This is the last essay I wrote this past semester. I had been planning to write about Jesus’ proclamation “blessed are the poor,” but this seemed more exciting. The Professor said my sources were pretty irrelevant, and I should have examined the texts more. I thought my sources were great, but he probably had a point. Either way, here are my thoughts about that mysterious thing.

The Unforgivable Sin

            Several passages in the New Testament briefly reference a sin which will not be forgiven. In Luke, it is called “blasphemy of the Holy Spirit” (Luke 12:8-10 NIV). While it is unclear what this sin is, it seems to be connected to the breaking of a sacred oath – a corruption of being – a turning from the light of truth. There is a line in Robert Bolt’s play A Man for All Seasons in which Sir Thomas More says, “When a man takes an oath, Meg, he’s holding his own self in his own hands. Like water. And if he opens his fingers then — he needn’t hope to find himself again” (Bolt). The New Testament passages which speak about “the sin that leads to death” (I John 5:16-17) approach it in much the same manner as Sir Thomas More’s dire warning against breaking an oath. This blasphemy seems to be a corruption which will not be undone. This paper will explore this theme is three sections: hypocrisy, selling a soul, and a descent into darkness.

(Hypocrisy)

“I tell you, whoever publicly acknowledges me before others, the Son of Man will also acknowledge before the angels of God. But whoever disowns me before others will be disowned before the angels of God. And everyone who speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven, but anyone who blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven” (Luke 12:8-10).

At the beginning of this chapter in Luke, Jesus warns his disciples, “Be on your guard against the yeast of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy.” He goes on to tell them, “do not be afraid of those who kill the body…fear him who…has power to throw you into hell” (Luke 12:1-5). With this as a preface, Jesus says that whoever speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven, but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven.

Here, the warning seems to be for one who, like Judas the traitor, is two-faced. Psychologist Dr. Jordan Peterson says, “If you’re not honest, you can’t trust your own intuition… and this is why virtue is a necessity. If you lie to yourself or to other people, you corrupt the structure that you use to interact with being” (Peterson). It is surprising how lightly Jesus seems to take speaking against the name of the Son of Man (his own name). Yet speaking against the Holy Spirit, he says, is another matter entirely. It is implied that those who could blaspheme the Holy Spirit are those who have been shown the truth, walked in it, and then turned their back. Like Judas, they have held righteousness in their embrace and then done violence to him they swore allegiance to. This blasphemy is the breaking of an oath entered into by humanity and divinity.

(Selling a Soul)

“See that no one is sexually immoral, or is godless like Esau, who for a single meal sold his inheritance rights as the oldest son. Afterward, as you know, when he wanted to inherit this blessing, he was rejected. Even though he sought the blessing with tears, he could not change what he had done” (Hebrews 12:16-17).

Along with the breaking of an oath, this sin seems also seems to be closely tied to the selling of one’s integrity for profit. Like Esau, who sold his inheritance rights for a meal, those who blaspheme the Spirit, i.e. commit treason, sell the integrity of their being for immediate gain. This transaction is a corruption with deep implications. We all come into the world in a sinful state. But to corrupt means to change; treason means to turn back away from that which you have loved and fought for. It is the highest charge to be laid upon man.

In a lecture titled “The Necessity Virtue,” Dr. Jordan Peterson says,

It’s been said that the most important event of the twentieth century was the Nuremburg trials [following] World War II [which] dealt with those…especially responsible for the horrors committed. In this trial, the standard defense…was, “I was ordered to do it.” However, the court denied human beings, regardless of their race, ethnicity, background, or beliefs, the legal right to use that as a defense…the argument was that there are some things which are so self-evidently…not virtuous, that if you engage in them, you’re existentially guilty; you’re guilty outside the bounds of your culture. (Peterson)

The Nuremburg Trials saw people from different languages, religions, philosophies, and allegiances unite to declare that every member of mankind is liable to some larger covenant than that within the bounds of his own culture. Those who sell their being, who allow themselves to be corrupted to the point that they delight in the torture their fellow man, are guilty of treason against our collective nature. They have sold their souls to a deep darkness. And like Esau, they may beg and plead, but they cannot change what they have done. And like Judas, they have corrupted their being. For Judas was with the Lord, he tasted of the truth, and he sold his friend (and thereby his own soul) for thirty pieces of silver.

(A Descent into Darkness)

“If you see any brother or sister commit a sin that does not lead to death, you should pray and God will give them life. I refer to those whose sin does not lead to death. There is a sin that leads to death. I am not saying that you should pray about that. All wrongdoing is sin, and there is sin that does not lead to death” (I John 5:16-17).

When John mentions the sin that leads to death, he seems to imply a change of direction. He says that the sin leads the one who commits it. While “All wrongdoing is sin” (I John 5:17), there seems to be a sin which is able to lead us, to drag us away to darkness. Peter tells us that those who “have escaped the corruption of the world by knowing…Jesus Christ and are again entangled in it and overcome [by corruption], they are worse off at the end than at the beginning.” He even says that they would have been better off never knowing what is right than to have known and turned away (II Peter 2:20-21).

In The Republic, Socrates describes the ascent towards being as coming up out of the darkness of a cave and into the light of day (Plato). This is the slow renewal of what was first in darkness. The account in I John paints the sin that leads to death as the descent back down into the depravity of the cave. No one can be faulted for being born depraved; we did not choose our condition. Yet when a man has gone up out and seen the light of day, tasted the truth, felt the warmth of righteousness, for him to walk back down is a sin of another nature.

It must be understood that returning to the cave, i.e. committing the unforgivable sin, is not the same as visiting the shadows where the sunlight is shortly diminished. Believers sin all the time. This does not mean that they cannot be forgiven. When one turns away from the light, a light that’s warmed him and which he’s sworn by, and walks back to the darkness where he came from, he commits a sin which corrupts his very being. If we hope to remain in the light, we do well to remember the words of Sir Thomas More who said, “When a man takes an oath, Meg, he’s holding his own self in his own hands. Like water. And if he opens his fingers then — he needn’t hope to find himself again” (Bolt).

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This is a story and my theory of everything – we all have one.

This past weekend I went to Ohio for a wedding. After the singing, vowing, eating, and dancing were over, we went to The Book Loft in downtown Columbus. It had several floors and dozens of rooms with books on every subject imaginable. You could get lost in there (I did). There was so much to look at that it felt like you could never stare long enough to take it all in. But as we walked down a narrow hallway away from the history of the American military, I noticed a certain painting hanging on the wall. I knew within five seconds of seeing it that I had to have it. It made perfect sense. It was as if Leonid Afremov had listened to me explain the way I see the world and then put it on canvas. He calls it Bewitched Park.

We traveled back home after a wonderful weekend, and I brought the painting into my room. Instead of dropping $25 on a frame, I decided to just try and make one. As per usual, Grandpa left his shop unlocked and said I could use whatever I could find. So Aleisha and I cut and planed and glued and guessed for about two hours and emerged with a wooden frame.

While we were hanging it in my room, she asked why I liked the painting, why I had to have it. I didn’t have a very good answer immediately. But this is why.

I spent a lot of my life believing that when I was a good boy, things went well for me – and that when I was bad, things went poorly.

That when I make good choices, God lets me feel good inside – and when I make bad choices, God makes me feel bad inside.

That if I could be faithful, I could feel close to God – and if I strayed away, I wouldn’t feel his presence anymore.

I kind of believed that the good way was a straight (narrow) path illuminated by the light. As long as you stay on the path God has laid out, the light will shine on you, you’ll have peace, and you’ll feel close to God.  The last two years have been a long series of un-learning this way of thinking. I have come to believe that I am the man with a black umbrella plodding through Bewitched Park.

I had to have this painting because the path cutting through Bewitched Park looks more like the one I’m on than the one I used to believe in, the one where if we walk straight we get shined on all the time. I had to have this painting because the man in the painting has to use an umbrella to keep from getting soaked in the rain.

Two years ago, my explanation for the darkness I felt was something like I must have strayed from the path. Now, I’m coming to believe that I don’t get too much a say in how bright things are along the way – I must choose only to keep walking and pray for the light. When the way goes through open fields, I run. When I feel peace inside, I thank God. When the light shines on me, I feel alive inside and smile.

And when the way goes into the dark woods, I can only say, It’s dark as hell out here. But I see no way through these woods except this road. I do not control the sun, and I didn’t plant these giant trees blocking out all the light. I am anxious, afraid, paralyzed, and lonely. But I will wait for the light and walk on, ducking down under my black umbrella.

My theory of everything is that we ought to dance in the light and walk through the dark with the knowledge that we cannot reach the light-switch. If you are warmed by the light, you ought to give someone a hug. If you are cold in the dark, you should reach out your arms. In Bewitched Park, you’re never too far from the bright lights shining to the left or the dark woods looming to the right. And the path through one usually leads to the other.

I have decided that in the dark woods or in the bright light, faith is what’s required of me. Faith and walking on. I’ve lived in fear for too long.

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We are crooked souls trying to stay up straight,

Dry eyes in the pouring rain, yeah well,

The shadow proves the sunshine, the shadow proves the sunshine,

(Switchfoot)

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When it comes time to go to a funeral, as we all must – life isn’t just weddings you know, what do you say? Do you say, “She’s in a better place now”? I’ve said that before, and today has me wondering if it’s true.

I like asking people what they think we are, how (if) they compartmentalize being. Some people go crazy, they claim, “We’re body, soul, mind, heart, and spirit.” That’s never made any sense to me. The most I’ll consent to is two parts of being, body and soul. But I wouldn’t argue with you if you claimed we’re holistic, that we can’t be broken into parts. Maybe you’ve never cared or thought about it – but I think it matters when you go to a funeral.

If you think we are beings with parts (body, soul…), then you probably hold the Greek inspired view that when we die, we’re ripped apart. The body goes down into the grave, and the soul goes up to heaven (or down to hell). But if you think that we’re not beings who can be broken into parts, then maybe you aren’t so sure about “going to a better place.” I haven’t come to much conclusion, and here is why.

If we are two parts (or more), then why is it necessary for Christ to raise us up on the last day? If our soul, apart from our physical body, goes to the good place when we die, then what are we waiting for? Why do we need to be made new? Paul tells us, “the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.”

But if we are one part, then maybe when we die, we don’t “fly high” – maybe heaven does not “gain another angel.” Maybe our being, our whole self descends into the grave inside a casket. And maybe our loved ones console each other not with, “She’s in a better place” but with “Christ will raise her up again.” Just as Jesus laid in a tomb, heart unbeating, breath unbreathing, and then was raised up to new life and glorification, maybe we go down into the earth, dying in faith that he will not leave us there forever. Maybe Christ is called the firstborn from among the dead because we too will be born up out of the earth.

I haven’t decided, but I think I like that second view better – that he will raise me up. It helps me believe that my present darkness is not forever, that if from this earth I go down into hell, into darkness, even into death, I go down in hope that Christ will raise me up again. The one who himself laid lifeless in the dark will shine on me, breathe in me, raise me up, and pull me out.

“Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise. Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light…He will bring me out into the light.” (Micah 7).

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