for our generation, describing the Church as a field hospital and stating that ‘Sin is a wound. It needs to be treated, healed.’ Ricoeur 1965, p. 23.
Whatever happened to sin? We have seen that ‘sin’, with its sense of personal responsibility, has slipped from our contemporary mindset, leaving behind only ironic and trivial usages, and the term ‘evil’ as the remaining category by which to diagnose society's malaise. Our challenge is to recover both the concept and an appropriate language to articulate it. Recognising that the residual usage of the s-word includes echoes of its former, fuller meaning is one place to start.