In one way, the doctrine of “original sin” was good and helpful in that it
taught us not to be surprised at the frailty and woundedness that we all carry.
Just as goodness is inherent and shared, so it seems with evil. And this is, in fact,
a very merciful teaching. Knowledge of our shared wound ought to free us from
the burden of unnecessary—and individual—guilt or shame, and help us to be
forgiving and compassionate with ourselves and with one another. (There is
usually a bright side to every poor theological formulation, if we are willing to
look for it.)
Yet historically, the teaching of original sin started us off on the wrong foot
—with a no instead of a yes, with a mistrust instead of a trust. We have spent
centuries trying to solve the “problem” that we’re told is at the heart of our
humanity. But if you start with a problem, you tend to never get beyond that
mind-set.
From Augustine’s theological no, the hole only got deeper. Martin Luther
portrayed humans as a “pile of manure,” John Calvin instituted his now-
infamous doctrine of “total depravity,” and poor Jonathan Edwards famously
condemned New Englanders as “sinners in the hands of an angry God.” No
wonder Christians are accused of having a negative anthropology!
The theology of mistrust and suspicion has manifested itself in all kinds of
misguided notions: a world always in competition with itself; a mechanical and
magical understanding of baptism; fiery notions of hell; systems of rewards and
punishments, shaming and exclusion of all wounded individuals (variously
defined in each century); beliefs in the superiority of skin color, ethnicity, or
nation.
All of this was done in the name of the one who said that he did not come
“for the righteous” or the “virtuous,” but for “sinners” (Luke 15:1–7, Mark 2:17,
Luke 5:32), and to give us “life, and life abundantly” (John 10:10). This will
never work, and it never did!
When we start with a theology of sin management administered by a too-
often elite clergy, we end up with a schizophrenic religion. We end up with a
Jesus who was merciful while on earth, but who punishes in the next world.
Who forgives here but not later. God in this picture seems whimsical and
untrustworthy even to the casual observer. It may be scary for Christians to
admit these outcomes to ourselves, but we must. I believe this is a key reason
why people do not so much react against the Christian story line, like they used
to; instead, they simply refuse to take it seriously.