Worlds without number
Lie in his bosom, like children: he made them for this purpose
only,—
Only to love, and be loved again. He breathed forth his Spirit
Into the slumbering dust, and, upright standing, it laid its
Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of
heaven.—TEGNER.
The attentive reader has perceived before this time, that one of the
fundamental ideas, one of the great leading truths, of the present
discourse is, that a necessary holiness is a contradiction in terms,—an
inherent and utter impossibility. This truth has shown us why a Being of
infinite purity does not cause virtue to prevail everywhere, and at all
times. If virtue could be necessitated to exist, there seems to be no
doubt that such a Being would cause it to shine out in all parts of his
dominion, and the blot of sin would not be seen upon the beauty of the
world. But although moral goodness cannot be necessitated to exist, yet
God has attested his abhorrence of vice and his approbation of virtue, by
the dispensation of natural good and evil, of pleasure and pain. Having
marked out the path of duty for us, he has made such a distribution of
natural good and evil as is adapted to keep us therein. The evident design
of this arrangement is, as theologians and philosophers agree, to prevent
the commission of evil, and secure the practice of virtue. The Supreme
Ruler of the world adopts this method to promote that moral goodness which
cannot be produced by the direct omnipotency of his power.
Hence, it must be evident, that although God desires the happiness of his
rational and accountable creatures, he does not bestow happiness upon them
without regard to their moral character. The great dispensation of his
natural providence, as well as the express declaration of his word,
forbids the inference that he desires the happiness of those who
obstinately persist in their evil courses. If we may rely upon such
testimony, he desires _first_ the _holiness_ of his intelligent creatures,
and _next_ their _happiness_. Hence, it is well said by Bishop Butler,
that the “divine goodness, with which, if I mistake not, we make very free
in our speculations, _may not be a bare, single disposition to produce
happiness_, but a disposition to make the good, the faithful, the honest
man happy.”(160)
He desires the holiness of all, that all may have life. This great truth
is so clearly and so emphatically set forth in revelation, and it so
perfectly harmonizes with the most pleasing conceptions of the divine
character, that one is filled with amazement to reflect how many crude
undigested notions there are in the minds of professing Christians, which
are utterly inconsistent with it. “As I live, saith the Lord God, I have
no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his
way, and live. Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die?” This solemn
asseveration that God desires not the death of the sinner, but that he
should turn from his wickedness and live, one would suppose should satisfy
every mind which reposes confidence in the divine origin of revelation.
And yet, until the minds of men are purged from the films of a false
philosophy and sectarian prejudice, they seem afraid to look at the plain,
obvious meaning of this and other similar passages of Scripture. They will
have it, that God desires the ultimate holiness and happiness of only a
portion of mankind, and the destruction of all the rest; that upon some he
bestows his grace, causing them to become holy and happy, and appear
forever as the monuments of his mercy; while from some he withholds his
saving grace, that they may become the fearful objects of his indignation
and wrath. Such a display of the divine character seems to be equally
unknown to reason and to revelation.
Section I.
The reason why theologians have concluded that God designs the salvation
of only a part of mankind.
The reason why so many theologians come to so frightful a conclusion is,
that they imagine God could very easily cause virtue in the breast of
every moral agent, if he would. Hence arises in their minds the stupendous
difficulty, “How can God really desire the holiness and happiness of all,
since he refuses to make all holy and happy? Is he really in earnest, in
pleading with sinners to turn from their wickedness, since he might so
easily turn them, and yet will not do it? Is the great God really sincere
in the offer of salvation to all, and in the grand preparations he hath
made to secure their salvation, since he will not put forth his mighty,
irresistible hand to save them?” Such is the great difficulty which has
arisen from the imagination in question, and confounded theology for ages,
as well as cast a dark shadow upon the Christian world. It is only by
getting rid of this unfounded imagination, this false supposition, that
this stupendous difficulty can be solved, and the glory of the divine
government clearly vindicated.
We have before us Mr. Symington’s able and plausible defence of a limited
atonement, in which he says, that “_the event is the best interpreter of
the divine intention_.” Hence he infers, that as all are not actually
saved, it was not the design of God that all should be saved, and no
provision is really made for their salvation. This argument is plausible.
It is often employed by the school of theologians to which the author
belongs, and employed with great effect. But is it sound? No doubt it has
often been shown to be unsound _indirectly_; that is, by showing that the
conclusion at which it arrives comes into conflict with the express
declarations of Scripture, as well as with our notions of the perfections
of God. But this is not to analyze the argument itself, and show it to be
a sophism. Nor can this be done, so long as the principle from which the
conclusion necessarily follows be admitted. If we admit, then, that God
could very easily cause virtue or moral goodness to exist everywhere, we
must conclude that “_the event is the best interpreter_ of the divine
intention;” and that the atonement and all other provisions for the
salvation of men are limited in extent by the design of God. That is to
say, if we admit the premiss assumed by Mr. Symington and his school, we
cannot consistently deny their conclusion.
Nor could we resist a great many other conclusions which are frightful in
the extreme. For if God could easily make all men holy, as it is contended
he can, then the event is the best evidence of his real intention and
design. Hence he really did not design the salvation of all men. When he
gave man a holy law, he really did not intend that he should obey and
live, but that he should transgress and die. When he created the world, he
really did not intend that all should reach the abodes of eternal bliss,
but that some should be ruined and lost forever. Such are some of the
consequences which necessarily flow from the principle, that holiness may
be caused to exist in the breast of every moral agent. This is not all. We
have before us another book, which insists that since the world was
created, the law of God has never been violated, because his will cannot
be resisted. Hence, it is seriously urged, that if theft, or adultery, or
murder, be perpetrated, it must be in accordance with the will of God, and
consequently no sin in his sight. “The whole notion of sinning against
God,” this book says, “is perfectly puerile.” Now all this vile stuff
proceeds on the supposition, that “the event is the best interpreter of
the divine intention;” and it rests upon that supposition with just as
great security, as does the argument in favour of a limited atonement.
Though we may well give such stuff to the winds, or trample it under foot
with infinite scorn, as an outrage against the moral sentiments of
mankind; yet we cannot meet it on the arena of logic, if we concede that
holiness may be everywhere caused to exist, and universal obedience to the
divine will secured.
The only principle, it clearly seems to us, on which we can reconcile such
glaring discrepancies between the express will of God and the event, is,
that the event is of such a nature that it is not an object of power, or
cannot be caused to exist by the Divine Omnipotence. For his “secret
will,” or rather his executive will, is always in perfect harmony with his
revealed will. It is from an inattention to the foregoing principle, that
theologians have not been able to see and vindicate the sincerity of God,
in the offer of salvation to all men. We have examined their efforts to
remove this difficulty, and been constrained to agree with Dr. Dick, that
“we may pronounce these attempts to reconcile the universal call of the
gospel with the sincerity of God, to be a faint struggle to extricate
ourselves from the profundities of theology.” But on looking into those
solutions again, in which for some years we found a sort of rest, we could
clearly perceive why theology had struggled in vain to deliver itself from
its profound embarrassments on this subject, as well as on many others.
These solutions admit the very principle which necessarily creates the
difficulty, and renders a satisfactory answer impossible. Discard this
false principle, substitute the truth in its stead, and the sincerity of
God will come out from every obscurity, and shine with unclouded
splendour.
Section II.
The attempt of Howe to reconcile the eternal ruin of a portion of mankind
with the sincerity of God in his endeavours to save them.
To illustrate the justness of the remark just made, we shall select that
solution of the difficulty in question which has been deemed the most
profound and satisfactory. We mean the solution of “the wonderful
Howe.”(161) This celebrated divine clearly saw the impossibility of
reconciling the sincerity of God with the offer of salvation to all, on
the supposition that he does anything to prevent the salvation, or promote
the ruin of those who are finally lost. He rejects the scheme of
necessity, or a concurrence of the divine will, in relation to the sinful
volitions of men, as aggravating the difficulty which he had undertaken to
solve. This was one great step towards a solution. But it still remained
to “reconcile God’s prescience of the sins of men with the wisdom and
sincerity of his counsels, exhortations, and whatsoever means he uses to
prevent them.” Let us see how he has succeeded in his attempt to
accomplish this great object.
He admits in this very attempt, “that the universal, continued rectitude
of all intelligent creatures had, we may be sure, been willed with a
peremptory, efficacious will, if it had been best.” He expressly says,
that God might have prevented sin from raising its head in his dominions,
if he had chosen to do so. “Nor was it less easy,” says he, “by a mighty,
irresistible hand, universally to expel sin, than to prevent it.” Now,
having made this concession, was it possible for him to vindicate the
sincerity and wisdom of God in the use of means to prevent sin, which he
foresaw must fail to a very great extent?
After having made such an admission, or rather after having assumed such a
position, we think it may be clearly shown that the author was doomed to
fail; and that he has deceived himself by false analogies in his gigantic
efforts to vindicate the character of God. He says, for example: “We will,
for discourse’s sake, suppose a prince endowed with the gift or spirit of
prophecy. This most will acknowledge a great perfection, added to
whatsoever other of his accomplishments. And suppose this his prophetic
ability to be so large as to extend to most events which fall out in his
dominions. Is it hereby become unfit for him to govern his subjects by
laws, or any way admonish them of their duty? Hath this perfection so much
diminished him as to depose him from his government? It is not, indeed, to
be dissembled, that it were a difficulty to determine, whether such
foresight were, for himself, better or worse. Boundless knowledge seems
only in a fit conjunction with an unbounded power. But it is altogether
unimaginable that it should destroy his relation to his subjects; as what
of it were left, if it should despoil him of his legislative power and
capacity of governing according to laws made by it? And to bring back the
matter to the Supreme Ruler: let it for the present be supposed only, that
the blessed God hath, belonging to his nature, the universal prescience
whereof we are discoursing; we will surely, upon that supposition,
acknowledge it to belong to him as a perfection. And were it reasonable to
affirm, that by a perfection he is disabled from government? or were it a
good consequence, ‘He foreknows all things—he is therefore unfit to govern
the world?’ ”
This way of representing the matter, it must be confessed, is exceedingly
plausible and taking at first view; but yet, if we examine it closely, we
shall find that it does not touch the real knot of the difficulty. The
cases are not parallel. The prince is endowed with a foreknowledge of
offences, which it is not in his power wholly to prevent. Hence it may be
perfectly consistent with his wisdom and sincerity, to use all the means
in his power to prevent them, though he may see they will fail in some
cases, while they will succeed in others. But God, according to the
author, might prevent all sin, or exclude it all from his dominions by
“his mighty, irresistible hand.” Hence it may not be consistent with his
wisdom and sincerity to use means which he foresees will have only partial
success, when he might so easily obtain universal and perfect success. It
seems evident, then, that this is a deceptive analogy. It overlooks the
root, and grapples with the branches of the difficulty. Let it be seen,
that no power can cause the universal, continued moral rectitude of
intelligent creatures, and then the two cases will be parallel; and God
may well use all possible means to prevent sin and cause holiness, though
some of his subjects may resist and perish. Let this principle, which we
have laboured to establish, be seen, and then may we entirely dispel the
cloud which has so long seemed to hang over the wisdom and sincerity of
the Supreme Ruler of the world. We might offer strictures upon other
passages of the solution under consideration; but as the same error runs
through all of them, the reader may easily unravel its remaining
obscurities and embarrassments for himself.
If holiness cannot be caused by a _direct_ application of power, it
follows that there is no want of wisdom in the use of _indirect_ means, or
of sincerity in the use of the most efficacious means the nature of the
case will admit: but if universal holiness may be caused to exist by a
mere word, then indeed it seems to be clearly inconsistent with wisdom to
resort to means which must fail to secure it, and with sincerity to utter
the most solemn and vehement asseverations that it is the will of God to
secure it; for how obvious is the inquiry, If he so earnestly desire it,
and can so easily secure it, why does he not do it?
In rejecting the principle for which we contend, Howe has paid the usual
penalty of denying the truth; that is, he has contradicted himself. “It
were very unreasonable to imagine,” says he, “that God cannot, in any
case, extraordinarily oversway the inclinations and determine the will of
such a creature, in a way agreeable enough to its nature, (though we
particularly know not, and we are not concerned to know, or curiously to
inquire in what way,) and highly reasonable to suppose that in many cases
he doth.” Here he affirms, that our wills may be overruled and determined
in perfect _conformity to our natures_, in some way or other, though we
know not how. Why, then, does not God so overrule our wills in all cases,
and secure the existence of universal holiness? Because, says he, “it is
manifest to any sober reason, that it were very incongruous this should be
the ordinary course of his conduct to mankind, or the same persons at all
times; that is, that the whole order of intelligent creatures should be
moved only by inward impulses; _that God’s precepts, promises, and
comminations, whereof their nature is capable, should be all made
impertinences_, through his constant overpowering those that should
neglect them; that the faculties, whereby men are capable of moral
government, should be rendered to this purpose, _useless and vain_; and
that they should be tempted to expect to be constantly managed _as mere
machines that know not their own use_.”
What strange confusion and self-contradiction! The wills of men may be,
and often are, swayed by the mighty, irresistible hand of God, and in a
way _agreeable to their nature_; and yet this is not done in all cases,
lest men should be governed as _mere machines_! The laws, promises, and
threatenings of God, are not to be rendered vain and useless in all cases,
but only in some cases! Indeed, if we would escape such inconsistencies
and self-contradictions, we must return to the position that a necessary
holiness is a contradiction in terms,—that no power can cause it. From
this position we may clearly see, that the laws, promises, and
comminations; the counsels, exhortations, and influences of God, which are
employed to prevent sin, are not a system of grand impertinences,—are not
a vast and complicated machinery to accomplish what might be more
perfectly, easily, and directly accomplished without them. We may see,
that God really desires the holiness and happiness of all men, although
some may be finally lost; that he is in earnest in the great work of
salvation; and when he so solemnly declares that he has no pleasure in the
death of the sinner, but would rather he should turn and live, he means
precisely what he says, without the least equivocation or mental
reservation. This position it is, then, which shows the goodness of God in
unclouded glory, and reconciles his sincerity with the final result of his
labours.
But we have not yet got rid of every shade of difficulty. For it may still
be asked, why God uses means to save those who he foresees will be lost?
why he should labour when he foresees his labour will be in vain? To this
we answer, that it does not follow his labour will be in vain, because
some may be pleased to rebel and perish. This would be the case in regard
to such persons, provided his only object in what he does be to save them;
but although this is one great end and aim of his agency, it does not
follow that it is his only object. For if any perish, it is certainly
desirable that it be from their own fault, and not from the neglect of God
to provide them with the means of salvation. It is his object, as he tells
us, to vindicate his own character, and to stop every mouth in regard to
the lost, as well as to save the greatest possible number. But this object
could not be accomplished, if some should be permitted to perish without
even a possibility of salvation. Hence he gives to all the means, power,
and opportunity to turn and live; and this fact is nearly always alluded
to in relation to the finally impenitent and lost. Thus says our Saviour,
with tears of commiseration and pity: “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often
would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her
chickens under her wings, and ye would not! Behold, your house is left
unto you desolate.” Now the tears of the Redeemer thus wept over lost
souls, and this eloquent vindication of his own and his Father’s goodness
and compassion, would be a perfect mockery, if salvation had never been
placed within their reach, or if their obedience, their real spiritual
obedience and submission, might have been secured. But as it is, there is
not even the shadow of a ground for suspecting the sincerity of the
Redeemer, or his being in earnest in the great work of saving souls.
Again the impenitent are addressed in the following awful language: “Turn
ye at my reproof: behold, I will pour out my spirit upon you, I will make
known my words unto you. Because I have called, and ye refused; I have
stretched out my hand and no man regarded; but ye have set at naught all
my counsel and would none of my reproof: I also will laugh at your
calamity: I will mock when your fear cometh.” Thus the proceeding of the
Almighty, in the final rejection of the impenitent, is placed on the
ground, that they had obstinately resisted the means employed for their
salvation. This seems to remove every shade of difficulty. But how dark
and enigmatical, nay, how self-contradictory, would all such language
appear, if they might have been very easily rendered holy and happy! Thus,
by bearing in mind that a necessary holiness is a contradiction, an absurd
and impossible conceit, the goodness of God is vindicated in regard to the
lost, and his sincerity is evinced in the offer of salvation to all.
Section III.
The views of Luther and Calvin respecting the sincerity of God in his
endeavours to save those who will finally perish.
On any other principle, we must forever struggle in vain to accomplish so
desirable and so glorious an object. If we proceed on the assumption that
holiness may be very easily caused by an omnipotent, extraneous agency, we
shall never be able to vindicate the sincerity of the Almighty, in the
many solemn declarations put forth by him that he desires the salvation of
all men. The only sound, logical inference for such premises, is that
drawn by Luther, namely, that when God exhorts the sinner, who he foresees
will remain impenitent, to turn from his wickedness and live, he does so
merely in the way of mockery and derision; just “as if a father were to
say to his child, ‘Come,’ while he knows that he cannot come.”(162)
The representation which Calvin, starting from the same point of view,
gives of the divine character, is not more amiable or attractive than that
of Luther. He maintains that “the most perfect harmony” exists between
these two things: “God’s having appointed from eternity on whom he will
bestow his favour and exercise his wrath, and his proclaiming salvation
indiscriminately to all.”(163) But how does he maintain this position? How
does he show this agreement? “There is more apparent plausibility,” says
he, “to the objection [against predestination] from the declaration of
Peter, that ‘the Lord is not willing that any should perish, but that all
should come to repentance.’ But the second clause furnishes an immediate
solution of the difficulty; for the willingness to come to repentance must
be understood in consistence with the general tenor of Scripture.”(164)
Now what is the general tenor of Scripture, which is to overrule this
explicit declaration that “God is not willing that any should perish?” The
reader will be surprised, perhaps, that it is not Scripture at all, but
the notion that God might easily convert the sinner if he would.
“Conversion is certainly in the power of God;” he adds, “let him be asked,
whether he wills the conversion of all, when he promises a few individuals
to give them ‘a heart of flesh,’ while he leaves them with ‘a heart of
stone.’ ” Thus the very clearest light of the divine word is extinguished
by the application of a false metaphysics. God tells us that he “is not
willing that any should perish:” Calvin tells us, that this declaration
must, in conformity with the general tenor of Scripture, be so understood
as to allow us to believe that he is not only willing that many should
perish, but also that their destruction is preördained and forever fixed
by an eternal and immutable decree of God. Nay, that they are, and were,
created for the express purpose of being devoted to death, spiritual and
eternal. Is this to interpret, or to refute the divine word?
The view which Calvin, from this position, finds himself bound to take of
the divine character, is truly horrible, and makes one’s blood run cold.
The call of the gospel, he admits, is universal—is directed to the
reprobate as well as to the elect; but to what end, or with what design,
is it directed to the former? “He directs his voice to them,” if we may
believe Calvin, “but it is that they may become more deaf; he kindles a
light, but it is that they may be made more blind; he publishes his
doctrine, but it is that they may be more besotted; he applies a remedy,
but it is that they may not be healed. John, citing this prophecy,
declares that the Jews could not believe, because the curse of God was
upon them. Nor can it be disputed, that to such persons as God determines
not to enlighten, he delivers his doctrine involved in enigmatical
obscurity, that its only effect may be to increase their stupidity.”(165)
In conclusion, we would add that it is this idea of a necessitated
holiness which gives apparent solidity to the arguments of the Calvinist,
and which neutralizes the attacks of their opponents. To select only one
instance out of a thousand: the Calvinist insists that if God had really
intended the salvation of all men, then all would have been saved; since
nothing lies beyond the reach of his omnipotence. To this the Arminian
cries out with horror, that if God does not desire the salvation of all,
but is willing that a portion should sin and be eternally lost, then his
goodness is limited, and his glory obscured. In perfect conformity with
these views, the one contends for a limited atonement, insisting that it
is confined either in its original design, or in its application, to a
certain, fixed, definite number of mankind; while the other maintains,
with equal earnestness, that such is the goodness of God that he has sent
forth his Son to make an atonement for the sins of the whole world. To
design and prepare it for all, says the Calvinist, and then apply it only
to a few, is not consistent with either the wisdom or goodness of God; and
that he does savingly apply it only to a small number of the human race is
evident from the fact that only a small number are actually saved. However
the doctrine of a limited atonement, or, what is the same thing in effect,
the limited application of the atonement, may be exclaimed against and
denounced as dishonourable to God, all must and do admit the fact, that it
is efficaciously applied to only a select portion of mankind; which is to
deny and to admit one and the same thing in one and the same breath.
Now, in this contest of arms, it is our humble opinion that each party
gets the better of the other. Each overthrows the other; but neither
perceives that he is himself overthrown. Hence, though each demolishes the
other, neither is convinced, and the controversy still rages. Nor can
there ever be an end of this wrangling and jangling while the arguments of
the opposite parties have their roots in a common error. Let the work of
Mr. Symington, or any other which advocates a limited atonement, be taken
up, its argument dissected, and let the false principle, that God could
easily make all men holy if he would, be eliminated from them, and we
venture to predict that they will lose all appearance of solidity, and
resolve themselves into thin air.(166)
Chapter II.
Natural Evil, Or Suffering, And Especially The Suffering Of Infants
Reconciled With The Goodness Of God.
Sweet Eden was the arbour of delight;
Yet in his lovely flowers our poison blew:
Sad Gethsemane, the bower of baleful night,
Where Christ a health of poison for us drew;
Yet all our honey in that poison grew:
So we from sweetest flowers could suck our bane,
And Christ, from bitter venom, could again
Extract life out of death, and pleasure out of pain.—GILES
FLETCHER.
If, as we have endeavoured to show, a necessary holiness is a
contradiction in terms, then the existence of natural evil may be easily
reconciled with the divine goodness, in so far as it may be necessary to
punish and prevent moral evil. Indeed, the divine goodness itself demands
the punishment of moral evil, in order to restrain its prevalence, and
shut out the disorders it tends to introduce into the moral universe. Nor
is it any impeachment of the infinite wisdom and goodness of God, if the
evils inflicted upon the commission of sin be sufficiently great to answer
the purpose for which they are intended—that is, to stay the frightful
progress and ravages of moral evil. Hence it was that the sin of one man
brought “death into the world, and all our woe.” Thus the good providence
of God, no less than his word, speaks this tremendous lesson to his
intelligent creatures: “Behold the awful spectacle of a world lying in
ruins, and tremble at the very thought of sin! A thousand deaths are not
so terrible as one sin!”
Section I.
All suffering not a punishment for sin.
We should not conclude from this, however, that all suffering or natural
evil bears the characteristic of a punishment for moral evil. This seems
to be a great mistake of certain theologians, who pay more attention to
the coherency of their system than to the light of nature or of
revelation. Thus, says Dr. Dick: “If our antagonists will change the
meaning of words, they cannot alter the nature of things. Pain and death
are evils, and when inflicted by the hand of a just God, _must be
punishments_: for although the innocent may be harassed and destroyed by
the arbitrary exercise of human power, none but the guilty suffer under
his administration. To pretend that, although death and other temporal
evils have come upon us through the sin of Adam, yet these are not to be
regarded as a punishment, is neither more nor less than to say,—they must
not be called a punishment, because this would not agree with our system.
If we should concede that they are a punishment, we should be compelled to
admit that the sin of the first man is imputed to his posterity, and that
he was their federal head. We deny, therefore, that the labours and
sorrows of the present life, the loss of such joys as are left to us at
its close, and the dreadful agonies and terrors with which death is often
attended, have the nature of a penalty. In like manner, a man may call
black white, and bitter sweet, because it will serve his purpose; but he
would be the veriest simpleton who should believe him.”
Now, we do not deny that the agonies and terrors of death are sometimes a
punishment for sin: this is the case in regard to all those who actually
commit sin, and sink into the grave amid the horrors of a guilty
conscience. But the question is, Do suffering and death never fall upon
the innocent under the administration of God? We affirm that they do; and
also that they may fall upon the innocent, in perfect accordance with the
infinite goodness of God. In the first place, we reply to the confident
assertions of Dr. Dick, and of the whole school to which he belongs, as
follows: To pretend that death and other temporal evils are _always
punishments_, is neither more nor less than to say, “they _must_ be called
punishments, because this would agree with our system. If we should
concede that they are _not_ a punishment, we should be compelled to admit
that the sin of the first man is not imputed to his posterity, and that he
was _not_ their federal head. If our antagonists,” &c. Surely it is not
very wise to use language which may be so easily retorted.
Secondly, it is true, the change of a word cannot alter the nature of
things; but it may alter, and very materially too, our view of the nature
of things. Besides, if to refuse to call suffering in certain cases a
_punishment_, be merely to change a word, why should so great an outcry be
made about it? Why may we not use that word which sounds the most
pleasantly to the ear, and sits the most easily upon the heart?
Thirdly, we do not arbitrarily and blindly reject the term _punishment_,
“because it does not agree with our system.” We not only reject the term,
but also the very idea and the thing for which it stands. We mean to
affirm, that the innocent do sometimes suffer under the administration of
God; and that all suffering is not a punishment for sin. The very idea of
punishment, according to Dr. Dick himself, is, that it is suffering
inflicted on account of sin in the person upon whom it is inflicted; and
hence, wherever pain or death falls under the administration of God, we
must there find, says he, either actual or imputed sin. Now, in regard to
certain cases, we deny both the name and the thing. And we make this
denial, as it will be seen, not because it agrees with our system merely,
but because it agrees with the universal voice and reason of mankind,
except where that voice has been silenced, and that reason perverted, by
dark and blindly-dogmatizing schemes of theology.
Fourthly, there is a vast difference, in reality, between regarding some
sufferings as mere calamities, and all suffering as _punishment_. If we
regard all suffering as punishment, then we need look no higher and no
further in order to vindicate the character of God in the infliction of
them. For, according to this view, they are the infliction of his
retributive justice, merited by the person upon whom they fall, and
adapted to prevent sin; and consequently here our inquiries may terminate;
just as when we see the criminal receive the penalty due to his crimes. On
the other hand, if we may not view all suffering as punishment, then must
we seek for other grounds and principles on which to vindicate the
goodness of God; then must we look for other ends, or final causes, of
suffering under the wise economy of divine providence. And this search, as
we shall see, will lead us to behold the moral government of the world,
not as it is darkly distorted in certain systems of theology, but as it is
in itself, replete with light and ineffable beauty.
But before we undertake to show this by direct arguments, let us pause and
consider the predicament to which the greatest divines have reduced
themselves, by their advocacy of such an imputation of the sin of one man.
Dr. Dick affirms, as we have seen, that every evil brought upon man under
the good providence of God, must be a punishment for sin; and hence, as
infants do not actually sin, they are exposed to divine wrath on account
of the sin of Adam, which is imputed to them. But is not this imputation,
which draws after itself pain and death, also an evil? How has it
happened, then, that in the good providence of God, this tremendous evil,
this frightful source of so many evils, has been permitted to fall on the
infant world? Must there not be some other sin imputed to justify the
infliction of such an evil, and so on _ad infinitum_? Will Dr. Dick carry
out his principle to this consequence? Will he require, as in consistency
he is bound to require, that the tremendous evil of the imputation of sin
shall not fall upon any part of God’s creation, except as a punishment for
some antecedent guilt? No, indeed: at the very second step his great
principle, so confidently and so dogmatically asserted, completely breaks
down under him. The imposition of this evil is justified, not by any
antecedent guilt, but by the divine constitution, according to which Adam
is the federal head and representative of the human race. Thus, after all,
Dr. Dick has found some principle or ground on which to justify the
infliction of evil, beside the principle of guilt or ill-desert. Might
there not possibly be, then, such a divine constitution of things, as to
bring suffering upon the offspring of Adam in consequence of his sin,
without resorting to the dark and enigmatical fiction of the imputation of
his transgression? If there be a divine constitution, as Dr. Dick contends
there is, which justifies the imputation of moral evil, with all its
frightful consequences, both temporal and eternal death, may it not be
possible, in the nature of things, to suppose a divine constitution to
justify suffering without the imputation of sin? How can the one of these
things be so utterly repugnant to the divine character, and the other so
perfectly agreeable to it? Until this question be answered, we may suspect
the author himself of having assumed positions and made confident
assertions, “because they agree with his system.”
“We say, then,” says Dr. Dick, “that by his sin his posterity became
liable to the punishment denounced against himself. They became guilty
through his guilt, which is imputed to them, or placed to their account;
so that they are treated as if they had personally broken the covenant.”
Thus all the posterity of Adam, not excepting infants, became justly
obnoxious to the “penalty of the covenant of works,—death, temporal,
spiritual, and eternal.” Now, we would suppose that this scheme of
imputation is attended with at least as great a difficulty as the doctrine
that the innocent do sometimes suffer under the good providence of God.
Indeed, the author does not deny that it is attended with difficulties,
which have never been answered. In regard to the imputation of sin, he
says: “Candour requires me to add, that we are not competent fully to
assign the reasons of this dispensation. After the most mature
consideration of the subject, it appears _mysterious_ that God should have
placed our first parent in such circumstances, that while he might insure,
he might forfeit, his own happiness and that of millions of beings who
were to spring from his loins. We cannot tell why he adopted this plan
with us and not with angels, each of whom was left to stand or fall for
himself.”(167) Now, when it is affirmed that the innocent may suffer for
wise and good purposes, why is all this candour and modesty forgotten? Why
is it not admitted, “It may be so;” “We cannot tell?” Why is the fact, of
which these writers so often and so eloquently remind us, that the human
intellect is a poor, blind, weak thing, quite unfit to pry into mysteries,
then sunk in utter oblivion, and a tone of confident dogmatism assumed?
Why not act consistently with the character of the sceptic or the
dogmatist, and not put on the one or the other by turns, according to the
exigencies of a system?
If we ask, why infants are exposed to death, we are told, that it is a
punishment for Adam’s sin imputed to them. We are told that this _must_ be
so; since “none but the guilty ever suffer under the administration of
God,” who is not an arbitrary and cruel tyrant to cause the innocent to
suffer. Why then, we ask, does he impute sin to them? To this it is
replied, “We cannot tell.” No wonder; for if there must always be
antecedent guilt to justify God in imposing evil upon his subjects, then
there can be no reason for such a dispensation for imposing the tremendous
evil of the imputation of sin. The advocates of it themselves have laid
down a principle, which shows it to be without a reason. Hence they may
well say, “We cannot tell.” Thus suffering is justified by the imputation
of guilt; the imputation of guilt by the divine constitution; and the
divine constitution, by nothing! If this is all that can be done, would it
not have been just as well to have begun, as well as ended, in the divine
constitution of things? But, no! even the most humble of men must have
some explanation, some little mitigation of their difficulties, if it be
only to place the world upon the back of an elephant, the elephant upon
the back of a tortoise, and the tortoise upon nothing.
It seems to be inconceivably horrible to Dr. Dick, and others of his
school, that the innocent should ever be made to suffer under the
providence of God; but yet they earnestly insist that the same good
providence plunges the whole human race—infants and all—into unavoidable
guilt, and then punishes them for it! To say that the innocent may be made
to suffer is monstrous injustice—is horrible; but to say that they are
made sinners, and then punished, is all right and proper! To say that the
innocent can suffer under the administration of God, is to shock our sense
of justice, and put out the light of the divine goodness; but it is all
well if we only say that the punishment due to Adam’s sin is made, by the
same good administration, to fall upon all his posterity _in the form of
moral evil, and that then they are justly punished for this punishment_!
Alas, that the minds of the great and the good, born to reflect the light
of the glorious gospel of God upon a darkened world, should be so sadly
warped, so awfully distorted, by the inexorable necessities of a despotic
system!
Section II.
The imputation of sin not consistent with the goodness of God.
This point has been already indirectly considered, but it is worthy of a
more direct and complete examination. It is very remarkable that although
Dr. Dick admits he cannot reconcile the scheme of imputation with the
character of God, or remove its seeming hardships, not to say cruelty, he
yet positively affirms that “it is a proof of the goodness of God.”(168)
Surely, if the covenant of works, involving the imputation of sin, as
explained by Dr. Dick, be a “_proof_ of the divine goodness,” it cannot
but appear to be too severe. But as this point, on which he scarcely
dwells at all, is more elaborately and fully discussed by President
Edwards, we shall direct our attention to him.
“It is objected,” says Edwards, “that appointing Adam to stand in this
great affair as the moral head of his posterity, and so treating them as
_one_ with him, is injurious to them.” “To which,” says he, “I answer, it
is demonstrably otherwise; that such a constitution was so far from being
_injurious_ to Adam’s posterity any more than if every one had been
appointed to stand for himself personally, that it was, in itself
considered, attended with a more eligible _probability_ of a _happy_ issue
than the latter would have been; and so is a constitution that truly
expresses the goodness of its Author.” Now, let us see how this is
_demonstrated_.
“There is a _greater tendency_ to a happy issue in such an appointment,”
says he, “than if every one had been appointed to stand for himself;
especially on these accounts: (1.) That Adam had _stronger motives to
watchfulness_ than his posterity would have had; in that, not only his own
eternal welfare lay at stake, but also that of all his posterity. (2.)
Adam was in a state of complete _manhood_ when his trial began.”(169) In
the first place, then, the constitution for which Edwards contends is “an
expression of the divine goodness,” because it presented stronger motives
to obedience than if it had merely suspended the eternal destiny of Adam
alone upon his conduct. The eternal welfare of his posterity was staked
upon his obedience; and, having this stupendous motive before him, he
would be more likely to preserve his allegiance than if the motive had
been less powerful. The magnitude of the motive, says Edwards, is the
grand circumstance which evinces the goodness of God in the appointment of
such a constitution. If this be true, it is very easy to see how the
Almighty might have made a vast improvement in his own constitution for
the government of the world. He might have made the motive still stronger,
and thereby made the appointment or covenant still better: instead of
suspending merely the eternal destiny of the human race upon the conduct
of Adam, he might have staked the eternal fate of the universe upon it.
According to the argument of Edwards, what a vast, what a wonderful
improvement would this have been in the divine constitution for the
government of the world, and how much more conspicuously would it have
displayed the goodness of its Divine Author!
Again, the scheme of Edwards is condemned out of his own mouth. If this
scheme be better than another, because its motives are _stronger_, why did
not God render it still more worthy of his goodness, by rendering its
motives still more powerful and efficacious? Edwards admits, nay, he
insists, that God might easily have rendered the motives of his moral
government perfectly efficacious and successful. He repeatedly declares
that God could have prevented all sin, “by giving such influences of his
Spirit as would have been absolutely effectual to hinder it.” If the
goodness of a constitution, then, is to be determined by the strength of
its motives, as the argument of Edwards supposes, then we are bound,
according to his principles, to pronounce that for which he contends
unworthy of the goodness of God, as being radically unsound and defective.
This is emphatically the case, as the Governor of the world might have
strengthened the motives to obedience _indefinitely_, not by augmenting
the danger, but by increasing the security of his subjects; that is to
say, not by making the penalty more terrific, but by giving a greater
disposition to obedience.
The same thing may be clearly seen from another point of view. Let us
suppose, for instance, that God had established the constitution or
covenant, that if Adam had persevered in obedience, then all his posterity
should be confirmed in holiness and happiness; and that if he fell, he
should fall for himself alone. Would not such an appointment, we ask, have
been more likely to have been attended with a happy issue than that for
which Edwards contends? Let us suppose again, that after such a
constitution had been established, its Divine Author had really secured
the obedience of Adam; would not this have made a “happy issue” perfectly
certain? Why then was not such a constitution established? It would most
assuredly have been an infinitely clearer and more beautiful expression of
the divine goodness than that of Edwards. Hence, the philosophy of Edwards
easily furnishes an unspeakably better constitution for the government of
the world, than that which has been established by the wisdom of God! Is
it not evident, that the advocates of such a scheme should never venture
before the tribunal of reason at all? Is it not evident, that their only
safe policy is to insist, as they sometimes do, that we do not know what
is consistent, or _inconsistent_, with the attributes of God, in his
arrangements for the government of the world? Is it not evident, that
their truest wisdom is to be found in habitually dwelling on the
littleness, weakness, misery, and darkness of the human mind, and in
rebuking its arrogance for presuming to pry into the _mysteries_ of their
system?
The vindication of the divine goodness by Edwards, is, we think it must be
conceded, exceedingly weak. All it amounts to is this,—that this scheme is
an expression of the goodness of God, because, in certain respects, it is
better than a scheme which might have been established. So far from
showing it to be the best possible scheme, his philosophy shows it might
be greatly improved in the _very respects_ in which its excellency is
supposed to consist. In other words, he contends that God has displayed
his goodness in the appointment of such a constitution, on the ground that
he might have made a worse; though, according to his own principles, it is
perfectly evident that he might have made a better! Is this to express, or
to deny, the absolute, infinite goodness of God? Is it to manifest the
glory of that goodness to the eye of man, or to shroud it in clouds and
darkness?
Edwards also says, that “the goodness of God in such a constitution with
Adam appears in this: that if there had been no _sovereign, gracious_
establishment at all, but God had proceeded on the basis of mere
_justice_, and had gone no farther than this required, he might have
demanded of Adam and all his posterity, that they should have performed
_perfect, perpetual obedience_.” The italics are all his own. On this
passage, we have to remark, that it is built upon unfounded assumptions.
It is frequently said, we are aware, that if it had not been for the
redemption of the world by a “sovereign, gracious” dispensation, the whole
race of man might have been justly exposed to the torments of hell
forever. But where is the proof? Is it found in the word of God? This
tells us what _is_, what _has been_, and what _will be_; but it is not
given to speculate upon what _might_ be. For aught we know, if there had
been no salvation through Christ, as a part of the actual constitution and
system of the world, then there would have been no other part of that
system whatever. We are not told, and we do not know, what it would have
been consistent with the justice of God to do in relation to the world, if
there had been no remedy provided for its restoration. Perhaps it might
never have been created at all. The work of Christ is the great sun and
centre of the system as _it is_; and if this had never been a part of the
original grand design, we do not know that the planets would have been
created to wander in eternal darkness. We do not know that even the
justice of God would have created man, and permitted him to fall,
wandering everlastingly amid the horrors of death, without hope and
without remedy. We find nothing of the kind in the word of God; and in our
nature it meets with no response, except a wail of unutterable horror. We
like not, we confess, those vindications of God’s goodness, which consist
in drawing hideous, black pictures of his justice, and then telling us
that it is not so dark as these. We want not to know whether there might
not be darker things in the universe than God’s love; we only want to know
if there could be anything brighter, or better, or more beautiful.
The most astounding feature of this vindication of the divine goodness
still remains to be noticed. We are told that the constitution in question
is good, because it was so likely to have had a “happy issue.” And when
this constitution was established by the sovereign will and pleasure of
God, the conduct of Adam, it is conceded, was perfectly foreseen by him.
At the very time this constitution was established, its Divine Author
foresaw with perfect absolute certainty what would be the issue. He knew
that the great federal head, so appointed by him, would transgress the
covenant, and bring down the curse of “death, temporal, spiritual, and
eternal,” upon all his posterity. O, wonderful goodness! to promise
eternal life to the human race on a condition which he certainly foreknew
would not be performed! Amazing grace! to threaten eternal death to all
mankind, on a condition which he certainly foreknew would be fulfilled!
This cannot be evaded, by asserting that the same difficulty attaches to
the fact, that God created Adam foreseeing he would fall. His
foreknowledge did not necessitate the fall of Adam. It left him free as
God had created him. Life and death were set before him, and he had the
power to stand, as well as the power to fall. He had no right to complain
of God, then, if, under such circumstances, he chose to rebel, and incur
the penalty. But if the scheme of Edwards be true, the descendants of Adam
did not have their fate in their own hands. It did not depend on their own
choice. It was necessitated, even prior to their existence, by the divine
constitution which had indissolubly connected their awful destiny, their
temporal and eternal ruin, with an event already foreseen. And the
constitution binding such awful consequences to an event already foreseen,
is called an expression of the goodness of God!
Suppose, for example, that a great prince should promise his subjects that
on the happening of a certain event, over which they had no control, he
would confer unspeakable favours upon them. Suppose also, that at the same
time he should declare to them, that if the event should not happen, he
would load them with irons, cast them into prison, and inflict the
greatest imaginable punishments upon them during the remainder of their
lives. Suppose again, that at the very time he thus made known his
_gracious intentions_ to them, he knew perfectly well that the event on
which his favour was suspended would not happen. Then, according to his
certain foreknowledge, the event fails, and the penalty of the covenant or
appointment is inflicted upon his subjects:—they are cast into prison;
they are bound in chains, and perpetually tormented with the greatest of
all imaginable evils:—not because they had transgressed the appointment or
sovereign constitution, but because an event had taken place over which
they had no control. Now, who would call such a ruler a good prince? Who
could conceive, indeed, of a more cruel or deceitful tyrant? But we submit
it to the candid reader, if he be not more like the prince of
predestination, than the great God of heaven and earth?
This scheme of imputation, so far from being an expression of infinite
goodness, were indeed an exhibition of the most frightful cruelty and
injustice. It would be a useful, as well as a most curious inquiry, to
examine the various contrivances of ingenious men, in order to bring the
doctrine of imputation into harmony with the justice of God. We shall
briefly allude to only two of these wonderful inventions,—those of
Augustine and Edwards. Neither of these celebrated divines supposed that a
foreign sin, properly so called, is ever imputed to any one; but that the
sin of Adam, which is imputed to his descendants, is their own sin, as
well as his.(170) But here the question arises, How could they make Adam’s
sin to be the sin of his descendants, many of whom were born thousands of
years after it was committed?
Augustine, as is well known, maintained the startling paradox, that all
mankind were present in Adam, and sinned in him. In this way, he supposed
that all men became partakers in the guilt of Adam’s sin, and consequently
justly liable to the penalty due to his transgression. Augustine was quite
too good a logician not to perceive, that if all men are responsible for
Adam’s sin, because they were in him when he transgressed, then, it
follows, that we are also responsible for the sins of all our ancestors,
from whom we are more immediately descended. This follows from that maxim
of jurisprudence, from that dictate of common-sense, that a rule of law is
coëxtensive with the reason upon which it is based. Hence, as Wiggers
remarks: “Augustine thought it not improbable that the sins of ancestors
_universally_ are imputed to their descendants.”(171) This conclusion is
clearly set forth in the extracts made by the translator of Wiggers.(172)
If this scheme be true, we know indeed that we are all guilty of Adam’s
sin; but who, or how many of the human race, were the perpetrators of
Cain’s murder beside himself, we cannot determine. Indeed, if this
frightful hypothesis be well founded, if it form a part of the moral
constitution of the world, no man can possibly tell how many thefts,
murders, or treasons, he may have committed in his ancestors. One thing is
certain, however, and that is, that the man who is born later in the
course of time, will have the more sins to answer for, and the more
fearful will be the accumulation of his guilt; as all the transgressions
of all his ancestors, from Adam down to his immediate parents, will be
laid upon his head.
Clearly as this consequence is involved in the fundamental principle of
Augustine’s theory, the good father could not but reel and stagger under
it. “Respecting the sins of the other parents,” says he, “the progenitors
from Adam down to one’s own immediate father, _it may not improperly be
debated_, whether the child is implicated in the evil acts and multiplied
original faults of _all_, so that each one is the worse in proportion as
he is later; or that, in respect to the sins of their parents, God
threatens posterity to the third and fourth generation, because, _by the
moderation of his compassion_, he does not further extend his anger in
respect to the faults of progenitors, lest those on whom the grace of
regeneration is not conferred, _should be pressed with too heavy a burden
in their own eternal damnation_, if they were compelled to contract by way
of origin (_originaliter_) the _sins_ of _all_ their preceding parents
from the commencement of the human race, and _to suffer the punishment due
to them_.(173) Whether, on so great a subject, anything else can or cannot
be found, by a more diligent reading and scrutiny of the Scriptures, I
dare not hastily affirm.”(174)
Thus does the sturdy logician, notwithstanding his almost indomitable
hardihood, seem to stand appalled before the consequences to which his
principles would inevitably conduct him. Having followed those principles
but a little way, the scene becomes so dark with his representations of
the divine justice, that he feels constrained to retrace his steps, and
arbitrarily introduce the divine mercy, in order to mitigate the
indescribable horrors which continually thicken around him. Such
hesitation, such wavering and inconsistency, is the natural result of
every scheme which places the decisions of the head in violent conflict
with the indestructible feelings of the heart.
In his attempt to reconcile the scheme of imputation with the justice of
God, Edwards has met with as little success as Augustine. For this
purpose, he supposed that God had constituted an identity between Adam and
all his posterity, whereby the latter became partakers of his rebellion.
“I think it would go far toward directing us to the more clear conception
and right statement of this affair,” says he, in reference to imputation,
“were we steadily to bear this in mind, that God, in every step of his
proceedings with Adam, in relation to the covenant or constitution
established with him, looked on his posterity as being _one with him_. And
though he dealt more immediately with Adam, it yet was as the _head_ of
the whole body, and the _root_ of the whole tree; and in his proceedings
with him, he dealt with all the branches as if they had been then existing
in their root. From which it will follow, that both guilt, or exposedness
to punishment, and also depravity of heart, came upon Adam’s posterity
just as they came upon him, as much as if he and they had all coëxisted,
like a tree with many branches; allowing only for the difference
necessarily resulting from the place Adam stood in as head or root of the
whole. Otherwise, it is as if, in every step of proceeding, every
alteration in the root had been attended at the same instant with the same
alteration throughout the whole tree, in each individual branch. I think
this will naturally follow on the supposition of their being a constituted
_oneness_ or _identity_ of Adam and his posterity in this affair.”(175) As
the sap of a tree, Edwards has said, spreads from the root of a tree to
all its branches, so the original sin of Adam descends from him through
the generations of men.
In the serious promulgation of such sentiments, it is only forgotten that
sin is not the sap of a tree, and that the whole human race is not really
one and the same person. Such an idea of personal identity is as utterly
unintelligible as the nature of the sin and the responsibility with which
it is so intimately associated. Surely these are the dark dreams of men,
not the bright and shining lights of eternal truth.
Before we take leave of President Edwards, we would remark, that he
proceeds on the same supposition with Calvin,(176) Bates,(177)
Dwight,(178) Dick, and a host of others, that suffering is always a
punishment of sin, and of “sin in them who suffer.”(179) “The light of
nature,” says Edwards, “or tradition from ancient revelation, led the
heathen to conceive of death as in a peculiar manner an evidence of divine
vengeance. Thus we have an account, that when the barbarians saw the
venomous beast hang on Paul’s hand, they said among themselves, ‘No doubt,
this man is a murderer, whom, though he hath escaped the seas, yet
vengeance suffereth not to live.’ ”(180) We think that the barbarians
concluded rashly: it is certain that St. Paul was neither a murderer nor a
god. Nor, indeed, if the venomous beast had taken his life, would this
have proved him to be a murderer, any more than its falling off into the
fire proved him to be a god, according to the rash judgment of the
barbarians. There is a better source of philosophy, if we mistake not,
than the rash, hasty, foolish judgments of barbarians.
Section III.
The imputation of sin not consistent with human, much less with the divine
goodness.
There are few persons whose feelings will allow them to be consistent
advocates of the doctrine of the imputation of Adam’s sin. “To many other
divines,” says Bishop Burnet, “this seems a harsh and inconceivable
opinion: it seems repugnant to the justice and goodness of God to reckon
men guilty of sin which they never committed, and to punish them in their
souls eternally for that which is no act of theirs.”(181) It certainly
“seems very hard,” as the author says, “to apprehend how persons who have
never sinned, but are only unhappily descended, should be, in consequence
of that, under so great a misery.” But how to escape the pressure of this
stupendous difficulty is the question. There are many who cannot endure
it; or rather, there are very few who can endure it; but, as Bishop Burnet
says, they find no difficulty in the idea of temporal punishment on
account of Adam’s sin. “This, they think, is easily enough reconcilable
with the notions of justice and goodness, since this is only a temporary
_punishment_ relating to men’s persons.”(182) But do they not sacrifice
their logic to their feelings? Let us see.
This view of a limited imputation, and a limited _punishment_, is not
confined to the Church of England. It prevails to a greater or less extent
in all denominations. But President Edwards has, we think, unanswerably
exposed the inconsistency of its advocates. “One of them supposes,” says
he, “that this sin, though truly imputed to INFANTS, so that thereby they
are exposed to a proper _punishment_, yet is not imputed to them in such a
_degree_, as that upon this account they should be liable to _eternal_
punishment, as Adam himself was, but only to _temporal death_, or
_annihilation_; Adam himself, the immediate actor, being made infinitely
more guilty of it than his posterity. On which I would observe, that to
suppose God imputes, not _all_ the guilt of Adam, but only _some little
part_ of it, relieves nothing but his _imagination_. To think of poor
little infants bearing such torments for Adam’s sin, as they sometimes do
in this world, and these torments ending in death and annihilation, may
sit easier on the imagination, than to conceive of their suffering eternal
misery for it; but it does not at all relieve one’s _reason_. There is no
rule of reason that can be supposed to lie against imputing a sin in the
_whole_ of it, which was committed by one, to another who did not
personally commit it, but will also lie against its being so imputed and
punished in _part_; for all the reasons (if there be any) lie against the
_imputation_, not the _quality_ or _degree_ of what is imputed. If there
be any rule of reason that is strong and good, lying against a proper
derivation or communication of guilt from one that acted to another that
did not act, then it lies against all that is of that nature.... If these
reasons are good, all the difference is this: that to bring a _great_
punishment on infants for Adam’s sin, is a _great_ act of injustice, and
to bring a comparatively _smaller_ punishment is a smaller act of
injustice; but not, that this is not as truly and demonstrably an act of
injustice as the other.”(183)
We hold this to be a solid and unanswerable argument; and we hold also,
that God can no more commit a small act of injustice than a great one.
Hence, in the eye of _reason_, there is no medium between rejecting the
whole of the imputation of Adam’s sin, and ceasing to object against the
imputation of the whole of it, as inconsistent with the justice and
goodness of God. We may arbitrarily wipe out a portion of it in order to
relieve our _imagination_; but this brings no relief to the calm and
passionless reason. It may still the wild tumults of emotion, but it
cannot silence the voice of the intellect. Why not relieve both the
_imagination_ and the _reason_? Why not wipe out the whole dark film of
imputation, and permit the glad eye to open on the bright glory of God’s
infinite goodness?
The wonder is, that when Edwards had carried out his logic to such a
conclusion, he did not regard his argument as a perfect _reductio ad
absurdum_. The wonder is, that when he had carried out his logic to the
position, that it might well consist with the justice of God to impute the
whole of Adam’s sin to “poor little infants,” as he calls them, and then
cause them to endure “eternal torments for it,” his whole nature did not
recoil from such a conclusion with indescribable horror. For our part,
highly as we value logical consistency, we should prefer a little
incoherency in our reasoning, a little flexibility in our logic, rather
than bear even one “poor little infant” on the hard, unyielding point of
it into the torments of hell forever.
St. Augustine was the great founder of the doctrine of the imputation of
sin. But although he did more than any other person to give this doctrine
a hold upon the mind of the Christian world, it never had a perfect hold
upon his own mind. So far from being able to reconcile it with the divine
goodness, he could not reconcile it with his own goodness. For this
purpose, he employed the theory that all the posterity of Adam were, in
the most literal sense, already _in him_, and sinned in him—in his person;
and that Adam’s sin is therefore justly imputed to all his posterity.(184)
He also appeals to revelation. “St. Augustine,” as Father Almeyda truly
says, “and the fathers who follow him, take the fundamental principle of
their doctrine (which affirms that infants without baptism will endure
eternal pain) from the sentence which the Supreme Judge is to pronounce at
the last day. We know that the Lord, dividing the human race into two
portions, will put the elect on the right hand, and the reprobate on the
left; and he will say to those on the left, Depart into eternal fire. St.
Augustine then argues, that infants will not be on the right, because
Jesus Christ has positively excluded all those who shall not _be born
again of water_ and of the Holy Spirit: then they will be on the left; and
thus they will be comprehended in the damnation of eternal fire, which the
Lord will pronounce against those who shall be on the left side: for
having no more than two hands, and only two places and two sentences,
since, then, there are infants which God does not favour, it follows that
they will be comprehended in the sentence of the reprobate, which is not
only a privation of the sight of God, but also the pain of fire.”(185)
Such is the ground, and such the logic, on which St. Augustine and his
followers erected that portentous scheme, that awful speculation, which
has so long cast a dark cloud over the glory of the Christian world, and
prevented it from reflecting the bright, cheering beams of the divine
goodness.
But, what! could St. Augustine find rest in his own views,—in his own
logic? Did he really banish all non-elect infants into the region of penal
fire and everlasting woe? If he adhered to the literal meaning of the
words of revelation, as he understood them, he was certainly bound to do
so; but did he really and consistently do it? Did he really bind the “poor
little” reprobate, because it had sinned in Adam, in chains of adamant,
and leave it to writhe beneath the fierce inquisitorial fury of the
everlasting flames? Did he really extract the vials of such exquisite and
unprovoked wrath from the essence of infinite goodness itself? No: this
was reserved for the superior logic and the sterner consistency of an iron
age. But since it has been extracted, we may devoutly thank Almighty God,
that it is now excluded from the hearts of men calling themselves
Christians, and kept safely bottled up in their creeds and confessions.
St. Augustine could not endure the insufferable consequences of his own
doctrine. Hence, in writing to his great friend, St. Jerome, he said, “in
all sincerity: when I come to treat of the punishment of infants, believe
_that I find myself in great embarrassment, and I absolutely know not what
to reply_.” Writing against Julian, he adds: “_I do not say that those who
die without baptism will be punished with a torment such that it would be
better for them if they had never been born._” And again: “Those who,
besides original sin which they have contracted, have not committed any
other, will be subjected to a pain the most mild of all.”(186) Thus by
adopting a wrong interpretation, the principles of which were but little
understood in his time, St. Augustine banished all unbaptized infants from
the kingdom of light; but yet he could hardly find it in his heart to
condemn them to the outer darkness. He had too great a regard for the word
of God, as he understood it, to permit non-elect infants to reign with
Christ in heaven; and, on the other hand, he was too severely pressed by
the generous impulses of his nature, nay, by the eternal dictates of truth
and goodness, to permit him to consign them really to the “fire prepared
for the devil and his angels.” Hence, although Christ knew of “but two
places,” he fitted up a third, to see them in which, was, as Edwards would
say, “more agreeable to his imagination.”
It was the sublime but unsteady genius of St. Augustine that caused this
doctrine of the damnation of infants to be received into the Christian
world, and find its way into the council of Trent. That celebrated council
not only adopted the views of St. Augustine on this subject, but also most
perfectly reflected all his hesitation and inconsistency. Widely as its
members differed on other points, they all agreed that unbaptized infants
should be excluded from the kingdom of heaven. There was but little
unanimity however, as to the best method of disposing of them. The
Dominicans fitted up a dark, subterraneous cavern for them, in which there
is no fire, at least none such as that of the infernal regions, and in
which they might be at least as happy as monks. This place was called
_Limbo_—which, we suppose, is to Purgatory, about what the varioloid is to
the smallpox. The Franciscans, more humane in their doctrine, determined
that “dear little infants,” though they had never felt the sanctifying
influences of holy water, should yet reside, not in dark caverns and holes
of the earth, but in the sweet light and pure air of the upper world. Well
done, noble Franciscan! we honour thee for thy sweet fancy! Surely thou
wert not, like other monks, made so altogether fierce by dark keeping,
that thou couldest not delight to see in God’s blessed, beautiful world, a
smiling infant!
Others insisted, that unbaptized infants would be condemned to become
philosophers, and turn out the authors of great discoveries. This may seem
a terrible damnation to some persons; but, for our part, if we had been of
that famous council, it is likely we should have been in favour of this
decree. As the most agreeable punishment we could imagine, we should have
been for condemning them, like the fallen angels of Paradise Lost, to
torment themselves with reasonings high,—
“Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate,
Fix’d fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute.”
And if any of them had been found to possess no very great aptitude for
such speculations, then, rather than they should find “no end in wandering
mazes lost,” we should have condemned them to turn poets and “build the
lofty rhyme.”
So completely did the spirit of a blind exegesis triumph over the light of
reason in the time of Augustine, that even Pelagius and his followers
excluded unbaptized infants from the kingdom of heaven, because our
Saviour had declared that a man could not enter therein, except he be born
of water and of the Spirit. It is true, they did not banish them into “the
fire prepared for the devil and his angels,” nor into Limbo, nor into dark
holes of the earth; on the contrary, they admitted them to the joys of
eternal life, but not into the kingdom of heaven.(187) Thus, the Pelagians
brought “poor little infants” as near to the kingdom of heaven as
possible, without doing too great violence to the universal orthodoxy of
their time.
But as we cannot, like the Church of Rome, determine the fate of infants
by a decree, we must take some little pains to ascertain how it has been
determined by the Supreme Ruler of the world. For this purpose we shall
first show, that there is suffering in the world which is not a punishment
for sin, and then declare the great ends, or final causes, of all natural
evil.
Section IV.
The true ends, or final causes, of natural evil.
We have often wondered that grave divines should declare that there could
be no natural evil, or suffering, under the administration of God, except
such as is a punishment for sin _in the person upon whom it is inflicted_.
We have wondered, that in declaring none but a tyrant could ever permit
the innocent to suffer, they have entertained no fears lest they might
strengthen the cause of atheism. For if it be impossible to justify the
character of God, except on the principle that all suffering is merited on
account of sin in the object of it, then it is easy to see, that the
atheistical argument against the goodness of God is unanswerable. The
atheist might well say: “Do we not see and know that the whole animal
creation suffers? Now for what sin are they punished? The inferior
animals, you will admit, are not capable of committing actual sin, any
more than infants are; and Adam was not their federal head and
representative. Hence, unless you can show for what sin they are
_punished_, you must admit that, according to your own principles, God is
a tyrant.” How Dr. Dick, or Dr. Dwight, or President Edwards, or Calvin,
would have answered such an argument, we cannot determine. For although
they all assume that there can be no suffering under the good providence
of God, except it be a punishment for sin in the object of it, yet, so far
as we know, they have not made the most distant allusion to the suffering
of the inferior animals. Indeed, they seem to be so intently bent on
maintaining the doctrine of the imputation of sin to infants, that they
pay no attention, in the assumption of the above position, either to the
word of God, or to the great volume of nature spread out before them.
But we find the difficulty noticed in a prize essay of three hundred
pages, on the subject of native depravity, by Dr. Woods. The author
assumes the same ground with Edwards, that all suffering must be justified
on the ground of justice; and hence he finds a real and proper sin in
infants, in order to reconcile their sufferings with the character of God.
This is the only ground, according to Dr. Woods, on which suffering can be
vindicated under the administration of a perfect God. Where, then, is the
real and proper sin in the inferior animals to justify their sufferings?
This difficulty occurs to the distinguished author, and he endeavours to
meet it. Let us see his reply. It is a reply which we have long been
solicitous to see, and we now have it from one of the most celebrated
theologians of the present day.
“Some suppose,” says he, “that infants suffer as irrational animals do,
without reference to a moral law or the principles of a moral government.
A strange supposition indeed, that _human beings_ should for a time be
ranked with beings which are not human, that is, mere animals.” He is
evidently shocked at such an insult offered to poor little infants. He
will not allow us, for one moment, to take the whole race of man, “during
the interesting period of infancy, cut them off from their relation to
Adam, degrade them from the dignity of human beings, and put them in the
rank of brute animals,—and then say, they _suffer as the brutes do_....
This would be the worst of all theories,—the farthest off from Scripture
and reason, and the most revolting to all the noble sensibilities of man.”
Now, it is really refreshing to find these allusions to “the dignity of
human beings” in a writer of this school; and especially in Dr. Woods, who
has so often rebuked others for their pride, when they have imagined that
they were only engaged in the laudable enterprise of asserting this very
dignity, by raising men from the rank of mere machines. It is so
refreshing, indeed, to find such allusions in Dr. Woods, that we could
almost forgive a little special pleading and bad logic in his attempt to
vindicate the “dignity of human beings,” which should have been an attempt
to vindicate the goodness of God.
We do not place human beings and brutes in the same rank, except in so far
as both are sensitive creatures, and consequently susceptible of pleasure
and pain. In this particular, the Creator himself has, to a certain
extent, placed them in the same rank, and it is useless to cry out against
his appointment. He will not listen to our talk about “the dignity of
human beings.” He will still leave us, in so far as bodily pain and death
are concerned, in the same rank with mere animals. This single point of
resemblance between animals and human beings is all that our argument
requires; and the _fact_ that animals do suffer pain and death cannot be
denied, or swept away by declamation. Let this fact be fairly and openly
met, and not merely evaded. Let it be shown how the suffering of mere
animals may be reconciled with the infinite goodness of God, and we will
undertake to show how the suffering of guiltless “human beings” may be
reconciled with it. Nay, we will undertake to show that the suffering of
infants may be reconciled with the divine goodness, on the same, and also
on still higher, grounds. We will place their sufferings on a more solid
and a more definite foundation, than upon such vague and misty assertions
as that they “suffer with reference to a moral law.”
We do not cut off infants from their relation to Adam; nor could we, if we
desired to do so, cut them off from their relation to the animal nature
which God has given them. It may be a very humiliating thought, it is
true, that _human beings_ should ever eat like mere animals, or sleep like
mere animals, or suffer like mere animals; but yet we cannot see how any
rebellion against so humiliating a thought can possibly alter the fact. We
do not deny, indeed, that a theologian may eat, and sleep, and suffer on
higher principles than mere animals do; but we seriously doubt if infants
ever eat, or sleep, or suffer on any higher principles. It may shock the
“noble sensibilities” of man that dear little infants should suffer as
_brutes_ do, especially when the term _brutes_ is so strongly emphasized;
but how it can relieve the case to have the poor little creatures
arraigned at the bar of divine justice, and condemned to suffer as
malefactors and criminals do, is more than we can possibly comprehend. To
have them thus arraigned, condemned, and punished as criminals, may
dignify their sufferings, and render them more worthy of the rank of human
beings; but this is a dignity to which, we trust, they will never aspire.
If we are not mistaken, then, the theory for which we contend is “not the
worst of all theories,” nor “the most revolting to the noblest
sensibilities of man.” It is a worse theory to suppose, with Edwards, that
they may be arraigned and banished into “eternal misery” for a sin they
have not committed, or the possession of a nature they could not possibly
have avoided possessing. It is better, we say, to rank the human race “for
a time,” “during the interesting period of infancy,” even with mere
animals, than to rank them with the devil and his angels. But, in truth,
we rank them with neither; we simply leave them where God hath placed
them, as a connecting link between the animal and the angelic natures.
But we may produce many instances of suffering among human beings, which
are not a punishment for sin. We might refer to the feeling of compassion,
which is always painful, and sometimes wrings the heart with the most
exquisite agony; and yet this was not planted in our bosom as a punishment
for sin, but, as Bishop Butler has shown,(188) it was ordained by a God of
mercy, to teach us a lesson of mercy, and lead us to mitigate the manifold
miseries of man’s estate. We might also refer to an indignation against
crime, which, as the same profound thinker has shown in his sermon on
resentment, was planted in our natures, not to punish the subject of it,
but to insure the punishment of others, that is, of criminals; and thereby
to preserve the good order and well-being of the world. This sense of
wrong, of injustice, of outrage, by which the soul is so often tortured,
is not designed to punish the subject of it, but to promote the happiness
and virtue of mankind. We might refer to these, and many other things of
the same kind, but it is not necessary to dwell upon particular instances;
for the principle against which we contend may be more directly refuted by
an appeal to reason, and to the very authors by whom it is advocated; for,
although it is adopted by them, and seems plausible at first view, it is
often lost sight of when they lose sight of their system, and they give
utterance to another principle more in accordance with the voice of
nature.
It is evident, that if the government of God requires that no suffering
should be inflicted, except as a punishment for sin, then his perfect
moral government requires that the punishment should, in all cases, be
exactly proportioned to the demerit of those upon whom it falls.
For, as Butler truly says, “Moral government consists in rewarding the
righteous and punishing the wicked; in rendering to men according to their
actions, considered as good or evil. And the perfection of moral
government consists in doing this, with regard to all intelligent
creatures, in exact proportion to their personal merits and
demerits.”(189) This will not be denied. Hence, if suffering is
distributed by God as a punishment for sin in all cases, as Calvin and his
followers assert, then it must, on the same principle, be distributed
according to the demerit of men. But is this the case? Does this necessary
consequence of this principle agree with fact? If so, then every vile
deed, every wicked outrage, committed by man, should be regarded as an
instrument of divine justice, and deserved by those upon whom they fall.
The inquisition itself, with all its unuttered and unutterable horrors,
should be regarded, not merely as an exhibition of human wickedness and
wrath, but also as an engine of divine justice, to crush the martyr on its
wheels, because he refuses to lie to his own soul and to his God? Nature
itself recoils from such a conclusion. Not one of the writers in question
would adopt it. Hence, they should not advocate a principle from which it
necessarily flows.
Indeed, they all argue the necessity of a future state of retribution,
from the unequal distribution of natural good and evil in this life. But
Lord Bolingbroke has refuted this argument by reasoning from their own
principles. He insists that such is the justice of God, that there can be
no suffering or natural evil in this life, except such as is proportioned
to the demerits of men; and hence he rejects the argument from the
apparent unequal distribution of pleasure and pain in this world in favour
of the reality of a future judgment. He resents the imputation that God
could ever permit any suffering which is not deserved, as warmly as it is
resented by Dr. Dick himself, and proclaims it to be dishonourable to God.
All rewards and punishments, says he, are equal and just in this life; and
to say otherwise, is to take an atheistical view of the divine character.
Learned divines proceed on the same principle, as we have seen, when they
contend for the imputation of sin; but they forget and overlook it, when
they come to prove the future judgment to the infidel. Thus, in their zeal
to establish their own peculiar dogmas, they place themselves and their
cause in the power of the infidel.
But if suffering be not always inflicted, under the administration of God,
as a punishment for sin, for what other end is it inflicted? We answer, it
is inflicted for these ends: 1. Even when it is inflicted as a punishment
for sin, this is not the only end, or final cause of its infliction. It is
also intended to deter others from the commission of evil, and preserve
the order of the world. 2. In some instances, nay, in very many instances,
it is intended to discipline and form the mind to virtue. As Bishop Butler
well says, even while vindicating the moral government of the world: “It
is not pretended but that, in the natural course of things, happiness and
misery appear to be distributed by other rules, than only the personal
merit and demerit of character. They may sometimes be distributed by way
of mere discipline.” And in his profound chapter on a “State of probation,
as intended for moral discipline and improvement,” he shows that they are
actually distributed for this purpose. 3. The unavoidable evils of this
life, which are not brought upon us by our faults, are intended to serve
as a foil to set off the blessedness of eternity. Our present light
afflictions are intended, not merely to work out for us an exceeding and
eternal weight of glory, but also to heighten our sense and enjoyment of
it by a recollection of the miseries experienced in this life. They are
intended to form but a short and discordant prelude to an everlasting
harmony. If they should not prove so in fact, the fault will be our own,
without the least impeachment of the beneficent design of the great Author
and Ruler of the universe.
On these grounds, especially on the first two, we must justify all the
natural evil in the world. In regard to the second, Bishop Butler says:
“Allurements to what is wrong; difficulties in the discharge of our
duties; our not being able to act a uniform right part without some
thought and care; and the opportunities we have, or imagine we have, of
avoiding what we dislike, or obtaining what we desire, by unlawful means,
when we either cannot do it at all, or at least not so easily, by lawful
ones; these things, that is, _the snares and temptations of vice, are what
render the present world peculiarly fit to be a state of discipline to
those who will preserve their integrity_; because they render being upon
our guard, resolution, and the denial of our passions, necessary to that
end.” Thus, the temptations by which we are surrounded, the allurements of
those passions by which vice is rendered so bewitching, are the appointed
means of moral discipline and improvement in virtue.
The habit of virtue thus formed, he truly observes, will be firm and fixed
in proportion to the amount of temptation we have gradually overcome in
its formation. “Though actions materially virtuous,” says he, “which have
no sort of difficulty, but are perfectly agreeable to our particular
inclinations, may possibly be done only from those particular
inclinations, and so may not be any exercise of the principle of virtue,
i. e., not be virtuous actions at all; yet, on the contrary, they may be
an exercise of that principle, and, when they are, they have a tendency to
form and fix the habit of virtue. But when the exercise of the virtuous
principle is more continued, oftener repeated, and more intense, as it
must be in circumstances of danger, temptation, and difficulty of any
kind, and in any degree, this tendency is increased proportionably, and a
more confirmed habit is the consequence.”(190) The greater the temptation,
then, the more fixed will be the habit of virtue, by which it is gradually
overcome and subdued.
This habit may become so fixed, by a struggle with temptations and
difficulties, as to raise the soul above the dangers to which moral agents
are exposed. “Virtuous self-government is not only right in itself, but
also improves the inward constitution or character; and may improve it to
such a degree, that though we should suppose it impossible for particular
affections to be absolutely co-incident with the moral principle, and
consequently should allow, that _such creatures as have been above
supposed would forever remain defectible; yet their danger of actually
deviating from right may be almost infinitely lessened, and they fully
fortified against what remains of it; if that may be called danger,
against which there is an adequate effectual security_.”(191)
“These several observations,” says he, “concerning the active principle of
virtue and obedience to God’s commands are applicable to passive
submission or resignation to his will, which is another essential part of
a right character, connected with the former, and very much in our power
to form ourselves to.” This, then, is the view which we think should be
entertained with respect to the natural evils of this life: they are
intended by the infinitely wise and good Ruler of the world to detach us
from the fleeting things of time and sense, by the gradual formation of a
habit of moral goodness, arising from a resistance against the influence
of such things and firm adherence to the will of God, and to form our
character for a state of fixed eternal blessedness. Such is the beneficent
design of God in relation to the human race itself. His design in relation
to the more magnificent scheme of the moral universe, in thus planting the
human race and striving to train it up to virtue and happiness, we have
already considered.(192)
We say, then, that it is a principle of the divine government of the world
to impose natural evil or suffering as a means of good. It is objected
against this principle, that it is to do evil that good may come. “To say
that Christ was subjected to _sufferings_,” says Dr. Dick, “for the
benevolent purpose of conferring important benefits upon mankind, is to
give the highest sanction to the principle which is so strongly reprobated
in the Scriptures, that evil may be done that good may come.” The theology
of Dr. Dick, and of his school, does not sufficiently distinguish between
natural and moral evil. We are nowhere told in Scripture, that it is wrong
to do natural evil, or inflict suffering, that good may come. Every good
man acts upon this principle every day of his life. Every act of
self-denial, and every infliction of parental discipline, are proofs of
the justness of this remark. The surgeon who amputates a limb, in order to
save the life of his patient, acts upon the same principle. But who ever
thought of condemning such conduct? Who ever reminded him that he should
not do evil that good may come? It is plain, that neither “the sufferings”
of Christ, nor any other sufferings imposed for the real good of the
world, are liable to any such objection, or come under the condemnation of
any such maxim. This objection lies, as we have seen,(193) against the
doctrine of Edwards and his followers, that _moral evil_, that _sin_, may
be chosen as the means of good. The high and holy God never commits, or
causes others to commit, moral evil that good may come; but he not only
may, but actually does, inflict natural evil in order to promote the good
of his creatures. Thus, by applying the language of Scripture to natural
evil instead of to moral, Dr. Dick has just exactly inverted the order of
things as they actually exist in the constitution and government of the
moral world.
Section V.
The importance of harmonizing reason and revelation.
For these reasons, we refuse to justify the sufferings of infants, on the
ground that the sin of Adam was imputed to them. A sentiment so dark and
appalling but ill accords with the sublime and beautiful spirit of the
gospel. It partakes more of the weakness and infirmity of human nature
than of the divine nature of Him who “spake as never man spake.” The best
account which Plato could give of the sufferings of infants was that they
had sinned in some former state of existence, for which they are punished
in this. St. Augustine and his followers, rejecting such a view, and
relying on the literal sense of the words of revelation, advanced the
hypothesis that infants sinned, not in a preëxistent state, but in Adam;
for which they are justly exposed to pain and death. Others again, not
being able to conceive how infants could be really and personally in Adam
many thousand years before they were born, so as to sin with him, adopted
the hypothesis, that _if they had been in his place they would have
sinned_, and are therefore justly exposed to the penalty due to his
transgression; according to which theory each soul might be made liable to
the guilt of infinitely more sin than any finite being could possibly
commit. Another age, rising above such dark notions respecting the nature
of sin and the justice of God, maintained the hypothesis that Adam’s sin
was imputed to all his posterity, by which the fearful penalty due to his
sin might be justly inflicted upon them. According to a fifth theory, it
is clear that “nothing under the empire of Jehovah” can be sin, except a
known transgression of the law; and infants are punished, because, as soon
as they come into the world, they knowingly transgress the law of God.
They cannot _knowingly_ sin, says a sixth theory; but still they really
transgress the law of God by those little bubbling emotions of anger, and
so forth, as soon as they come into existence; and hence, the penalty of
sin is inflicted upon them. Such are some of the hypotheses which have
been adopted by Christian theologians to reconcile the suffering of
infants with the justice and goodness of God. The more we look into them,
the more we are amazed that the great lights of the world should have
indulged in reveries so wild and so wonderful; and the more are we
convinced, that the speculations of men on these subjects, and the whole
theological literature of the world in relation to it, form one of the
darkest chapters in the history of the human mind.
How unlike are such views respecting the origin and existence of natural
evil to the divine simplicity and beauty of the gospel! “Who did sin, this
man or his parents,” said the disciples to our Saviour, “that he was born
blind?” They made no doubt but that the great evil of natural blindness
must have been the punishment of some sin; and merely wished to know
whether it were his own sin, committed in some former state of existence,
or the sin of his parents. Their minds seem to have hung in a state of
vacillation between the theory of Plato and that of imputation. But our
Saviour replied: “Neither did this man sin, nor his parents,” that he was
born blind; but “that the work of God might be made manifest in him.” We
thank thee, O blessed Master, for that sweet word! How delightful is it,
after passing through the dark labyrinths of human folly to sit at thy
feet and drink in the lessons of heavenly wisdom! How pleasant to the
soul—how inexpressibly cheering is it—to turn from the harsh and revolting
systems of men, and listen to the sweet accents of mercy as they fall from
thy lips!
The great law of suffering, then, is that it is intended for the benefit
of intelligent creatures. This is the case, even when it assumes the
character of punishment; for then it is designed to prevent moral evil.
Such a view of natural evil, or suffering, does not give that horrid
picture of the world which arises from the sentiment that all pain and
death must be a punishment for sin. This causes us to see the black
scourge of retributive justice everywhere, and the hand of fatherly
correction nowhere. It places us, not in a school or state of probation,
to train us up for a better and brighter world, but in the midst of
inquisitorial fires and penal woe. It teaches that all mankind became
guilty by the act of one man; and that for one deed, millions upon
millions of human beings are justly obnoxious, not only to temporal and
spiritual, but also to eternal death.
We are perfectly aware of all the arguments which have been drawn from
Scripture in support of such a doctrine; and we are also perfectly
satisfied that they may be most easily and triumphantly refuted. But at
present we do not mean to touch this argument; we shall reserve it for
another work. In the mean time, we must be permitted to express the
sentiment, that a system of theology, so profoundly unphilosophical, so
utterly repugnant to the moral sentiments of mankind, can never fulfil the
sublime mission of true religion on earth. It may possess the principle of
life within, but it is destitute of the form of life without. It may
convert the individual soul, and lead it up to heaven; but it has not the
radiant form and power of truth, to command the admiration and conquer the
intellect of the world. It may elevate and purify the affections, even
while it depresses and confounds the understanding; but it cannot
transfigure the whole mind, and change it into its own divine image.
Nothing but the most fixed and rooted faith, or the most blind and
unquestioning submission, can withstand the fearful blasts and dark
impulses of such a system.
No wonder, then, that under a system so deplorably deficient in some of
the most sublime features of Christianity, infidelity and Pelagianism
should so often have sprung up. If we write libels on the divine
government, we must expect rebellions and insurrections. This is the
natural consequence of the great fundamental heresy which places reason
and revelation in opposition to each other. Orthodoxy, as she proudly
styles herself, may denounce such rebellions; but she herself is partly
responsible for the fatal consequences of them. Reason and revelation can
never be dissevered, can never be placed in violent conflict, without a
frightful injury to both, and to the best interests of mankind. Reason
must find its own internal power and life in revelation, and revelation
must find its own external form and beauty in reason. The perfection and
glory of each consists in the living union and consentaneous development
of both.
If we teach absurdity, it is worse than idle to enforce submission by
arrogant and lordly denunciations of human pride, or of “carnal reason.”
And we shall always find, indeed, that when a theologian or a philosopher
begins by abusing and vilifying human reason, he either has some absurdity
which he wishes us to swallow, or he wishes to be excused from believing
anything in particular. Thus, the dogmatism of the one and the scepticism
of the other unite in trampling human reason under foot; the one, to erect
an empire of absurdity, and the other, to erect an empire of darkness upon
its ruins. It should be the great object of all our labours to effect a
reunion and harmony between revelation and reason, whose “inauspicious
repudiations and divorces” have so long “disturbed everything in the great
family of mankind.”(194)
Chapter III.
The Sufferings Of Christ Reconciled With The Goodness Of God.
O blessed Well of Love! O Flower of Grace!
O glorious Morning Starre! O Lampe of Light!
Most lively Image of thy Father’s face,
Eternal King of Glorie, Lord of Might,
Meeke Lambe of God, before all worlds behight,
How can we thee requite for all this good?
Or who can prize that thy most precious blood?—SPENSER.
In the preceding chapter we have endeavoured to show that natural evil or
suffering is not inconsistent with the goodness of God. We were there led
to see that God, although he never chooses moral evil, often imposes
natural evil, or suffering, in order to secure the well-being of the
world. Of this general principle, the sufferings and death of Christ are a
particular instance; they are not anomalous, but a striking manifestation
of a great principle which pervades the whole economy of divine
providence. These sufferings, so far from being inconsistent with the
goodness of God, are a stupendous display of that sublime mercy which is
over all his works. To illustrate this position, and clear it of sceptical
cavils and objections, is the main object of the present chapter.
Section I.
The sufferings of Christ not unnecessary.
Because the necessity of Christ’s death and sufferings is not manifest at
first view, or because the utility of them is not seen, it is concluded by
some that they were wholly useless, and consequently inconsistent with the
infinite goodness ascribed to the Ruler of the world. We shall content
ourselves with disposing of this objection in the words of Bishop Butler.
“To object against the expediency or usefulness of particular things
revealed to have been done or suffered by him,” says he, “because we do
not see how they were conducive to those ends, is highly absurd. Yet
nothing is more common to be met with than this absurdity. But if it be
acknowledged beforehand, that we are not judges in this case, it is
evident that no objection can, with any shadow of reason, be urged against
any particular part of Christ’s mediatorial office revealed in Scripture,
till it can be shown positively, not to be requisite, or conducive, to the
ends proposed to be accomplished; or that it is in itself
unreasonable.”(195)
Again: “It is indeed,” says he, “a matter of great patience to reasonable
men to find people arguing in this manner; objecting against the
credibility of such particular things revealed in Scripture, that they do
not see the necessity or expediency of them. For, though it is highly
right, and the most pious exercise of our understanding, to inquire with
due reverence into the ends and reasons of God’s dispensations; yet, when
those reasons are concealed, to argue from our ignorance, that such
dispensations cannot be from God, is infinitely absurd. The presumption of
this kind of objection seems almost lost in the folly of them. And the
folly of them is yet greater, when they are urged, as usually they are,
against things in Christianity analogous, or like to those natural
dispensations of Providence which are matters of experience. Let reason be
kept to, and if any part of the Scripture account of the redemption of the
world by Christ can be shown to be really contrary to it, let the
Scripture, in the name of God, be given up: but let not such poor
creatures as we go on objecting against an infinite scheme, that we do not
see the necessity or usefulness of all its parts, and call this reasoning;
and what heightens the absurdity in the present case, parts which we are
not actively concerned in.”(196)
This reply is amply sufficient for such an objection. But although the
concession is made, for the sake of argument, it is not true, that we do
not see the necessity or usefulness of the sufferings of Christ. For, as
the author well says: “What has been often alleged in justification of
this doctrine, even from the apparent natural tendency of this method of
our redemption—its tendency to vindicate the authority of God’s laws, and
deter his creatures from sin: _this has never been answered_, and _is, I
think, plainly unanswerable_; though I am far from thinking it an account
of the whole of the case.”(197)
It is true, we believe, that the position that the great work of Christ
was necessary to maintain the authority of God’s law, and to deter his
creatures from sin, never has been, and never can be refuted. Yet nearly
all of the commonly received systems of theology furnish a principle, a
false principle, on which this position may be overthrown, and the
sufferings of Christ shown to be unnecessary. For if a necessary holiness
be not a contradiction in terms, if God can, as is usually asserted, cause
holiness universally to prevail by the mere word of his power, then the
work and sufferings of Christ are not necessary to maintain the authority
of his law, and deter his creatures from sin. In other words, the
sufferings of Christ were “not requisite to the ends proposed to be
accomplished,” because, on such a supposition, they might have been far
more easily and completely accomplished without them.
Those who maintain, then, as most theologians do, that God could easily
cause virtue to exist everywhere if he would, really set forth a principle
which, if true, would demonstrate the sufferings of Christ to be
unnecessary, and consequently inconsistent with the goodness of God. We
must strike at this false principle, and restore the truth that a
necessary holiness is a contradiction in terms, an inherent and impossible
conceit, if we would behold the sublime significancy and beauty of the
stupendous sacrifice of the cross. We shall then behold the necessity of
that sacrifice, and see the omnipotent yearnings of the divine love in its
efforts to overcome an obstacle, which could not be otherwise surmounted.
It is often said, we are well aware, that God might have saved us by a
mere word; but he chose not to do so, preferring to give up his Son to
death in order to show his love. But how can such a position be
maintained? If God could save us by a word, how can it display his love to
require such immense sufferings in order to save us? If he could
accomplish the salvation of all men by a mere word, how does it show his
love to make such wonderful preparations for their salvation; and, after
all, permit so large a portion of them to be eternally lost? If we could
save the life of a fellow-being by merely putting forth a hand, would it
display our love for him if we should choose to travel all around the
earth, and incur incredible hardships and sufferings in order to save him?
Would this display our love, we ask, or our folly? Is it not evident,
then, that the principle that virtue or holiness might be easily caused to
exist everywhere, is utterly repugnant to the glory of revelation? Is it
not evident that it causes the transcendent glory of the cross to
disappear, and reduces the whole complicated system of means and
appliances for the salvation of the world to a mere idle mockery of the
miseries of man’s estate? Does it not show the whole plan of salvation, as
conceived and executed by the infinite wisdom of God, to be an awkward and
bungling attempt to accomplish an end, which might have been far more
easily and perfectly accomplished? And if so, does it not become all
Christian theologians to expunge this false principle from their systems,
and eradicate it from their thoughts?
Section II.
The sufferings of Christ a bright manifestation of the goodness of God.
The reason why the love of God does not appear to all men in the sacrifice
of his Son is, that it is often viewed, not as it is in itself, but
through the distorting medium of false analogies, or of a vague and
ill-defined phraseology. Hence it is that the melancholy spectacle is
everywhere presented of men, of rational and immortal beings, living and
dying in a determined opposition to a doctrine which they have not taken
the pains to understand, and of whose intrinsic grandeur and glory they
have not enjoyed the most remote glimpse. So far from beholding the love
of God, which shines forth so conspicuously in the cross of Christ, they
see in it only an act of injustice and cruelty on the part of God.
One source of this error, we have no doubt, is to be found in the use, or
rather in the abuse, of the term _punishment_. In the strict sense of the
word, it is not only unjust, but impossible, for God to punish the
innocent. The very idea of punishment, according to the strict sense of
the word, implies the notion of guilt or ill-desert in the person upon
whom it is inflicted. It is suffering inflicted on an offender, on account
of his real or supposed personal guilt. Hence, as God regards all things
just as they are in themselves, he cannot possibly look upon the innocent
as guilty; and consequently he cannot, in the strict sense of the word,
inflict punishment upon them. And when we speak of the punishment of
Christ, we merely mean, or should merely mean, to convey the idea that he
_suffered_, in order to release us from the _punishment_ due to our sins.
It would be well, perhaps, if this could always be borne in mind; for most
men are more under the influence and power of words than they are apt to
see, or willing to acknowledge. The mere expression, the _punishment_ of
the innocent, is apt to awaken associations in the mind which are
inconsistent with the dictates of justice; but which the idea of the
atonement would never have suggested, if clearly and distinctly viewed in
its own clear light, and not through the dark medium of an ill-defined
phraseology.
Another source of the error in question is to be found in the ambiguity of
the term justice. It is frequently said that the atonement is a
satisfaction to divine justice; to which it is replied, that justice
requires the punishment of the very individual who offends, and not of
another person in his place. Let us consider this subject.
The term _justice_ has two distinct significations, which I shall
designate by the epithets _retributive_ and _administrative_. By
retributive justice, I mean that attribute which inclines Him to punish an
offender merely on account of the intrinsic demerit and hatefulness of his
offence; and which animadverts upon the evil conduct of a moral agent,
considered as an individual, and not as a member of the great family of
intelligent beings. This attribute seeks to punish sin merely because it
deserves punishment, and not because its punishment is necessary to secure
the ends of government; and, supposing sin to exist, it would have its
object, even if there were only one accountable creature in the universe.
The object of public or administrative justice is quite different. It
inflicts punishment, not because it is deserved, but in order to prevent
transgression, and to secure the general good, by securing the ends of
wise and good government. In the moral government of God, one of the
highest objects of this kind of justice, or, if you please, of this phase
or manifestation of the divine justice, is to secure in the hearts of its
subjects a cordial approbation of the principles according to which they
are governed. This is indispensable to the very existence of moral
government. The dominion of force, or of power, may be maintained, in many
cases, notwithstanding the aversion of those who are subject to it; but it
is impossible to govern the heart by love while it disapproves and hates
the principles to which it is required to submit, or the character of the
ruler by whom those principles are enforced.
Now, it is very true, that Christ has made a satisfaction to divine
justice. This is frequently asserted; but it is seldom considered, we
apprehend, with any very great degree of distinctness, in what sense the
term justice should always be understood in this proposition. It cannot
properly refer to the retributive justice of God. This requires the
punishment of the offender, and of no one else. It accepts of no
substitute. And hence, it is impossible to conceive that it can be
satisfied, except by the punishment of the offender himself. The object of
this sort of justice, as I have said, is personal guilt; and hence, as our
Saviour did not become personally guilty, when he assumed our place and
consented to die for us, so it is impossible to conceive that he became
liable to the infliction of the retributive justice of God. And we suppose
it is this idea, at which the Socinian vaguely and obscurely aims, when he
says, that the justice of God requires the punishment of the transgressor
alone; and that it is absurd to suppose it can be satisfied by the
substitution of the innocent in his stead. He denies the whole doctrine of
satisfaction, because he sees and feels that it is not true according to
one meaning of the terms in which it is expressed.
In truth and in deed, the sinner is just as guilty after the atonement as
he was before; and he is just as obnoxious to the inflictions of the
retributive justice of God. He may be most justly punished; for as the
claims of retributive justice have not been satisfied, so they may be
demanded of him without being a second time exacted. He really deserves
the wrath of God on account of his sins, although administrative justice
has been satisfied; and hence, when he truly repents and believes, all his
sins are freely and graciously remitted. No satisfaction is made to
retributive justice.