Sin, Ineffaceable—See [Consequences, Irreparable].
SIN, ORIGINAL
What a strange misuse of language to speak of sacred writers as inventing original sin! Can we say that Jenner invented the smallpox, or that Pasteur invented the rabies, or that any of the celebrated physicians invented the maladies which are known by their names? What these famous men did was to successfully diagnose, characterize, and treat diseases which already existed, and which proved their malignant power by carrying thousands of men and women to the grave. (Text.)—W. L. Watkinson, “The Transfigured Sackcloth.”
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SIN, SENSE OF
It is popular in some quarters to pooh-pooh, the sense of sin, or to smile away the seriousness of sin.
Alfred de Musset, when he was young (the same fact is told of Merimee), once, being very much scolded for a childish freak, went away in tears, deeply penitent, when he heard his parents say, after the door was shut: “Poor boy, he thinks himself quite a criminal!” The thought that his misdeed was not so very serious, and that his repentance was mere childishness, wounded him deeply, and the impression remained engraved on his memory forever. (Text.)
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SIN, SUBTLETY OF
Our scientists, by the aid of powerful lenses, intense lights, exquisite adjustments, have succeeded in rendering visible the germs of several terrible maladies which decimate us, and these ardent naturalists hope ultimately to discover germs still more minute and obscure. But can any one believe that a bacteria of immorality will ever be revealed by the microscope as the germs of disease have been? Fever and cholera germs, germs of consumption, hydrophobia, erysipelas, have been disclosed by the fierce light of modern research; but no one will suppose that the germs of intemperance, impurity, anger, covetousness, deceit, pride, murder, foolishness, will ever be thrown on the screen, and an antidote be found for them in the pharmacopoeia. If it were thus possible to exhibit the secret of our sins, how we should shudder at the sight of the naked human heart, and shrink from the ghastly things which nestle there! But such a spectacle is not possible, and we are sure that it never will be. The germs of moral disease are in the soul itself; no glass of science may make them visible, no physician may deal with them, no medicine may purge them.—W. L. Watkinson, “The Transfigured Sackcloth.”