Keywords : sin, original sin, the Fall, Adam, crime
and punishment, hamartiology, Augustine, Luther, Paul.
Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, in this way death spread to all men, because all sinned. (Romans 5:12)
Paul’s interpretation of original sin became a
cornerstone of Christianity. Similar themes appear across various
cultures. The concept of original sin was familiar to the
Greeks — after accepting Prometheus’s
gift of fire, humanity was punished by Zeus with the plagues
released from Pandora’s box. Plato’s Symposium
tells of an original sin that caused all future generations to
lose their primordial wholeness (a myth derived from Homer). In
earlier Mesopotamian mythology, the high god’s gardener
Tagtug ate from the forbidden cinnamon tree, resulting in
shortened lifespans, daily toil, and suffering for all future
generations (cf. Langdon, 1915, pp. 50ff). Australian
Aboriginal mythology speaks of an original transgression where
humans began eating meat against the high god Baiame’s
laws, thereby bringing death and suffering into the world (cf.
Langloh Parker, 1973, pp. 9f). These parallel narratives
across diverse cultures suggest a universal human understanding
of a foundational breach between the divine and human realms,
resulting in the current state of human suffering and
mortality.
Such religious explanatory models may seem difficult for modern
minds to accept. However, they follow the same principle as
Platonic theory of forms, where universal concepts encompass
individual multiplicities. In this understanding, Adam serves as
the universal embodiment of humanity, making all subsequent
generations participants in his transgression. This same
principle applies to redemption through Christ, as expressed in
1 Corinthians 15:22: “For as in Adam all die, so in
Christ all will be made alive.” Platonic ideation is
essential to religious thought; without it, any religious
worldview would lose its coherence and meaning. Accordingly, the
religious historian Mircea Eliade regards Plato “as
the thinker who succeeded in giving philosophic currency and
validity to the modes of life and behaviour of archaic
humanity” (Eliade, 1959, p. 34). While such thinking
may appear to conflict with scientific understanding, the
doctrine of original sin provides insights into human nature that
purely materialistic explanations cannot fully capture.
Blaise Pascal (1623 – 1662) says:
It is, however, an astounding thing that the mystery furthest from our ken, that of the transmission of sin, should be something without which we can have no knowledge of ourselves.
Without doubt nothing is more shocking to our reason than to say that the sin of the first man has implicated in its guilt men so far from the original sin that they seem incapable of sharing it. This flow of guilt does not seem merely impossible to us, but indeed most unjust. What could be more contrary to the rules of our miserable justice than the eternal damnation of a child, incapable of will, for an act in which he seems to have so little part that it was actually committed 6,000 years before he existed? Certainly nothing jolts us more rudely than this doctrine, and yet, but for this mystery, the most incomprehensible of all, we remain incomprehensible to ourselves. (Pascal, 1995, § 131)
Perhaps we need to understand reality in two distinct ways,
much like how physicists understand light through two different
models (as waves and as photons). Pascal aligns with
Martin Luther on this matter. In Disputatio de
homine, Luther challenges the classical definition of humans
as animal rationale. While philosophy and science view
humans as a collection of empirical characteristics, this alone
fails to distinguish them from animals. What truly defines
humanity is our awareness of being fallen beings in a fallen
world. The central issue is justification from sin, achieved
through faith alone. Within this framework, both humanity and God
can only be understood through their mutual relationship.
Importantly, Luther maintains that immoral behaviour is not what
damages our relationship with God; rather, our damaged
relationship with God leads to sin and immorality. This is a
direct consequence of the Fall.
Yet it’s not just religious symbolism that modern people
find difficult to accept. As Paula Fredriksen observes,
“ ‘Sin’ and its various historical
entailments — guilt, remorse, judgment,
punishment, penance, atonement — seem to sit
athwart contemporary sensibilities” (Fredriksen, 2012,
p. 148). She avows:
I am struck by the ways that ostensible acknowledgments of culpability minimize or even efface personal agency, thus responsibility. Sometimes these “acknowledgments” invoke a trope once sounded by Platonism, wherein “sin” (or its secular manifestation, “crime”) is really “error.” People do not commit crimes (much less “sin”!); they blunder. (p. 147)
Nordic criminal justice systems, with Sweden at the forefront,
characteristically feature mild punishments, prioritize offender
rehabilitation, and have been criticized for inadequately
addressing victims’ needs and concerns (cf.
Lappi-Seppälä, 2012). A Swedish podcast examines the
lenient law enforcement, light sentencing practices, and
reluctance to deport criminals, using the case of an 88-year-old
robbery and assault victim as an example (Huitfeldt, 2020).
Criminal behaviour is no longer viewed as sinful, but rather as
an “error” — comparable to a
programmer’s coding mistake or a mechanic’s technical
error. Instead of punishment, the offender is simply expected to
do better next time. After all, a mistake is fundamentally
different from a morally reprehensible act.
This same logic extends to rapists and robbers. They are seen as
having made an “error” and are expected to reform.
Criminal behaviour is attributed to a lack of proper education
about right conduct. (Hence why immigrants are now given
instruction that sexual harassment of women is wrong.) The
consciousness of sin has vanished in the wake of secularization.
Yet from a religious perspective, a criminal is a
“sinner” who has turned away from
God — a far graver matter, as it risks eternal
damnation in the fires of hell. Josef Pieper explains the
traditional view:
Sin not only stains the soul with a lasting blemish as soon as a sin is committed; it not only darkens her light, distances her from God, and sells her into bondage (and also, as theology says, weakens the soul’s receptivity for grace, creating a diminutio aptitudinis ad gratiam). Most crucially of all, sin effects a still deeper ontological transformation, one that penetrates the very core of the person, branding the soul with a property which the ancients call, using a term that has become completely outmoded today but whose pedigree goes back to classical times — reatus.
The word derives from reus, guilty, and it means the condition of being guilty. Sin doesn’t just mean: I have done something. Sin also means: I henceforth am something that I was not previously: I am, because of my deed, guilty. The status of being guilty is what “springs out of” the act of sinning as its inner fruit, its effectus. “When one says that sin, as an act, is something that expires but as reatus is something that perdures, then this amounts to saying that sin expires in what it is, but perdures in what it effects.” [Aquinas, De malo 2, 3 ad 14.]
If the word reatus serves to denote the ongoing status of being guilty, then it must imply the need for punishment as well. Ordinary language often implies the same thing when it says of a criminal that he is not only “guilty of murder” but also is “guilty of death.” So reatus — as an inner, lasting fruit of sin — means a twofold personal quality, both of being guilty, of “having” guilt, as well as of deserving punishment, the obligatio ad poenam. Father Scheeben has defined this obscure term as a “liability before God based on one’s indebtedness.” (Pieper, 2001, pp. 86-87)
The loss of our awareness of sin is intertwined with today’s mechanistic view of human nature. Humans are now viewed as organic robots whose misbehaviour can be corrected through simple reprogramming. Yet Luther’s words hold true: we have no choice but to see humans as beings accountable to God for their actions. The mythological nature of the Fall narrative doesn’t invalidate its truth. Platonic truths can convey profound truth without meeting scientific criteria. Our difficulty often stems from literally interpreting Adam as a historical figure rather than understanding him as a symbolic truth. By comparison, Hinduism’s narrative maintains a more consistent Platonic perspective. Perhaps we could learn from this interpretation. As Wendy Doniger O’Flaherty explains:
Manu states that the elaborate birth ceremony is necessary to remove the impurity which the newborn child inherits from the womb and the seed. In the Hindu view, human beings caught up in the process of time are inherently, naturally inclined to fall prey to evil. The pure creatures of the original Golden Age are not a part of time at all; for them, karma doesn’t exist; they are beyond good and evil. Their “fall” consists of passing from eternity into time; once caught up in the flow of time, they are no longer immune to evil. (1980, p. 26)
Ecclesiastes declares that all earthly life is vanity and a chasing after the wind. “God created mankind upright, but they have devised many schemes” (Ecclesiastes 7:30). Jesus is equally pessimistic about human nature: “No one is good except God alone” (Mark 10:18). The Fall plays a central role in Paul’s teachings. He views human nature as “enslaved to the law of Sin” (Romans 7:25). Not only humanity, but “all of creation groans” awaiting liberation (Romans 8:22). The entire cosmic order has been corrupted by sin. As Fredriksen observes:
Here our modern editions of the New Testament, with their convention of upper- and lowercase letters, can hinder our following Paul’s argument. When Paul speaks of sin, flesh, and death, we should envisage these as cosmic agents: Sin, Flesh, Death. So strong is Sin that it holds everyone, “both Jews and Greeks,” in its power (Rm 3.9); so ubiquitous is Sin that it subjects the whole universe to its dominion of futility and decay (8.20–22). (Fredriksen, 2012, p. 35)
In Paul’s teachings, sin is diabolical. Augustine, who
developed and established the doctrine of original sin, saw sin
and evil as lacking any positive metaphysical existence. Evil
stems from the absence of good (privatio boni): “For
evil has no positive nature; but the loss of good has received
the name ‘evil’ ” (De Civ.
xi:9). Goodness manifests in the world as “measure, form,
and order” (modus, species, ordo), and
consequently, evil represents the corruption of this good order
(cf. De Civ. xi:15; De natura boni iv).
In modern times, we have embraced Augustine’s conception of
evil as a functional defect. A car fails because a part is worn
out, not because it’s possessed by demons. This
“reductionist”
perspective — however theoretically
sound — has led us to view evil merely as a
“malfunction” requiring repair. Yet we clearly need a
narrative about evil’s nature to compensate for its
metaphysical non-existence. This explains why medieval people
told stories of witches consorting with the devil, and why we
still need the narrative of the Fall — as a
truth that transcends scientific understanding. This narrative
dimension isn’t simply primitive superstition, but rather
fulfils a necessary role in human understanding of evil that
purely mechanical explanations cannot satisfy (cf. Winther,
2020). The narrative understanding of evil complements, rather
than contradicts, Augustine’s concept of privatio
boni (evil as absence of good). Augustine explains that we
all share in the guilt (reatus, culpa) brought
about by Adam’s sin. As Gustaf Ljunggren
explicates:
In Adam, Augustine holds, there dwelt true freedom, and through the divine adjutorium at his will’s disposal, he could abide in sinlessness and escape death. Through the Fall, this freedom was transformed thus: while the will to righteousness remains present in man, the capacity for good has been transmuted into impotence, yea, into “a woeful necessity to sin.” Only through divine grace may this condition be lifted, whereupon we receive not merely the will, but also the strength for goodness. (Ljunggren, 1924, pp. 184-85)
Sin, therefore, according to Augustine, is foremost the closing of oneself in self-sufficiency against the divine drawing towards a higher and more blessed life that man perceives within his soul. Superbia stands as the very antithesis of that fundamental disposition which must govern faith, namely humility (humilitas). Only through humility may man attain his destiny to “cleave unto God” (adhaerere Deo) and love Him. Not until pride and self-love are wholly expunged can love achieve its perfection. Amor sui cannot be reconciled with amor Dei. Through this determination of sin’s fundamental character, Augustine has plumbed depths previously unfathomed in post-canonical territory. Just as “the highest virtue” for Augustine is not merely an ethical way of life governed by certain rules, but rather immediate participation in God’s own life, so sin is not primarily the transgression of specific commandments and isolated precepts, but rather the heart’s, the disposition’s turning away from divine love. […]
In this distinctly religious conception of piety lies Augustine’s most profound contribution. Herein he erected a bulwark against the moralistic doctrine of self-salvation, which even the most Pelagianizing currents of the Middle Ages would never wholly breach. For Augustine, all depended upon the subjective disposition of the soul underlying virtuous or sinful acts. Actions are determined by the nature of the heart. (pp. 186-87)
According to Augustine, original sin is hereditary,
transmitted at the moment of conception (De Civ. 13.23).
This can be understood symbolically, within the Platonic
paradigm. In Phaedrus, Plato describes how the soul,
burdened by forgetfulness and evil, loses its wings and descends
into human incarnation. Alternatively, one might interpret this
as the genetic transmission of a psychological predisposition
towards sin-consciousness. Indeed, following Luther’s
thought, this consciousness fundamentally defines human nature.
Throughout history, civilizations have felt compelled to repay
the gods for their great sacrifice in creating and sustaining the
world. Without such repayment, the destructive power of sin might
gain supremacy, causing even the sun to falter in its celestial
course. Given humanity’s perpetual awareness of its
participation in earthly misery and its role in propagating
suffering and death, it is unsurprising that the myth of original
sin, in its various manifestations, has achieved such universal
recognition. The concept was so central that the Aztecs annually
sacrificed thousands to their deities, and this represented
merely a fraction of their sacrificial practices.
Original sin can also be examined through a biological lens.
Steven Pinker (2003) identifies innate biological and
psychological tendencies, such as territorial imperatives and
tribal hostility, which persist due to their evolutionary
advantages: “Evolution has no conscience, and if one
creature hurts another to benefit itself, such as by eating,
parasitizing, intimidating, or cuckolding it, its descendants
will come to predominate, complete with those nasty
habits.” Yet nature also exhibits more benevolent aspects:
“Many creatures cooperate, nurture, and make peace, and
humans in particular find comfort and joy in their families,
friends, and communities” (Pinker, 2003, p. 242).
Accordingly, he asserts that the theory of human nature coming
out of the cognitive revolution has much in common with the
Judeo-Christian theory of human nature (ch. 3).
The doctrine of original sin finds a striking parallel in modern
thermodynamics. Both assert the inevitability of decay. The
second law of thermodynamics demonstrates that creating order
necessarily generates greater disorder elsewhere. Thus,
constructive acts inherently entail destruction! Nevertheless,
despite these correspondences, we must remember that the doctrine
of original sin transcends the natural realm.
Christianity’s religious worldview remains essential as a
counterbalance to secular understanding.
Sin has not vanished from human psychology, being an innate
predisposition of thought and feeling. Rather, it has merely
receded from collective consciousness alongside
Christianity’s decline. G. K. Chesterton is said
to have remarked: “The first effect of not believing in God
is to believe in anything.” Humanity acquires an
Ersatzreligion (surrogate religion). When our religious
consciousness, inherent to human nature, becomes projected onto
earthly existence, it degenerates into a vulgar and profane
counterpart. Contemporary commentators periodically revisit
Friedrich Nietzsche’s analysis that “slave
morality and guilty conscience” constitute
Christianity’s legacy. In truth, this stems from
modernity’s profanation of original sin and the dissolution
of divine relationship. Throughout all epochs, humanity has borne
a debt to God or the gods, repaid through sacrificial rituals.
Christianity’s role has always been to prevent the
profanation of human psychology, lest humanity be reduced to
purely materialistic terms — a path that leads
to ruin.
In Christianity, sin finds atonement through Jesus Christ. He
bears humanity’s sin upon His shoulders, contingent upon
our faith. But as faith waned, sin became profane, and humans
were left to bear it themselves. The burden of guilt shifted from
God primarily to society’s “underprivileged”
and Third World populations. Today, we witness white individuals
kneeling before black people during demonstrations. According to
the OECD, since the 1960s, sub-Saharan Africa has received
$1.2-1.3 trillion in aid. This might be understood as a profane
sacrificial ritual aimed at guilt expiation. Successful white
individuals appear increasingly prone to feeling guilt towards
black people, despite black populations carrying their own
historical burden. This reflects a psychological need for an
object of guilt feelings — when divine
recipients are no longer culturally available, social groups
become substitute targets for these feelings.
The burden of sin is owed not to humanity but to God. Our
inability to follow His path constitutes our original sin. Modern
guilt complexes and “slave morality” aren’t
Christian inheritances — Christianity actually
provided resolution for these spiritual burdens. Today, cultural
Marxists and developing nations have become beneficiaries of
humanity’s inherent sense of sin-burden.
Nicolas Berdyaev (Russian Orthodox philosopher, 1874-1948)
explains in The Russian Revolution that Marxism functions as a
surrogate religion, representing “religious psychology
turned inside-out” (p. 44). He describes
communism’s destructive energy as misdirected religious
impulses — accumulated spiritual energy
expressing itself in secular form (p. 56).
This manifests as a dark and demonic form of religiosity.
Berdyaev demonstrates that Marxism is not a scientific
materialistic doctrine but rather an idealistic one. Ideas reign
supreme. While consciousness has transformed, the unconscious
religious foundation remains essentially unchanged. The
“dialectics of the material process lead infallibly to the
Kingdom of God on earth (but without God), to the realm of
freedom, justice and power” (p. 63). Thus, Marxists
exploit the Christian soul’s
formation — its predisposition towards faith
and self-sacrifice. They similarly exploit our inherent tendency
to believe in original sin, which they recast in secular terms as
systemic class oppression. Berdyaev maintains that only a
Christian renaissance can halt the advance of materialistic
religion. Marxism finds its contemporary expression in postmodern
cultural Marxism, bearing the same vulgar-religious
characteristics, though relying less on its now-discredited
economic theory.
Christianity divides reality into the sensory and supersensory
realms. Modern Nietzscheans acknowledge only sensory reality.
However, this does not justify transposing Christianity’s
supersensory tenets into worldly validation. Being
“God’s slave” does not equate to worldly
servitude. Christianity preaches neither “slave
morality” nor worldly submission, but rather advocates
conscientious citizenship. Carter Lindberg explains that the
biblical concept of love pertains to ethical life rather than
subjective emotion. It aims to foster social solidarity through a
dignified behavioural ethos (cf. Lindberg, 2008, p. 24).
Even in this respect, today’s church stands at odds with
contemporary understanding. Modern individuals, associating love
primarily with inner feelings, struggle to grasp the Christian
conception of love. Yet the concept simply denotes humane
behaviour, including charitable acts. In biblical times, love was
intrinsically linked to action.
Practical mercy represented a revolutionary concept in its time,
partially explaining Christianity’s rapid ascendance. Roman
Emperor Julian (332-63) expressed concern over paganism’s
declining influence in favour of Christianity. His letters
advocated that pagan temples adopt the Christians’ social
engagement and their remarkable custom of helping others without
expectation of personal gain (pp. 46-47). This concept
proved alien to Roman thought, as it contradicted their
foundational principle of
eudaimonia — the pursuit of personal
happiness. Even today, many struggle to treat others equitably
without subscribing to dogmas of universal equality, equivalence
and sameness. While people’s treatment of others seems
governed by their value judgments, treating all fellow humans
properly requires neither belief in equality dogma nor acceptance
of “equal human worth.”
The Gospel (‘good news’) does not declare equal
societal status for all citizens — rather, it
teaches that regardless of status, every person deserves
respectful and benevolent treatment. As the Gospel is not a
political manifesto, it neither equates races, genders,
aristocracy, nor slaves. Instead, it proclaims that one’s
true worth is determined on judgment day, when worldly status
becomes irrelevant. This distinction is vital, as we must
differentiate between politics and Gospel. While we should extend
compassion and assistance across social classes, the Gospel does
not advocate the political dissolution of social classes or
universal equal rights. Augustine explains in City of God
that political action cannot halt sin’s destructive force.
The state offers no permanent remedy for sin, representing merely
external order. Its laws and social functions yield only
temporary and limited effects. Sin can be effectively countered
solely within the human soul, through the individual’s
experience of “cooperative grace” with the Holy
Spirit.
Original sin causes all creation to drift from God, making
“paradise on earth” — the
perfectly functioning, righteous
society — unattainable. Worldly power (the
Earthly City; civitas diaboli) remains inherently corrupt,
operating according to human rather than divine principles.
Political order serves only to make life tolerable; without laws,
humanity would descend into chaos: a futile pursuit of power,
profit, and sensual gratification. Thus, political action can
never achieve the ethical impact attributed to it by modern
ideologies and classical philosophy. The aspiration for a
perfectly ordered world free from evil and suffering remains
illusory. Pursuing such ends proves counterproductive, as our
modern experience with totalitarian states has abundantly
demonstrated (cf. Dyson, 2005, chs. 1-2).
We are not sinners because we transgress the
law — rather, we transgress the law because we
are sinners. Original sin constitutes a far more profound problem
than individual transgressions. Our misdeeds merely manifest
symptoms of the sin inherent in our nature. This analysis
corresponds with modern psychological understanding. Through
awareness of our inner darkness and life’s maladjustments,
we gain better self-control. Thus, Paul and Augustine reject the
doctrine of self-salvation, which advocates pursuing external
righteousness. Christianity maintains that God’s law cannot
serve as a guideline because we remain inherently incapable of
fulfilling it. Instead, consciousness of sin becomes necessary,
with the Holy Spirit providing awareness of sin (John 16:8-11).
This proves essential because human intellect cannot invariably
distinguish right from wrong. In contrast, Islam offers
certainty — one merely consults the imam.
Paul explains that the law’s function was to provide the
Israelites insight into sin and protection from its effects when
they were not yet prepared for the Holy Spirit’s guidance
(Galatians 3:19-25). Similarly, today’s
equivalent — the law of political
correctness — emerges from spiritual
immaturity. Like Islamic Sharia law, it is implemented because
people lack consciousness of sin. Paul remains unequivocally
condemning:
For all who rely on the works of the law are under a curse, as it is written: “Cursed is everyone who does not continue to do everything written in the Book of the Law.” Clearly no one who relies on the law is justified before God, because “the righteous will live by faith.” The law is not based on faith; on the contrary, it says, “The person who does these things will live by them.” Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, for it is written: “Cursed is everyone who is hung on a pole.” (Galatians 3:10-13)
Individuals lacking moral
consciousness — those without awareness of
sin — resort to following prescribed rules
such as political correctness or Sharia. Among European
populations, this indicates a repression of personal sin.
Everything unconscious becomes projected, typically accompanied
by emotional affect. Sin is projected onto others when they are
perceived to transgress “the rules,” potentially
triggering rage in the projecting individual. This phenomenon,
termed “moralism,” emerges in the absence of
conscious moral function. Moralism, consisting merely of
rule-following, stands in direct opposition to active moral
function. Morality, like thought, must remain operational to
serve its purpose. Just as thought does not consult a table (like
multiplication tables) to determine truth from falsehood, an
active moral function does not discern right from wrong through
mere rule-following. Both morality and thought operate as
independent, dynamic processes. This independent operation
becomes possible through the Helper: the Holy Spirit.
Modern narcissistic individualism — alongside
notions of equality, uniformity, gender parity, conformism, mass
society, and collectivism — stems from
reducing humans to mere rational and biological beings devoid of
divine connection. Biological aspects alone cannot illuminate the
full scope of human existence, particularly our potential and
life’s ultimate purpose. We construct a prison for human
nature by confining it within such narrow parameters. Only
through God’s grace, received through faith, can we achieve
liberation from the modern curse of endless pursuit of worldly
validation. In its place emerges a relational view of existence,
centered on the human-divine relationship. To counter our
era’s leveling tendencies and superficial rationalism, we
must embrace the Lutheran conception of humanity: beings who,
through their relationship with God, yearn for liberation from
the Fall’s consequences, forever unable to reconcile
themselves with their sinful nature and fallen existence. This
defines authentic humanity. We exist in relationship to God and,
through this divine connection, to the world.
The doctrine of original sin thus remains relevant today, not as
literal history but as a profound truth about human nature. It
explains our universal tendency towards evil despite our best
intentions. It accounts for why purely secular attempts at human
perfection inevitably fail. And it points to our need for divine
grace rather than self-help or social engineering as the path to
genuine transformation. As Stephen H. Webb says:
The doctrine of original sin is good news because it puts all of us on the same level and prevents us from thinking that we can compete against each other for God’s favour. The stronger your sense of sin, [Eric] Dean preached, the clearer your understanding of grace. Dean was convinced that sin is not only a great leveler but also a necessary motivator — and that these two sides of the doctrine of sin fit snugly together. Sin frees us from the anxiety of trying to be perfect, as well as the burden of saving the world. Liberated from utopian fantasies and confronted with our basic human solidarity, we can serve others while being humble about our accomplishments and realistic about the possibilities for personal improvement and social change. (Webb, 2006)
In conclusion, while the language of sin may seem outdated,
the reality it describes — our inherent moral
corruption and need for redemption — remains
as true as ever. Modern substitutes like therapy, education, or
political ideologies cannot address this fundamental spiritual
condition. Only by recovering an awareness of sin, not as mere
rule-breaking but as a state of alienation from God, can we
properly understand ourselves and find authentic healing through
divine grace.
© Mats Winther, 2020 (English translation: 2025).
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