The redemption arc is a difficult but powerful tool in the writer’s arsenal; it’s an even more difficult thing to undergo in real life, as Saul of Tarsus could no doubt tell you. See, sin exists. Because men sin and are sinned against, there is a constant need for forgiveness; when the forgiveness needed is of a greater-than-usual nature, when the crime seems almost unforgivable, when the person lives in a story rather than as flesh-and-blood, we call that a redemption arc. Yet I can tell you, from some acquaintance with the corpus of fiction: redemption arcs get messed up a lot. Now, that’s partly because they’re technically difficult, but I don’t think that’s the biggest problem. The biggest problem with a lot of redemption arcs- and a problem that afflicts us in everyday life, in the big and the small- is that humans without the Gospel of Christ have no basis for forgiveness.

Before we consider why forgiveness and redemption (arc or otherwise) is only possible in the Christian framework, we must understand what sin is. The Westminster Confession defines it as ‘any lack of conformity to or transgression of the law of God,’ but that’s not sufficient for today’s analysis, however accurate. Sin’s actuality, we must realize, has two components: the historic fact and the guilt. The first one is the actual event of the sin; the second is the moral weight of that event, primarily before the throne of God and secondarily in the eyes of the sinner and his fellow man.

The emotional component of guilt is consequent to that second element but not integral; the moral guilt of murder or theft or gossip remains no matter how little emotional guilt is in the person, how little blame others put upon him for the sin. Because man is made in God’s image, however, he has an innate awareness of dissonance with God’s nature, which awareness is man’s conscience (Gen. 1:26-28; Rom. 1:19-21, 8:7-8). It is by this mechanism, at minimum, that moral guilt occasions in man the psychological phenomenon of guilt, the need for atonement or for forgetfulness. The ‘wrongness’ of a character’s redemption, in fiction, is generally a feeling that this moral guilt remains, moral guilt generating emotional guilt.

Next, having seen what sin is, we must ask: what’s the end goal? Where is the redemption arc headed? Consideration produces a simple answer: reconciliation. In many, the reconciliation is with self, to have peace no longer racked by guilt, no longer tainted and rotten with awareness of sin. In many, too, the reconciliation is with others; men seek to restore relationships harmed or broken by their sin or the sin of others, to rebuild trust and in some way deal with the wounds of sin, the weight of guilt which calls man hate both those who have wronged him and those whom he has wronged. In all, when man will acknowledge morality (as he occasionally refuses to), the reconciliation sought is reconciliation with the standard of righteousness, with goodness, with moral rectitude; as Christians, we know that this means reconciliation with God.

Now, what stands in the way of reconciliation? It is not the historic fact of the sin, whatever we may think. That is in the past. Of course, its repercussions are still around, but we’re dealing only with the sin itself, under the reasoning that once we can reconcile for one sin, eventually the same solution can be applied to the rest. I set aside as irrelevant those repercussions which make relationship impossible to resume via geographic or similar obstacles (such as death of one party). Even in such circumstances, forgiveness should not be impossible; I can forgive the man who is a thousand miles way and completely impossible to contact, can establish peace over past sin towards him, even if I cannot make new relationship.

Of course, in cases where there is an ongoing injury resulting from the original sin, restitution is the means obvious to heal the wound. If I steal ten thousand cookies, it is my responsibility to restore at least ten thousand cookies to those I stole from. This is, admittedly, not a universal concept, as witnessed by the American court system’s preference for prison and fines rather than restitution (fines, of course, being for the government, not the one injured). Today, however, I’m going to set aside that discussion, under the assumption that most can accept restitution as a proper part of reconciliation. While that’s not true for everybody, it’s not the part of the problem I want to focus on.

If the historic fact of sin, the bare event, is not the continuing problem we’re concerned with, then it must be the guilt which came with that bare event. The transgression of the law hangs as an albatross around the sinner’s neck, a noose just tight enough to hurt at times, at times drawn till the lips grow blue. How is man to be rid of this fruit and essence of sin? The world has answers.

Let’s contextualize these answers in terms of redemption arcs in a story. Imagine we have a murderer, a man who has worked for decades to assassinate his master’s foes. This is an easy target for redemption, in some ways; we find it easier to bear with sins-for-a-cause than with, say, any given serial killer. Yet there’s a possibility (only God knows truly) that Jeffrey Dahmer was saved, and it seems likely, from some testimony I’ve encountered, that many sinners-for-a-cause are in it more for the sin (the control, the pleasure, the prestige) than the cause. All this aside, however, we have our redemption target.

First, the sinner can try ignoring the sin, can deny it. So our assassin goes about his life without addressing what he’s done. After all, he says, he’s not doing it any more; he’s doing the Right Thing now. What right have we to judge? Let he who is without sin throw the first stone (a dubiously canonical verse from John 8 (v7), which really means, “Punish all involved in the sin or none at all: no double standards!”). This is, manifestly, an empty and invalid solution to the problem. When the relative of a victim comes up to the assassin and says, “You killed my father; prepare to die,” what is the assassin supposed to say? Perhaps he could try, “But that was last month, and I am not killing him now, nor have I any intention to do so in future.” But I don’t advise it.

From a theological perspective, too, this solution is terrible. It declares, effectively, that the sin doesn’t matter, that the wound wasn’t inflicted, that reconciliation is deserved or superfluous, not difficult as we as, in our awareness of sin, know it to be. In a story, it’s a lie fit to damn a man; in real life, it’s the same. Of course, in a story the author can include this not as a real redemption arc but as the outworking of a character’s sin and foolishness; in real life, we must not dare to indulge in its falsity.

Second, the sinner can ask (implicitly or explicitly) that those he’s injured would set aside the guilt, pleading that he can’t change the past, and would look towards the future instead. This is, blatantly, simply the first solution with an added acknowledgement of guilt. There’s no foundation for true reconciliation here because the guilt remains and cannot be got rid of; the burden on Christian’s back, as Bunyan pictured it, sits there still. It can be the foundation, in this world, for cooperation, but true peace it cannot fruit into. As for man’s relationship with God, this is a mockery and a falsity which, again, leads only to damnation.

Thus for two possibilities; we’ll consider more (including the solution) next time. For now, remember that the element of sin which we’re dealing with in redemption arcs, here, is the moral guilt, not the historic fact. Note also the permanence- seeming, in reality, but permanent before man’s efforts- of that guilt.

God bless.

Read Part Two.