Reflections on Sin from Fat Tuesday

BODY

I was originally going to write seven installments on sin; one for each of the original sins.
In the end, I did exactly none of them. It turns out that I said everything worthwhile I had to say on the subject in the original post. The issues of sins, virtue, and contradiction have also been deftly handled from outside the faith in this post by Amber, and from within it in this post by Damien. I felt that they both clarified for me several things I've felt to be true, but have been unable to express.

So where does that leave me?

Well, with just over five hours left to Fat Tuesday this Central Standard Time, it means that if I have anything risky to say about sin or indulgence, I'd better get to it.

GOOD SIN

In my earlier post I tried to describe a productive or useful sin. At the time I felt, though I didn't say outright, that what I was trying to describe was actually a "good sin." This should raise all sorts of warnings. Contradictions may be a fun and fruitful source of conversation, but by all rights this contradiction is crippling to discourse. Culturally, we understand sin as equivalent to bad or evil. Sin is sunderance from God; it is that which cannot be good. To say that it is not is to either 1) deliberately rebel against what is good, or 2) debase the meaning of the word to such an extent than any dialogue must be circular.

I believe, at least, that any recursive logic must draw these conclusions.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church defines sin as follows:

Sin is an utterance, a deed, or a desire contrary to the eternal law (St. Augustine, Faust 22: PL 42, 418). It is an offense against God. It rises up against God in a disobedience contrary to the obedience of Christ.
Sin is an act contrary to reason. It wounds man's nature and injures human solidarity. (1871-1872)

If we allow the Catechism's definition as the most comprehensive and historically based (which I'm prompted to do, anyway), then there is no circumstance in which sinning is consistent with the will of God, no circumstance in which it is the "right" thing to do, and no circumstance in which it is rational, sustaining, or helpful.

We can say, then, categorically, that "good sin" does not exist.

I'm going to stand by the idea I've described, however. Maybe my terms were just a little mixed up. Maybe the contradiction isn't quite as damning as I thought. Maybe we can even fix it with just a pair of quotation marks.

GOOD "SIN"

As interpreted by the Catechism, the survival of an idea of good "sin" is now completely dependent on what one considers "eternal law." This is, itself, really thorny, and I wouldn't survive five minutes in a theological debate on the subject. That said, if we are absolutely reductive, and condense "eternal law" to the Two Commandments Christ delineated as most essential: loving God with all your heart, and loving your neighbor as yourself, yet rigorous on that point, I believe I can make a case for good "sin."

I'm calling a good "sin" an act that would be correctly categorized as sinful, but motivated by the spirit of love and connection instead of malice or dolor.

It's hard to feel guilty. If we are raised properly, we develop a sense of self-worth that makes us active and positive forces in the world around us. If we are faithfully religious, we live in the assurance of God's or gods' love, and if we agnostic or atheist, we can boast that the good we perform is not guaranteed with the promise of eternal compensation.
Moreover, because of the discomfort guilt creates, we often go to great lengths to avoid it. Small guilts may be shouldered aside, but they're always the mustard stain on the white shirt, and we're always aware of them. Persistent guilts disable our ability to concentrate on anything else. Old guilts haunt us for the rest of our days. And heavy guilts... they can choke us, hide us, deceive us, starve us, and even kill us.
So between our proclivities to feel good, and our desire to avoid guilt, most of us succeed in staving it off most of the time. And this is a good thing, on the whole, for we are the most alive, in ourselves and in God, when we realize the beauty of all Creation.
If endemic guilt results in paralysis, then self-assurance has its own nasty side-effect: complacency. If we are entirely content in our behavior, if we truly believe that we have met all of our responsibilities in the best possible way, then we delude ourselves because the best we do is never the best that could be done.

When the tsunami happened, I found myself dwelling on it for days and days. I realized that, simply by being born who I was and where I was, I had largely been excused from ever having to worry about such a calamity. I realized that, while I routinely spend dozens of dollars on fast food, music, and public transit, a few dollars could bring fresh water to communities in Indonesia, India, or Sub-Saharan Africa. And I was not raised to feel guilty for being who I am (I've always felt that "liberal white middle-class guilt" does far more damage than good). Nevertheless, the discrepancies in life on this planet should escape the boundaries of my mind and tear at my soul. The injustice of the event should be painful.

It didn't hurt as much as it should have. Somehow, living in a world where travesties and calamity stomp all over our daily news, one becomes emotionally detached very quickly.

I felt compelled to seek out tsunami jokes. I felt compelled to spring them upon unsuspecting friends, and even post them on this blog. And in the end, I can apply the second part of the catechism's definition. Whatever concessions or apologies I've made, whatever allowences I built in, it was an act contrary to reason, it wounded human nature, and injured human solidarity. It may have even risen up to god in disobedience contrary to the obedience of Christ. I believe this, and I feel regret. I sincerely hope that my comments have not caused anybody pain.

And yet... I believe the action was, ironically, and starlingly, motivated by love. Now that several weeks have passed, sick on Mardi Gras, my action makes me feel small and responsible, humble and helpless, and hopeless without the stirring of God's breath, and useless without the support of all the humans around me.

Since committing that sin, I believe I've been a better human being.

It's a good "sin" that reminds us of our weakness and vulnerability without depriving us of our dignity.

AN ORANGE MARDI GRAS

Recently, I was divided from family members over the results of the recent trouble in the Ukraine.

Several in my family had said that a successful democracy does not teeter on civil war whenever there's an issue at stake. I responded that a state that does not execute the will of its people as defined by law is not a democracy at all. I implied that the resolution of the Ukrainian presidential election was more "democratic" than America's.

To be fair, my family had some reasonable concerns; very high on the list, the fact that a large number of nuclear warheads are floating around that part of the world, and might be impossible to track in the event of a civil war. And for that matter, atrocities occur, but its not as if Belarus has imploded yet (though it is an "outpost of tyranny" c/o Condoleeza Rice).

Certainly, it seems like an assertive people demanding their voice is a chancey prize to set against the threat of genocide, instability, and possible nuclear war. But then, I look at history; events such as the victory of the Greeks over the Persians or the American Revolution. A reclusive Milan might have been spared the Black Plague, but it certainly wouldn't have kicked off the Renaissance. A prudent Paul would've preached in Jerusalem.

It seems like many of our finest moments are the result of long-shots; of risking long-odds with uncertain or unintended consequences. We go into Fat Tuesday, into Carnival, into Mardi Gras and indulgence with a knowledge of what is clearly unacceptible but a willingness to throw caution to the wind.

Tomorrow, facing Lent, may we see ourselves more deeply, that we may emerge at Easter not as whole as we once were, but more whole than we've ever been before.

Happy Mardi Gras.

~ Connor