In his wonderful book, The Strangest Way: Walking the Christian Path, Robert Barron has a chapter called “Knowing You’re a Sinner.”See Robert Barron, The Strangest Way: Walking the Christian Path (New York: Orbis, 2002). He begins with a helpful question: why is it that saintly people seem to emphasize their sinfulness? You read that right. The great saints throughout history have always been quite clear in acknowledging their sinful brokenness. See St. Paul’s letter to the Romans (7:13–25), where he poignantly acknowledges the perversity of his sinfulness. St. Augustine’s Confessions is full of acknowledgment of his sinfulness. St. Thomas Aquinas spent the last few months of his life in a daze dismissing all the great theological work he had done as “mere straw,” or insignificant compared to a powerful encounter with God he had late in life. St. Theresa of Avila begins her great spiritual classic Interior Castle insisting that she is a worthless servant of God. Perhaps you know holy people in your life who humbly acknowledge their own sinfulness.

Why do these greats of Christianity do this? Is this simply a matter of false humility? We see examples of that all the time, when people object to a compliment because it seems to embarrass them. They may note that another person was even more important for the success, or downplay the goodness of what was done. Sometimes this is a simple lack of comfort with being acknowledged. Sometimes it is a more pernicious—even if unconscious—invitation for further affirmation, compliment, and praise. Either way it is false humility because it is a denial or dismissal of something that is true, namely, that they truly did something good and special.

Are saints falsely humble, acknowledging their sinfulness out of awkwardness, or even to invite praise from others? In other words, when acknowledging their sinfulness, are saints seeing things wrongly? Barron thinks not. He suggests an alternate explanation, and uses a vivid metaphor to explain his answer. A resident of Chicago, Barron describes how in the winter snow you can drive around and have your windshield become caked over with road salt. The interesting thing is, however, that at night it is still possible to drive with such a windshield. Since you are in the dark, and looking out at lighted signs and car headlights, it is possible to navigate your way. But as anyone who has had such a windshield knows, in the morning it is a whole other story. In the sunlight, it is impossible to see out of the opaque windshield, and if you do not have windshield wiper fluid, you are in trouble.

What does this have to do with saints and sin? Barron observes that even when you are driving at night, the salt is there, and the windshield is opaque. Yet in the absence of strong light, you do not see it, and operate as if it is not there. This is impossible in the presence of strong light. The light illuminates the salt on the windshield, prompting you to act accordingly. You acknowledge it is there, and seek its removal. In Barron’s analogy, all of us are cars, the salt stands for sin, and the light is God’s presence. All of us are driving around with more or less caked-over windshields, an image for our present human condition in which we are all sinful, to one degree or another. It is precisely those people who are in the presence of God’s truth and love who are able to see their sinfulness. In this analogy, the saints are people who drive in the daylight, and are thus more aware of how caked over their windshields are. They therefore act accordingly, which means confessing their sinfulness, asking for forgiveness, and seeking God’s help to live holy, rather than sinful, lives. By contrast, many of us are like drivers at night, who think our windshields are just fine even though they are not. Occasionally we catch glimpses of our sinfulness, as when passing under street lights. But we rest content with driving in the dark, navigating as best we can. Not so with the saints, whose openness to God’s brilliant presence enables God’s light to illuminate their brokenness. The point of Barron’s analogy is that while acknowledging their sinfulness, the saints are actually seeing things more, not less, accurately than the rest of us.

Why open this chapter on sin with this odd analogy? One of the main purposes of this chapter is to emphasize the reality of human sinfulness, which is too often overlooked. Continuing this point will be the purpose of the first section below. The second section attempts to define sin more precisely through an analysis of the definition of sin provided in the Catechism of the Catholic Church, followed by reflections on the theme of pride and the story of Genesis 3. The third section provides even more detail on the nature of sin, through two ways of categorizing different sins. Finally, having emphasized, defined, and probed in depth the reality of sin, the final section properly contextualizes this chapter’s focus on sin within Christianity as a whole, where sin is far from the end of the story.

Let’s begin this section on the pervasiveness of human sinfulness with a startling claim about the Christian story: if you do not think something is radically wrong with our world, and indeed yourself, then Christianity is not for you. The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ only make sense if we acknowledge that something is fundamentally wrong with humanity and with each of us individually. In ways described further in chapter 14, Jesus Christ is understood by Christians to save all people from something. If there were nothing fundamentally wrong with people, there would be nothing to save us from! It is sin, and the effects of sin, that is wrong with the world and with ourselves.

Recognition of human sinfulness is everywhere in the gospels. The first words spoken at the time of Jesus’s public ministry in each of the three synoptic gospels—Matthew, Mark, and Luke—are “Repent! The kingdom of God is at hand!” (Matt. 3:2; Mark 1:4; Luke 3:3). Yes, Jesus Christ has come to inaugurate God’s kingdom. But the first word, “repent!” makes it clear that his coming is in response to something wrong that needs changing. In the story of the Pharisee and the tax collector, Jesus praises not the seemingly law-abiding Pharisee, but rather the humble tax collector who acknowledges his own sinfulness (Luke 18:9–14). Jesus surprises us in another story by extolling not the seemingly upright Pharisee, but the sinful woman who anoints Christ’s feet, bathes them with her tears, and dries them with her hair (Luke 7:36–50). The claim that Christ came to redeem us from sin is all over the New Testament. In story after story Christ praises those who acknowledge their need for forgiveness.

Sin is a central theme in the Christian story. Therefore the saints, whose lives are understood primarily in the terms of that story, are acutely aware of their sinfulness. An old friend who is a priest once related a story to me about his encounter with a woman at a wedding. Seeing a priest, she asked him why Catholics are so explicit in recognizing their sinfulness. “You Catholics are too concerned with sin and repentance,” she said. “In my church we just try to be good people.” His response reflects the importance of sin in the Christian story. “Oh what a terrible burden,” he replied, “Our church is a church of sinners.”

This is not of course to say that saints do not try to be good people. One need only look at saintly lives to know this is not the case. It simply means that people who truthfully see their own condition, and that of humanity in general, recognize the sad reality of sin in their lives. Saints are not free from all sin. They feel deeply the presence of sin in their lives, and not merely as some abstract observation. Yet they have the humility to walk with a group of redeemed sinners, which is the people of God, the church.

There are two common errors concerning the recognition of our sinfulness that warrant attention here. The first is simply its denial, or better, the assumption that things are really not that bad. This is exemplified in self-help approaches that simply emphasize the goodness of the person. Consider the title of the renowned 1970s book, I’m OK, You’re OK. From the perspective of the Christian story seen in previous chapters, it is indeed the case that creation is fundamentally good. But this is not the whole story. The Christian tradition also reminds us of the reality of sin. In an important sense, I’m not OK, and you are not OK. There is something broken that needs fixing. Furthermore, this fixing is not simply some sprucing up around the edges or fine tuning that all of us recognize we could use. We might say to ourselves, “Sure, I should call my family more, try to be more generous to those in need, and take better care of myself. But in general I’m doing pretty good!” Though this perspective may display the recognition of a need for some changes in one’s life, it fails to grasp the perniciousness of our sinfulness in intent and magnitude.

A second error concerning the recognition of our sinfulness is found in those who point the finger at people who call themselves faithful or religious, and yet fail to live fully virtuous lives. It is true that people of faith still sin. It is even more scandalous that religious people can use their faith or good acts to pridefully lord it over others. This dynamic is examined in a later section of this chapter. Yet despite the fact that this charge of hypocrisy can be accurate, note how it often serves to deflect attention away from the accuser’s own life and sinfulness, as if to say, “Why should I bother critically examining my own life when even so-called religious people are sinners?” The latter may indeed be the case. But whether it renders the accuser any less sinful is another question indeed.

The basic opening claim of this chapter is that sin is a reality among us. If we see things rightly, we will recognize this fact more clearly. In fact, unless we do it will be impossible to find freedom from the trappings of sin. The purpose of this recognition is not despair, some old-fashioned guilt trip, or worse, a false humility that actually egotistically seeks further affirmation. As the final section of this chapter notes, the Christian cannot reflect on sin without immediately recognizing that the gift of forgiveness is available. But in order to truly appreciate the need for and gratuitousness of that gift, we need to, in Barron’s words, “smell the stench and taste the acidity of sin.”Ibid., 76.

In order to “smell the stench and taste the acidity” of sin, it is necessary to explain more clearly exactly what sin is. The Catechism defines sin as an

offense against reason, truth, and right conscience; it is a failure in genuine love for God and neighbor caused by a perverse attachment to certain goods. It wounds the nature of man and injures human solidarity.Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd ed. (Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1997), 1849.

The purpose of this section is to reflect more deeply on this powerful definition, and then examine further the reality of sin through a look at the central sin of pride in the classic text on the first sin (Gen. 3).

The Catechism definition importantly begins with the claim that sin is an offense against “reason, truth, and right conscience.” Since our reason is how we grasp what is true, and since conscience is a (hopefully true) judgment about the rightness or wrongness of an act, the fact that sin is an offense against all three of these terms is no surprise. Acting sinfully truly harms ourselves and others. If something is rightly called a sin, it is not simply a taboo, a no-no that one must avoid, simply because the rules say so. We are reminded yet again here of a morality of happiness vs. a morality of obligation.

Sinful action impedes our ability to live truly happy lives. It manifests a false estimation of how to live a good life. The Catechism goes on to explain this by saying that sin is “caused by a perverse attachment to certain goods.” Reminiscent of the second chapter on intention, and the different ways we prioritize things in our lives, sin is an occasion of improperly ordering our goals by placing imagined or lesser goods above true and more important goods. In other words, we are perversely attached to lesser goods. For instance, there is nothing wrong with wanting others to think well of us. But when we do good acts simply so that others think well of us, we place a lesser good (our reputation) above a greater good (service to others). This is a false valuing of what is truly important, and actions resulting from it are sinful. Similarly, there is nothing inherently wrong with drinking alcohol. But as chapter 6 discussed, we can place too much priority on the real importance of drinking, such that we are perversely attached to this lesser good and neglect or devalue other more important goods.

Thus, sinful acts are wrong not because they constitute disobedience to some arbitrary rules, but because acting sinfully truly impedes our happiness and thus harms ourselves and others, and offends God. In chapter 7, on justice, we explored how an individual’s flourishing is inextricably bound to others’ flourishing through the notion of the common good. This is why sin “wounds the nature of man and injures human solidarity.”Ibid. Acts that harm the good of others genuinely wound one’s own nature. They thwart the ability of people to flourish in common, and reflect and further ingrain a false estimation on the part of a person about the dignity of other persons and one’s own connection to others. Note that the same connection between individual and communal flourishing can be found in the opposite direction. Just as individual sins always reverberate and have impacts on others, so too do social structures of sin corrupt individual lives. We are increasingly aware that the adjective “sinful” can describe social entities as well as individuals. Whether it be an institution such as slavery, pervasive intemperate drinking practices at a university, or economic structures that systemically debilitate the lives of the poor, the reality of sin always entails individual sinfulness, but also often pervades more widespread social structures.

Conversely, even acts that seem victimless injure human solidarity. We commonly hear people say, “What is the problem if no one is getting hurt?” Yet if the act is truly harmful to an individual, it does hurt others by extension. And again, an act that reflects and further ingrains a false estimation of the way things are ultimately does hurt others in subjecting them to that false estimation. Consider the example of pornography. People commonly say, “How is looking at pornography in private hurting others?” Even if we were to neglect the fact that supporting pornography, even on the internet, does indeed bolster and perpetuate an industry that dehumanizes people (even willing participants, let alone others), viewing pornography leads one to falsely see others as objects of one’s own sexual desires rather than as people with dignity who are not simply instruments for one’s own sexual pleasure. Ingraining that false way of seeing things not only harms one’s self by obstructing right action, which relies on seeing rightly, but also ultimately impacts others who are seen falsely and treated accordingly. To put it simply, sin is not simply a no-no but is rather falsity. It is genuinely harmful, and that is why it is bad. If the true precedes the good, falsity leads to sin.

A word is in order on the Catechism’s claim, immediately following the definition given above, that “sin is an offense against God.”Ibid., 1850. This may seem like an odd claim, implying that God is in need of our recognition, and somehow slighted and angry at our failing to acknowledge and obey his rules. But this morality-of-obligation perspective reveals a poor understanding of both morality and God. Sin is an offense against God, because God out of great love for us guides us to live according to the truth, which sets us free. Consider a simple analogy to explain this. A parent is trying to help a child who really wants to learn to ride a bike. Each time the parent tells the child what to do, and tries to run alongside the child on the bike to help, the child insists on doing things his own way and continually falls. This is an “offense” to the parent, not because the parent is trying to lord it over the child and be recognized, but because the parent wants the child to do well, to flourish, and is trying to help the child do so. But even though the parent clearly knows better, the child will not listen,

In the analogy, God is like the parent, and each of us is like the child, who thinks he does things better his own way. Like the parent, God wants what is truly best for us and even knows best what that is. But we so often fail to heed God’s guidance, however it is received. In doing so we explicitly or at least implicitly say that we do not believe it is there for our own good. This is offensive in reflecting a lack of trust in God. It even explicitly, or at least implicitly, questions God’s sovereignty. When we sin we decide that it is we who really know what is truly best for us and others, or we recognize that something is generally not best for us and others but really OK for us in this particular situation.

Hence sin is offensive to God, not in the same way that we might be offended by someone’s comment at a social event, but rather by implying God is not truly loving and sovereign. Of course, Christians think that what we believe about God in faith is true. So saying sin is an offense against God is really the same as saying sin is an offense against reason and truth. But the recognition of sin as a questioning of God’s goodness and sovereignty points toward another consistent claim in the Christian tradition, one that will help explain the concept of sin. In some shape or form, pride is at the root of all human sin. Understanding what this particular sin is—and is not—will help illuminate the concept of sin as a whole.

Pride: Root of All Sin

The term “pride” has a distinct meaning in moral theology that is not what we often mean when we use the term in everyday life. As used here pride is roughly synonymous with vanity. Simply put, pride is selfishness, or putting ourselves first. There are obvious examples of this, as when people take what belongs to others out of concern only for themselves, and not those who are wronged. But the pride that is the root of all sin goes deeper. It is a fixation on one’s own life and desires. Indeed it is seeing all of reality out there through the warped lens of “what does this have to do with me?” When we are inattentive to the needs of those around us because they do not seem to immediately impact us, we are prideful. When we find ourselves reading any situation through its ultimate impact on ourselves, we are prideful. Being prideful entails seeing things not as they truly are, but how they would be with ourselves at the center. For the prideful person, all the world is a stage, and he is the star of the show. In fact pride is self-centeredness, in the sense that the prideful person sees things and acts as if he is indeed at the center of all things.

Given this definition of pride as self-centeredness, it should be clear that the pride described here as the root of all sin is not the pride we refer to when we say we are proud of a loved one’s accomplishment, or proud to be a member of some group. C. S. Lewis calls this sentiment “warm-hearted appreciation,” and notes that it is far from the central vice of pride, since it takes pleasure in the accomplishments of others.See C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2001), 127. Of course, should one begin to be proud of, say, one’s child in a manner that leads one to see one’s self as better than others and as the reason for the child’s success, one is coming far closer to the sin of pride.

Indeed, it is even possible to say one is proud of one’s self in a manner that does not refer to the central sin of pride described here. Lewis calls this sense of pride “pleasure in being praised.”Ibid., 125. Again, if we derive such pleasure from being praised by the right people for the right things, we are far from the vice of pride. After all, the very recognition that there are others we admire for their grasp of what is truly good and life-giving is itself a recognition that we are not the stars of the show. But if this pleasure in praise becomes simple delight in one’s self, devoid of any sense in which our accomplishments are also gifts due to our reliance on others and God, then we are veering sharply toward pride.

Finally, nor is it pride when we recognize our rightful, truthful place in the world. A common feminist critique of the claim that pride is at the root of all sin counters that pride is exactly what some people—especially abused, neglected, or otherwise disenfranchised people—need in this world. As victims they need to assert themselves! But note that a just and accurate recognition of one’s proper place in the world, including asserting one’s self when that place is not recognized, is not the sin of pride, since it is neither self-centered nor inaccurate. The sin of pride is always both of these.

For prideful people, their triangle of priorities and goals in life ultimately has themselves at the top. They therefore act accordingly and subvert what should be more important goals to their own interests. Of course, the proud person can love his family, keep a job, and even go to church. But each of these is done with one’s self as the ultimate purpose. How does being a good family member help me? What does this job do for me? What does going to church do for me? Since the prideful person is doing such activities in an ultimately self-serving manner, the person may on occasion do the right thing, but when push comes to shove what he does will always be ultimately self-serving. This self-centeredness is why Lewis calls pride an essentially competitive vice. If one sees one’s self as the top of the triangle or center of all things, obviously no one else can occupy that territory. The prideful person is thus easily threatened. As Lewis notes, the prideful person does not just see herself as smart or good-looking or rich, but as smarter or better-looking, or richer than those around her. There is room for only one at the top, and so the prideful do not look happily on the successes of others.

Nor are the prideful able to truly know God. Lewis calls pride the “anti-God state of Mind.”Ibid., 122. In the Christian story, God is of course the source, goal, and sustenance of all that is. God, not any human person, is the center of the story.

In God you come up against something which is in every respect immediately superior to yourself. Unless you know God as that—and, therefore, know yourself as nothing in comparison—you do not know God at all. As long as you are proud you cannot know God. A proud man is always looking down on things and people; and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you.Ibid., 124 (emphasis added).

If a person is prideful enough to think it is all ultimately about himself, he obviously does not think it is all ultimately about God, which it is. Therefore pride is actually incompatible with genuine religious faith.

One of the ironies noted by Lewis, as well as others who have written on pride, is that pride is all too commonly found in seemingly religious people. How can this be? Anything that is beautiful and true can also unfortunately enable those who possess it to think that they are better than others, that it is due to their own importance that they are in the know. The Pharisee in Luke perfectly, and tragically, articulates prideful religiosity: “O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity—greedy, dishonest, adulterous—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week, and I pay tithes on my whole income” (Luke 18:11–12). Here is a seemingly religious man who is even doing good deeds. But they are done to exalt himself, and they establish his superiority over others such as the tax collector who, of course, Jesus says was the one who walked away justified. In reality this Pharisee is not truly religious, but simply performing religious actions. This is not of course true of all who call themselves religious. In fact, recall from this chapter’s opening how the great figures of the Christian story do just the opposite of this Pharisee. But sadly pride does infect all potential great human activities, including religion. Of course, people who are prideful about religion corrupt the supposed source of their superiority and reveal themselves for what they are: self-centered rather than God-centered.

Sin and Genesis 3

This is why sin, which in some way always contains pride, is an offense against God. Though the prideful surely do not consciously think of themselves this way, the sin of pride, as an attempt to make one’s self the top of the triangle, is in effect the attempt to make one’s self into God. Nowhere is this more clear than in the famous Genesis 3 account of humanity’s first sin. This text is so rich that any brief discussion of it seems paltry. But for our purposes we can focus on what it is that tempts the man and woman. In the story, the serpent is the metaphorical representation of the fact that we people are often tempted to do that which we know is not best. When the serpent questions the woman, she knows full well what she should and should not do. Why, then, do the man and woman sin?

Note the cleverness of the serpent, and how temptation works in leading people to sin. After hearing the woman explain that they are not to eat of the fruit lest they die, the serpent responds by saying, “You certainly will not die! No, God knows well that the moment you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods who know what is good and what is bad” (Gen. 3:4–5, emphasis added). Sounds appealing! Not only appealing, but even upright. After all, wouldn’t it be nice to have our eyes opened so as to know what is good and what is bad? Far from sinful, this seems like rather useful information to have to live a good life.

But note two key parts of this passage. First, the serpent clearly implies that God is guarding something from the man and woman. The serpent introduces distrust between God and God’s beloved creatures, man and woman. Though God’s rules are clearly presented in the Genesis text as the way to have life, even life in right relationship with God, the serpent suggests that is not really the reason for the rules. “Maybe God does not want what is best for you, man and woman, and maybe you can have that anyway!” Adam and Eve begin to question whether the morality God gave them is truly one of happiness, or perhaps, as the serpent suggests, really just an obligation imposed on them that actually limits their full happiness.

Second, note the key phrase of the serpent: “you will be like gods who know what is good and what is bad.” What does this mean? The serpent cannot just mean by this that they will know what is good and bad; Eve demonstrates that they already know what they should and should not do when she lays out the rules God gave them before the serpent makes this tempting offer of becoming like gods. By saying, “you will be like gods,” the serpent is offering them something they do not already have. The man and woman already know, but do not determine themselves, what is good and bad. And when they think they know what is good, it may not be, and their knowing it to be good does not make it such. In other words, man and woman are creatures, not gods. Yet in this powerful story the man and woman let themselves be deluded into thinking they are not mere creatures. Why live in accordance with the way things are, when perhaps we can decide how things are in accordance with our wishes! It is as if they say, “maybe we can become like gods. We could decide for ourselves the way things are, and thus what is truly good and bad. That way we can live as we want, not as God wants.”

This perfectly exemplifies the sin of pride, the root of all sin. Pride is doing what we want, under the assumption that it is we who really know what is right and wrong. How we see things—or better how we want to see things—is how they really are. We are like gods, not only knowing but determining what is good and bad. If this sounds dramatic, think of all the little rationalizations we devise to justify (in other words, make right) our acts as good, when our very tone and justification betrays that we know full well the truth. Whether it is the rationalization that cheating on this test is not really bad given all the pressure I’m under, or the assumption that “yes, that is normally wrong, but in my case. . .,” pride is the assumption that it is we who know what truly is right and wrong.

Thus the story of the first sin in Genesis 3 is a powerful depiction of how we succumb to pride, and are tempted to see things as we want to and act accordingly, rather than humbly respond to how things really are and order our desires and goals accordingly. We know, of course, how the Genesis 3 story ends. When the Lord confronts the man and woman about their actions, everyone blames someone else: the man blames the woman, and the woman blames the serpent. What an accurate account of what happens when we sin; it is surely not our fault! By the end of the story, the man and woman have indeed obtained some knowledge they did not have before: they now know shame.

Worse yet, they have alienated themselves from their source of true life. They sought to exalt themselves to become like gods, and end up degrading themselves and sacrificing the happiness that had been bestowed upon them. In a supreme irony, the prideful person longs for an imagined happiness and ends up sacrificing what was readily available to him as a free gift from God. Thus the prideful person actually acts in a manner corruptive of his true happiness.

One of the best ways to understand something better is to categorize its various instantiations. So, for instance, this entire book is structured mainly by the four cardinal and three theological virtues. The assumption is that it is easier to know how to live virtuously if one can better understand what exactly is meant by virtue in its different forms. Well, the same may be said of sin. We can better understand sin by learning some different ways that people of faith have categorized sin throughout the Christian tradition. This section explores two traditional ways to categorize sin.

Mortal and Venial Sin

The first way sins may be differentiated is by their degree. In other words, how serious is the sin? The traditional distinction here is mortal vs. venial sin. It is the nature of sin that it harms our relationships. It harms first and foremost our relationship with God, since it is God who invites us to fullness of life, in relationship with God and others. When we sin we reject that invitation. Hence any sin, including those against other people, is an offense against God, as noted above. Of course our sins also harm our relationships with others, even those sins that do not involve direct action against to others. But sin is first and foremost a blow to our relationship with God.

The terms “mortal” and “venial” describe how serious that blow is. Mortal sin ruptures our relationship with God. Venial sin strains our relationship with God. Consider two analogies. First, you hurt your knee playing sports. You can simply strain your muscles or tendons, or you could rupture or tear them. Now both are bad; you want neither of them. But it is more difficult to repair the rupture since there has been a severing of something that should be connected. Mortal sins sever our relationship with God, while venial sins strain a muscle. For a second example, consider ways you may harm a relationship with a friend. First, you could fail to celebrate with her some important event, or forget to call her when you said you would. Second, you could betray your friend by talking behind her back, or by going out with her boyfriend. Now, both of these are bad. Yet the first are examples of a strain on the relationship. The relationship itself has not been attacked or severed. The second examples are direct attacks on the relationship. Betrayal is diametrically opposed to ongoing friendship. In the analogy, the first examples of harm to a friendship are of the venial type, while the second would be mortal.

The term “mortal” means deadly or lethal. In other words, mortal sin spells the death of a relationship. Note two things about the death of relationship caused by mortal sin. First, as both of the above analogies should make clear, a mortal sin severs a relationship. But that is not the same as saying there can be no reconciliation. Some people wrongly assume that mortal sin cannot be forgiven. This is false. The task required to restore a severed relationship is great, for sure. But with God all things are possible. Second, the severance originates from our side of the relationship, not God’s. In mortal sin, we decisively reject fullness of life in relationship with God and others. A relationship is a two-way street, and so despite the fact that God’s love and offer of forgiveness is always there, mortal sin constitutes an obstinate rejection of that offer from our side.

What makes a sin mortal rather than venial? The Catechism of the Catholic Church summarizes the traditional criteria nicely. There must be a grave matter, full consent, and full knowledge.Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1857. In other words, what is done must be serious (grave matter). It must be done knowingly, and not out of ignorance or accidentally (full knowledge). Finally, it must be done consensually, and not against one’s will or under duress (full consent). It is natural for people learning about mortal sin to immediately wonder whether some area of their lives constitutes mortal sin. In a common caricature of the Roman Catholic tradition, Catholics find themselves in and out of mortal sin regularly, committing acts and repenting of them in the confessional. In reaction against this, some have explained the conditions of mortal sin in such a way that it is almost impossible to imagine anything constituting mortal sin save some direct rejection of God and God’s love. This is surely an error on the other extreme. It is true, however, given that two of the three conditions of mortal sin concern not the act committed, but the interior state of the one committing it, that identifying something as a mortal sin requires a pastoral sensitivity to the particular person and situation. This is not to say there are no mortal sins—far from it. But the task here is to identify the conditions that render sin mortal rather than listing some set of acts that in and of themselves always constitute mortal sin.

The Seven Deadly (Not Mortal) Sins

There is a second way of categorizing sins that can help us understand better the presence of sin in our lives. Whether it be from reading Dante’s Purgatorio, or from a Brad Pitt/Morgan Freeman movie, most people have heard of the seven deadly sins. The seven deadly sins are differentiated not by their degree of seriousness, but rather by the type of activity (object) constituted by the sin. Before explaining each of the seven, a word is in order on the confusing name of the deadly sins. Some people hear these seven sins called “deadly” and immediately, and understandably, assume they are the same as mortal sins. This is not the case. The Latin name for seven deadly sins is the capital sins. They are called such, most famously by St. Gregory the Great, because these seven sins are the source of other sins. Each of these deadly sins may indeed be mortal—if there is grave matter, full knowledge, and full consent. But each may also be venial, if any of those three conditions are lacking. So beware when speaking of the seven deadly sins that they may be, but are not necessarily, mortal sins. The seven deadly sins are: pride, envy, anger, sloth, greed, gluttony, and lust. Space prohibits an extensive examination of each of these seven deadly sins. The remainder of this section will briefly define each of them, and suggest ways they may be more common in our lives than we imagine.The following material is indebted to Robert Barron’s superb discussion of the seven deadly sins in his book, The Strangest Way.

This first deadly sin is pride. It was discussed extensively in the previous section, since it is commonly referred to as the root of all sin. There is an element of pride in all sin, something that is not true of the other deadly sins. The second deadly sin is envy. Envy is basically delight in the misfortune of others, and sadness in the good fortune of others. It is similar to jealousy but importantly different. The jealous person wants something he has does not have, or guards something that is perceived as threatened. But the jealousy ceases once the object is obtained or is held securely. Not so with the envious person. Even if the envious person already has good grades, he does not want his friend to have them and is, perhaps secretly, pained when his friend does get good grades. Even if an envious person has no interest in a friend’s girlfriend, he is (secretly?) pleased when they break up. Again, note that it is not the lack of a particular object that makes one envious—that is jealousy. Someone could be jealous of a friend’s good grades, but that ceases when one starts to get one’s own good grades. Yet the envious person acts as if another’s happiness somehow diminishes him, and another’s misfortune somehow elevates him. Sadly, it seems all the more common with people who share more in common to us, or who are closer to us.

Who could be so callous? With a moment’s reflection it should be clear how prevalent this sin is. Grades and relationships have already been mentioned. We could add jobs or financial status. When a group of people (like seniors in college) are on a job search, the questioning and reporting of successful and unsuccessful job applications is often fraught with envious response, even when people are not applying for the same jobs. The same is true regarding financial status. Even when another’s success or failure has no bearing on our own, it is all too easy and common to be threatened by another’s successes or relish their struggles. This dynamic is seen in parents discussing and comparing their children. People pridefully extol the successes of their own children (as if it reflects mainly on them) and enviously listen to delight in the weaknesses, and lament the successes of, others’ children. Many more examples could be offered, but the pervasive sin that is envy should now be more clear.

The third deadly sin is anger. In general, anger is an emotion aroused by the perception of an injustice, and accompanied by a desire to right that perceived injustice. As an emotion, anger is a God-given human capacity that is not inherently sinful. In fact, as is clear from chapter 4 on habituating the emotions, well-ordered anger can become an important aid to living a virtuous life. (This is why some distinguish the sin of anger by the term “wrath.”) But of course, we are all too familiar with the myriad of ways that anger can be disordered, or sinful. For instance, we all too often pridefully think that something constitutes an injustice against us when it really does not. Perhaps it was unintentional, or actually an act of justice, even if not what we would prefer. Furthermore, people can overreact in anger, and seek vindication in ways that are brutal or excessive. People explode too intensely, or stew too long, in anger, even where there is a legitimate cause of anger. All of these constitute occasions of sinful anger, which damage right relationship (justice) between people. Anger is an enormous impediment to reconciliation or forgiveness, which is simply the restoration of right relationship.

The fourth deadly sin is sloth. This term may prompt the image of a couch potato lounging lazily rather than doing anything productive. It is true that the slothful person may be a couch potato. But the deadly sin of sloth most properly refers to spiritual laziness. The slothful are inattentive to the higher things in life, particularly their relationship with God. Ironically, the slothful are sometimes the busiest people. The same people who populate the treadmills of the world’s gyms, in the frantic attempt to schedule exercise throughout their busy days, may be the same ones who simply do not have the time to attend to their spiritual needs. The college student who is so overbooked with genuinely good activities, but who lives frantically moving from meeting to class to library without a moment’s time to pause and reflect on what it all means, is another example. The slothful are not necessarily physically lazy; they are spiritually lazy. For whatever reason—lack of time or interest, perhaps—the slothful never get around to prayer, the sacraments, or any communal worship. They may even be too busy to speak reflectively with friends about where things are going in their lives, and how they understand their path in the context of the big picture. Note that not only may the slothful be busy, they may also be busy doing genuinely good—even churchy—activities. Robert Barron cites the moving story of Chicago’s Cardinal Bernadin, who realized at one point as a cardinal that he had been so consumed with the tasks of his position that he had been systemically neglecting his prayer life.Ibid., 86–87. For him it took a commitment to wake one hour earlier each day, to pray to be rid of the sloth that had marked his life.

The fifth deadly sin is greed. Greed is the inordinate desire for, and attachment to, material goods. Material things are obviously not bad in themselves. In fact, it is appropriate to seek material goods to support us and others in seeking to live a good life. But the greedy person confuses ends and means by over-prioritizing material things, such that they are not merely helpful supports in our lives, but the goal to which we aspire. The greedy person becomes too attached to material goods, and ironically they begin to own him rather than the other way around. There are obvious examples of greed in our materialistic and super-financially-conscious society. Yet perhaps a focus on extreme examples can hide the more everyday and equally pernicious ways that greed infects our lives. To what extent do I let a concern for money shape how I judge others, whether friend or stranger? To what extent am I conscious of name brands on cars, clothes, or other items, and make judgments or act accordingly? How generous am I with my resources, and how accurately do I judge what I really need vs. what is surplus and thus can be shared more freely? All of these questions help us determine the extent to which greed is present in our lives.

The sixth deadly sin is gluttony. Gluttony is an inordinate desire for and an attachment to eating and drinking. A common image of the glutton is French King Louis XIV, seated at a lavish table covered in delicious food and drink, drumstick in one hand and goblet of wine in the other. Yet again, this obvious example of excess with regard to food and drink may mask the more ubiquitous ways we are too attached to our palate. Given chapter 6, it should be all too clear that an over-prioritization of, and indulging in, alcohol is a particularly common manifestation of gluttony in our society. We could also ask to what extent our desires for excellent food and drink drive us to actions that we cannot afford, given the cost in money or health or time. Food and drink are most obviously things that are good in themselves, and can be central components of family time, companionship, and social justice. Yet when the focus on food and drink begins to eclipse the goods they are meant to support, gluttony is present.

The seventh and final sin is lust. Lust is an inordinate desire for, or engagement in, sexual activity. Again, we have a sin that concerns an activity that is not in itself sinful. As will be discussed in far greater detail in chapter 17, sex is a beautiful gift from God. Though some people may hear lust and think of all sex as dirty, this is not the Christian view, even if Christians past or present may have contributed to this perception. Like anger, greed, or gluttony, the sin of lust entails using a good thing (in this case, sex) in a manner that defies the purpose of the thing. Material things are supposed to support us in our quest to live a good life, but the greedy become entrapped by them, and are inhibited on that quest. Anger is supposed to aid us in pursuing justice, but for those with the sin of anger it actually impedes right relations with others. The gluttonous use what is meant to support their health and companionship in a manner that impedes both. So, too, with the lustful. They use what is meant to bond people together and engender new life in a manner that is contrary to those two goals. Note that we are not simply talking about sexual intercourse here. Pornography and sexually objectifying those around us corrupt our ability to use the gift of sexuality for it proper purpose. Even in marriage lust is a common sin. Anytime sex becomes a prideful way to serve and pleasure one’s self, rather than give one’s self away lovingly, lust is present.

The main point of this section has been to offer different categorizations of sin in order to better understand how it is present in our lives. Given this section, and the earlier one on the pervasiveness of sin in our lives, it may be easy to despair at this point, and wonder if one’s life is awash in sinfulness, such that one cannot escape. If this thought has crossed your mind, this chapter has served one of its goals: to convince you of the bitter reality of sin in our lives. But the Christian tradition is clear that the story does not end with sin. So we are only now ready to look past this focus on our sinfulness to the Christian message of hope and redemption.

This chapter’s first section was on the pervasiveness of sin in our lives. Before that, the introduction examined how even the holiest people of the Christian tradition are acutely aware of the presence and power of sin in their lives. At this point, it may appear as if there is no cause for hope. But this is importantly not the case. After all, note that it is those people who are most alive in the power of God’s love—the saints—who are so vividly aware of their sinfulness. What does this tell us?

One point made earlier is reaffirmed here: without an adequate recognition of the prevalence of sin in the world, the Christian story makes no sense. There can only be salvation if there is something we need saving from. That said, we are now ready to begin exploring the other half of this claim: no genuinely Christian reflection on the reality of sin can even begin without the at least implicit recognition that the power of sin over the world has been shattered by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Indeed, the moment one begins to reflect accurately on sin, the saving power of God is already present, illuminating the ways we are estranged from God in our lives, always for the purpose of reuniting us with the true purpose of our lives: life-giving loving union with God.

Indeed, even in the very ancient text (Gen. 3), where we read the story of humanity’s first sin, Christians have always found a theological reference to God’s saving action in Christ. In response to the first sin, God reveals punishments for all involved. Turning first to the serpent, the Lord says: “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; He will strike at your head, while you strike at his heel” (Gen. 3:15). Christians have interpreted this as a reference to Christ (her offspring) who will come to destroy the power of sin and darkness over humanity (“He will strike at your head”). Thus, amazingly, even at the very first moments of humanity’s sinful rejection of God, God’s plan to restore humanity to right relationship with God through Christ is underway. For the Christian, there is no recognition of sin without the presence of the very grace of God that takes away that sin.

Thus there are actually two extremes people can err on when reflecting on human sinfulness. As noted earlier in this chapter, one error is an inadequate recognition of the reality of sin in our lives. An emphasis on God’s love and salvation, without simultaneous recognition of our need for such redemption due to sin, results in an overconfidence in humanity and a naiveté with regard to our brokenness. Though usually not intentional or explicit, it entails a lack of respect and gratitude for God, since such a person assumes that God cannot or will not reconcile people who are indeed truly sinful; plus it fails to appreciate the generosity and magnitude of God’s saving forgiveness.

The other error is a fixation on human (or one’s own) sinfulness without adequate recognition that God is indeed present to us in our brokenness, and offers us, individually and communally, a path out of that desolation and into the fullness of life called salvation. This failure leads to despair or terror at God’s judgment. Though usually not intentional or explicit, it entails a lack of confidence in God’s love and power, since such a person thinks God has either no interest or ability to restore people from the damage wrought by sin.

This chapter has now come full circle, back to sin in the context of the holiness of the saints described in the first paragraph. After all, it is only through the light of God’s presence that we can see clearly the depth of our sinful brokenness. It is also that same light that reveals God’s saving forgiveness to lift us out of that decrepit state. Besides defining sin and explaining its different types, the purpose of this chapter has been not only identifying the reality and pervasiveness of human sinfulness, but also recognizing that in order even to grasp this reality and its pervasiveness, God’s saving grace is already at work. Sin is a crucial part of the Christian story. But thankfully, it is not the first, or last, word in that story. The following chapters on hope, incarnation, love, and grace all help explain how it is that sin is not the last word.

Having begun with some insight on sin from Robert Barron, it is fitting to conclude on a similar note. One of the most helpful contributions of Barron’s book is that it not only identifies central themes of the Christian story, but it also identifies practices by which one lives in recognition of these themes. Reminiscent of practices and big-picture claims about the way things are (chapter 10), Barron in effect says, “If you think this is true you will live it out by . . .”

How does he do so with regard to sin? First, he notes that Christians confess their sins. Whether it be in the confessional or in other contexts, living out the Christian way always entails explicit recognition of our sinfulness. Again,we are reminded of the saints at the start of this chapter. Second, Christians tell the truth about their sin. They refuse to let themselves be blinded either by prideful ways of seeing their own lives, or by a cowardly refusal to lovingly confront those near to them about the ways they are separating themselves from a truly good life. Finally, in a theme that will be crucial throughout the rest of this book, Christians forgive others even as they have been forgiven. Forgiveness is far from ignorance or some passive forgetfulness of past wrongs. It is rather the radical practice of bearing with and moving toward others in their wrongs in order to restore right relationship. If sin is a strain or severing of right relationship, forgiveness is simply the restoration of that right relationship. To foreshadow the next four chapters, forgiveness is what we hope for, what Christ accomplishes, what Christian love does, and what grace empowers us to do. Forgiveness as the restoration of what is damaged by sin is arguably the central theme of the Christian life.

1. According to Robert Barron, why is it that holy people are actually more aware of their sinfulness? Use his winter windshield analogy to explain.

2. Why is the reality of sin such a crucial part of the Christian story?

3. Why, and in what ways, do people neglect the reality of their sinfulness? 4. Define sin. What does it mean to say sin offends God? Why are all sins ultimately offenses against God?

4. Define pride. Why is it the root of all sin? Why is it essentially competitive, and the anti-God state of mind?

5. How does the Genesis 3 story illuminate pride? What is the meaning of the phrase, “become like gods?”

6. Define mortal and venial sin, and give the conditions that make a sin mortal.

7. List and define the seven deadly sins. Explain the difference between mortal and deadly sin.

8. Why is sin importantly not the end of the story for Christians?

sin, pride, mortal sin, venial sin, envy, anger, sloth, greed, gluttony, lust

1. The claim here is that sin is a central feature of the Christian story. How might one not believe in sin? What alternate explanations could be offered for what Christians explain by sin? How might a Christian respond to such an alternate explanation?

2. Are there any truly private sins? Why or why not?

3. Give an example of how some everyday sin you encounter is tainted by pride.

4. Go through the seven deadly sins and give an example of how you might encounter each one in your own experience.

5. Barron offers some concrete ways that people live differently if they know they are sinners. Pick one or two more ways that such knowledge should shape how one lives and describe why.

The two most formative works on this chapter are those that my students have read on this topic in the past. First, C. S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity not only has the best discussion of pride I have seen, but also most accurately describes the role of sin in the Christian story as a whole. Second, Robert Barron’s The Strangest Way contains an extraordinarily helpful reflection on human sin, including an in-depth look at the seven deadly sins through an analysis of Dante’s Purgatorio (which would be rewarding reading in conjunction with this chapter). In addition, Michael Himes’s Doing the Truth in Love contains a brief and powerful reflection on sin through the theme of creatureliness. Finally, for a quite in-depth (and Thomistic) analysis of sin, see Josef Pieper’s short book entitled The Concept of Sin.