“Generational Sin” and the Days of Darkness

“Generational Sin” and the Days of Darkness

There is no such thing as “generational sin.”

That sentence may shock some readers who have aligned themselves with well-known Catholic writers and priests who argue to the contrary. The “generational sin” concept is most commonly found in celebrity exorcist circles, within which, exorcism and specific deliverance prayers are thought to be the antidote for finally throwing off the yoke of the sins of one’s parents, grandparents, and line of great-grandparents.

Of course, the plain language of the term “generational sin” clearly contradicts Catholic doctrine. And not only is it bad theology, it can put a hyperfocus on demons and demonology, exalt the power of demons, and divert one’s attention away from the mercy and love of God. It can also cause significant depression and anxiety.

I’d like to begin by focusing on this last point. Because the whole concept that there exists a demonic stranglehold on Christians—one that can be cured only by some new and special prayers—is eerily familiar to me. I’ve seen it before—and suffered through this junk theology before. It was called “The Three Days of Darkness.”

Back in 1984, when I was thirteen years old, a Catholic friend told me about the “Three Days of Darkness.”

Essentially, it was envisioned in the following manner.

There would be a 72-hour period in which Hell would break loose—literally. Voracious demons would roam the earth. The sun would not appear. No electricity would work, so you would have to use candles for light. But they couldn’t just be any random candles; they had to be blessed candles. And not just blessed candles, but those specifically made of 100% pure beeswax. Only these would light. (Why Zippo lighters or ordinary paper matches would work to light those special candles was never explained.)

I’m forgetting some of the other details—of which there were exhaustively many—including the way to prevent the demons from actually getting inside your house. Suffice it to say that there were plenty of precise specifics about how this would take place as well as minute details about how you could—hopefully—prevent the devil from getting you. There were unique prayers to say and exacting things to do.

Nevertheless, a plethora of people would die during this melee, and presumably, be dragged to Hell.

Now, remember that I was all of thirteen years old at the time. The woman who told me about this seemed like she knew was she was talking about. And talk about, she did. In fairness to her, she wasn’t alone: several other adults in my life seemed to agree with her on every major and minor point regarding the Three Days of Darkness.

Some also claimed to know the time when it would happen with some precision. They thought that, while the Three Days might not necessarily happen before 1984 was out, it would surely occur before the end of the 1980s. These people were older and wiser—or so I thought—and they were just so sure. This was not an if; this was a when.

But there was something else in the presentation that alarmed me. The people who talked about it seemed guardedly happy—almost eager—about its occurrence. Why? Because in this process, the bad souls would go to Hell, leaving the good souls in peace. Several questions went through my mind every day: Was I supposed to be eager too? Why aren’t I eager? Why do I just feel scared?

I spent many months as a young teenager assuming that I would never see the age of twenty—that is, if I were even lucky enough to see the age of sixteen. It would have been nice if I had spent all those months thinking about God’s love and mercy for me, but that’s not what I was pondering at all. The Three Days of Darkness was coming. I was worried about demonic activity in my front yard—or in my dining room.

I’ve written often about my issues with scrupulosity growing up. And while the genesis of scrupulosity is hard to pin down, it’s pretty likely that this Three Days of Darkness scare proved a leading role. And beyond that, I developed a digestive disorder during this time. That disorder lasted quite some time.

It would be very natural to ask: Why didn’t you just ask someone else about this? That’s a good question.

First, because so many Catholics around me seemed to want this to happen, I was afraid of coming across as the person who didn’t look forward to it. Second, many holy people, in my estimation, seemed certain that this was going to happen. Who else should I ask? Third, they were referencing Catholic mystics, who were—I was assured—predicting this.

Given that set of circumstances and my relatively young age, Who was I to question?

There was no escape.

The Three Days of Darkness were coming—soon.

And so, I became scrupulous and sick.

In fairness, my parents had no real way of knowing about my scrupulosity and illness. I guess I played these off pretty well. Growing up, my mom frequently commented that I “should be an actor.” What she didn’t know what that I was already acting—acting like I was ok.

Of course, as the months and years went by, something funny happened: nothing happened. Like the song predicted, the sun did—in fact—”come out tomorrow.”

In short, I should have done my research. But, to be fair to my young teenage self, it wasn’t like I could hop on archive.org back in those days to investigate the matter, or drive myself to the Library of Congress. But had I been able to do that, I would have discovered that the Church never taught this, and that the mystics’ “predictions” were either erroneous or fake or misquoted or misunderstood in the first place. (Happily, Jimmy Akin recently did this. Jimmy, where were you in 1984?) https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/will-there-be-three-days-of-darkness

The more things change, the more they stay the same—as the saying goes.

Perhaps this is why my heart goes out to those young men and women who find themselves enveloped in a similar quandary today. The thought process often goes like this: Demons have a strange-hold on my life. Baptism didn’t solve the problem. It doesn’t matter if I go to Confession; priests can’t absolve me of great-granddad’s sins. Reception of the Holy Eucharist will forgive venial sins, but won’t work against generational sins. What’s needed here are deliverance prayers and/or an exorcism— and not just an exorcism by a diocesan priest whom the bishop has appointed, but by a “more powerful” exorcist who really gets it.

Hyperlink: https://www.aieinternational.es/nota-sobre-algunos-aspectos-del-ministerio-de-los-exorcismos/

If you are one such Catholic teenager—or Catholic of any age—who has undergone this plague of worry about “generational sin,” please let me assure you: rest easy. Irrespective of the fact that it has become a widespread belief in some Catholic circles, there is no such thing as “generational sin.”

Based on my research, I can’t find a single Catholic who believed in “generational sin” until very recently. And neither can, it seems, Father John Perricone, who recently commented in an interview with Matt Fradd, “Now suddenly, we have a cottage industry of priests who are boasting about being exorcists. This is very unhealthy. Because it’s going to have Catholics…beginning to think that, ‘Oh, my goodness! Might the devil be there in everything I do? Is he waiting for me here? Is he waiting for me there? Is the sin of my father going to come to me?’ This was never spoken of before the council.”

To Father’s point: Which Church Father, Doctor of the Church, saint, council, official catechism, entry in Denziger, citation in Ott’s Fundamentals of Catholic Dogma, or papal encyclical has ever expressed belief in “generational sin?” 

For that matter, what Church document even ALLOWS belief in generational sin—especially following baptism?

After all, Saint Thomas Aquinas confirms: “Consequently every sin is taken away by Baptism.”(Summa Theologiae, Q. 69. Art. 1)

The Catechism of the Catholic Church confirms this: “By Baptism all sins are forgiven, original sin and all personal sins, as well as all punishment for sin.”(CCC, 1263). That is clear, definitive, and authoritative teaching.

The Council of Trent is extensively clear on this. Keeping in mind that God hates sin, Trent declares: “If anyone denies that by the grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ which is conferred in baptism, the guilt of original sin is remitted, or says that the whole of that which belongs to the essence of sin is not taken away, but says that it is only canceled or not imputed, let him be anathema. For in those who are born again God hates nothing.” (The Council of Trent, Fifth Session, “Decree on Original Sin.”)

“By Baptism all sins are forgiven.” This is clear, infallible, and irreformable teaching. Thus, a person cannot hold that baptism fails to vanquish all sins. Simply, sin cannot survive baptism. Thus, there cannot be “generational sin.”

One last point. There will be those who object and say that “generational sin” does not actually refer to “sin.” Rather, the argument might go, it just refers to the effects of sin. If that is what they mean, then it is imperative that they use a different term, because that is an ontologically different thing, indeed. Theology is not a word game, in which we can throw around doctrinal terms to suit our own purposes as we see fit.

And even beyond that, it is vital that we look at the effects of sin through the lens of divine mercy, God’s infinite love, and His incomprehensibly strong desire to save your soul. Because God does not only forgive sins, but can vanquish the effects of sin as well in our own lives. The sacraments and sacramentals give testimony to this fact. We can also turn back sixteen centuries to Saint John Chrysostom’s teaching in his Third Homily on the Gospel of Matthew. He writes that Christ “teaches us also hereby, never to hide our face at our forefathers’ wickedness, but to seek after…virtue. For such a man, though he have an alien for his ancestor, though he have a mother who is a prostitute, or what you will, can take no hurt thereby.”

Simply put, there is no such thing as “generational sin.”

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