§ 1. This Doctrine of Paul not obsolete.
That portion of the New Testament which speaks so earnestly of
justification by faith is by many supposed to have become obsolete for all
useful purposes at the present time. The doctrine that “we are justified
by faith, and not by works,” it is supposed, was intended for the benefit
of the Jews alone, and to amount to this—that admittance to the privileges
of the gospel is to be obtained, not by practising the ceremonies and
external ritual of the Jewish law, but by a simple belief in Jesus Christ.
Accordingly, as no one nowadays endeavors to become a Christian by
practising the Jewish ceremonies, we suppose that there is no present need
of this doctrine; and when we come upon it in the Scripture, we turn over
the pages in search of something more practical and profitable. As, in the
book of Acts, we read, that, “when Paul was about to open his mouth,
Gallio said unto the Jews, If it were a matter of wrong or wicked
lewdness, O Jews, reason would that I should bear with you; but if it be a
question of words and names, and of your law, look ye to it; for I will be
no judge of such matters,” so we, when Paul is about to open his mouth to
speak to us of this doctrine, think it a mere question of words and names,
and of the Jewish law, and interrupt him to ask him for something
_practical_. If he has anything to say to us of wrong-doing or wicked
conduct, it would be reasonable to hear him; but we will be no judge of
such matters as this.
There are also many persons, who, while they can understand the Gospels
and enjoy them, find it difficult to understand and enjoy the writings of
the apostle Paul. Among these writings, the most difficult is the Epistle
to the Romans, and especially that part of it which treats of this
doctrine of justification by faith. Anything which can be done to remove
this difficulty will do good; for the writings of Paul are so intimately
connected with the rest of the New Testament, that it is not easy to
reject them, and yet to believe the rest. It can be done, no doubt; but it
is done with difficulty. It is as if one part of the foundation of the
house had given way: perhaps the house will not fall; but it has become
unsafe. It is as if a part of the wall of a city had been battered down:
the breach may be defensible from within; but it is also practicable from
without. At all events, we miss the satisfaction of a complete faith,
perfect and entire, round and full.
Besides, may there not be something important for us to know in this part
of the New Testament? Are we quite sure we do not need these very
doctrines, and that they will do us good?
We have said that it is sometimes thought that the questions discussed by
Paul were only Jewish questions,—not human questions; that they belonged
only to that time, not to all time. But, though the form which they
assumed was temporary and local, there is reason to believe that the
substance of the question is one belonging to human nature in every age;
that it is the question of the spirit and the letter, the substance and
the form, the root and the branches, the inside of religion and the
outside. While contending against a particular Jewish error, the apostle
unfolded principles by which similar errors may be opposed and refuted in
every age.
At all events, it is a matter of fact, that there seldom has been in the
Church any great religious movement which has not immediately gone back to
the apostle Paul, and planted itself on his doctrine of justification by
faith. This was the watchword of Luther, and the soul of the reformation.
Luther and his companions armed themselves with this doctrine to contend
against the great power of the Papacy and the Romish Church.
Let us, then, endeavor to see what we can of the truth there may be in
this doctrine.
§ 2. Its Meaning and Importance.
And, first, let us see what the doctrine does not mean, and what it does
mean.
To be justified by faith does not mean that we are to be saved by our
opinions. To say that a man can be saved by holding certain opinions,
instead of certain other opinions, is to say what is contradicted by all
experience; for experience shows us that there are good men holding every
variety of opinion, and bad men holding every variety of opinion. But God
saves men by making them good: therefore men are not saved by their
opinions. Let us suppose that men are to be saved by the opinion that
Jesus is the Christ: then we ought to find that all men holding that
opinion are on the way of salvation; that is, are becoming good men. But
this is far from being the case. In fact, the connection between mere
opinion of any kind, and goodness, is very distant and indirect. No doubt,
in the long run, opinion affects character; but it is only in the long run
that it does so. And, at all events, the doctrine of the New Testament is
very distinct and decided, that men may hold very sound opinions, and yet
not be in the way of salvation. The Scribes and Pharisees held very sound
opinions; and Jesus told his disciples to do whatever they said, but not
to imitate their works; for their doctrine was much better than their
lives.
Nor does the apostle mean to say that one can be saved without morality.
He certainly does not mean to undervalue goodness; for, in that case, he
would contradict his own teachings, which uniformly declare, as all the
rest of the Bible declares, that without holiness no man can see the Lord.
It is certainly a very superficial view which is satisfied with supposing
that an earnest man, as the apostle certainly was, devoting his life, as
he certainly did, to the teaching of Christianity, with such a grand
intellect as he certainly possessed, could assert with so much energy a
doctrine plainly contradicting common sense, daily observation, the plain
teachings of Jesus, and his own uniform doctrine elsewhere.
Some persons have a short method of getting over the difficulty by saying
that Paul did not himself know what he meant. They assume that he was
talking at random. It would be about as wise, when we open Newton’s
“Principia,” and cannot understand it, to say that Newton was talking at
random; or, when we cannot understand Plato or some other profound
metaphysician, to declare directly that he did not himself know what he
was talking about. No doubt, this is the shortest and easiest way of
getting out of such difficulties, but perhaps not the most modest, nor the
most wise.
When an earnest man, a profound man, a man in the highest degree
practical, a man who has done the greatest work for Christianity which has
been done since its foundation, sums up his doctrine in a comprehensive
maxim like this, it is, perhaps, wise to admit, at once, that he had a
meaning, and probably an important one.
“No doubt he _had_ a meaning,” it may be said; “but has he any meaning
_now_? His formula meant something for the Jews; but does it mean anything
for us? Is not this merely a Jewish question, with which we have nothing
to do?”
This is another easy way of getting over difficulties. In reading the New
Testament, when we come to a place where we are stopped by something which
looks deep and is dark, we are often told, “That darkness is not depth: it
is the shadow of a Jewish error which lies across the path.”
Have we not often felt dissatisfied, when, approaching some great saying
of Christ and his apostles from which we hoped to gain new insight, we
have been told, “That has nothing to do with _us_. The Jews had such and
such an opinion, and this was meant to show them their mistake”? So the
great and earnest words of the Bible, which we thought to be full of
spirit and life, are found to be only fossil remains of old opinions, of
opinions long since passed away—good for nothing but to be put into the
museums of antiquaries, and paraded by scholastic pedants.
But, after all, take it on the lowest ground, were not the Jews men? Did
they not, as a race, represent some element, common, in a less degree, to
the rest of mankind? and therefore is there not in each of us something of
that Jewish element? Are not we also sometimes Jews, therefore liable to
Jewish errors, and needing to have them corrected? The Jews did not live
in vain: their struggles, errors, hopes, were for the benefit of humanity.
We were to learn something by their mistakes, and to be taught something
by their experience.
Another way of treating such a passage is to translate it into some
trivial, insignificant commonplace. Thus, we are told, our doctrine only
means that “_God does not approve a man merely for going through a routine
of outward, formal ceremonies, but for a thoroughly religious life._” This
explanation assumes that the apostle is here talking to simpletons, and
that what he says is no more worth listening to by us than the prattle of
a nurse to her infant.
There are, therefore, four ways of explaining this passage, none of which
are satisfactory. These are, that Paul,—
1. Was teaching a self-evident absurdity;
2. Was teaching a self-evident truism;
3. Was teaching nothing, and only talking at random;
4. Was correcting a Jewish error, which only the Jews ever had, or are
ever likely to have.
If these views are not satisfactory to us, the simplest way would seem to
be, first, to endeavor to understand precisely what the Jewish error was,
and then to see if there is anything like it in ourselves, and if there be
anything which we can learn from this old argument which will be, not old,
but new for our time and for all time, because a part of the tendencies of
man. Let us translate these old terms—_justification_, _faith_,
_works_—into their modern equivalents, and see what they mean for us at
the present time.
We have shown that we may be mistaken in supposing this Orthodox doctrine
of justification to be of merely local and temporary interest, having no
permanent value. It is not likely that a man like Paul, of so large, so
deep, so philosophic a mind, should have devoted himself so earnestly, and
returned so fondly, to a theme involving no universal and eternal
principles, whose interest was to perish with the hour. It is not probable
that, in this small volume of writings of the new covenant,—this precious
gift of God to the world in all ages and in every nation,—so large a
portion should be devoted to a wholly temporary argument; and, more than
all, it is a most remarkable fact, that whenever there arises a man
uniting a deeper spirit of piety with a larger sense of liberty than other
men,—a man commissioned by God to give a new religious impulse to his age,
and to help Christianity to shake itself free from the cumbrous mass of
human forms and traditions which have crushed it, and to go forth in its
native grace and loveliness again,—some profound instinct should always
lead him to this doctrine as to a weapon effectual for pulling down the
strongholds of bigotry, scepticism, and spiritual death. Sir James
Mackintosh somewhere says, that the great movement which shook Christendom
to its centre, and did more to change and reform society than the
political revolutions and wars of a thousand years, originated with an
obscure Augustinian monk preaching the doctrine of justification by faith.
This acute Scotchman saw, what all must see who read Luther’s writings
with any attention, that it was no accident, no temporal interest, which
led him to lay such stress on this doctrine. It was the soul of his
preaching, the essence of his doctrine, the secret of his strength, the
life of his life. And so, when Wesley and the early Methodists were called
upon to pour new religious life into the English Church, they fell back on
this doctrine—this ancient sword of the Spirit. And so we may believe that
it has a value for all ages; that it did not relate merely to Jewish
usages, but is a principle of vital and everlasting application.
No doubt that if by faith we understand intellectual belief, or the assent
to opinions, and if by works we understand true obedience, and by
justification final salvation or actual goodness, there can scarcely be a
greater absurdity than to say that a man is justified by faith, and not by
works. To say that goodness, in the sight of God, consists in receiving
certain opinions, rather than in true obedience, is a most unscriptural
and irrational doctrine.
But none of the great reformers of whom I have spoken, and no profound
theologians of any sect or school, have ever held the doctrines of
justification by faith in this way. Neither Luther nor Wesley ever made
faith synonymous with intellectual belief or opinion. “What is faith?”
said Wesley. “Not an opinion, nor any number of opinions put together, be
they ever so true. A string of opinions is no more Christian faith than a
string of beads is Christian holiness. It is not an assent to any opinion,
or any number of opinions. A man may assent to three or three and twenty
creeds, he may assent to all the Old and New Testament, and yet have no
Christian faith at all.”
But what is the true doctrine of justification by faith, as taught in the
Scriptures, and as inspiring these great reformers? This is naturally our
next inquiry.
§ 3. Need of Justification for the Conscience.
There is nothing in the nature of man more paradoxical than conscience. It
is that which lifts him to God; and yet it is that which makes him capable
of sin, and without which he could not be a sinner. It gives him the sense
of right, but at the same time makes him conscious of wrong. It makes him
capable of duty, but thereby also capable of disobedience. It shows us
what we ought to do, without giving us the least strength wherewith to do
it. It condemns us for not doing right, even when we have no power to do
anything but what is wrong. It shows us a great ideal of goodness to which
we ought to aspire, and discourages us by the very loftiness of the
standard. It tells us in the same breath that we are sinners, and that we
ought to be angels. It seems at the same time to elevate and degrade us.
It elevates us by giving a great object to life, and making it serious and
earnest; but it degrades us by making us constantly ashamed of ourselves,
and keeping us in a perpetual state of humiliation. Now, one of the chief
peculiarities of the conscience is, that beyond a certain point, the more
we try to obey it, the less satisfaction we have. We know that this is not
the usual theory. We are commonly told that the conscientious man is
always contented and happy,—satisfied with himself, and at peace with God.
But facts contradict this theory. The conscientious man is apt to be very
much dissatisfied with himself,—much, more so than the man whose
conscience is torpid and indifferent. There is comfort in faithful work;
no doubt there is great content in the steady performance of regular
duties; but here conscience is subordinate to work. It is _work_ which
gives contentment; but CONSCIENCE, when thoroughly roused by the strong
meat of a divine law, is the source of much self-dissatisfaction. How can
it be otherwise? It shows us that we ought to _love God and love man with
all our heart, soul, mind, strength_. Which of us does it? Do you? Do I?
How large a part of our life have we given to the service of God? how
large a part to the service of our neighbor? How often do we thank God for
his goodness? How often do we pray to him? how often _think_ of him? If we
do not think of him, of course we do not love him.
Love makes us very thoughtful of another’s wishes. When people love each
other, they joy in thinking of each other; they treasure souvenirs of each
other; they like to make each other presents of things they think will
please; they steal an hour from daily cares or nightly rest to write
letters to each other. Our heavenly Father’s arms are around us all
day,—his infinite bounty blessing us, his careful providence making for us
home, friends, all; yet we do not think of him, or wish to do anything to
please him.
Conscience tells us that our heart is hard and cold to our best Friend;
and that is by no means a pleasant piece of information.
Moreover, it is evident that this condition of self-dissatisfaction is not
a good one. _Self-reproach may be a wholesome medicine, but it is a bad
food._ We cannot do our work while we are finding fault with ourselves.
The man whose conscience is always tormenting him is in a morbid state. He
is a spiritually sick man,—sick of too much medicine. What must be done?
He is always looking at his sins, and that disqualifies him for doing his
duties. What shall he do?
This question in its Jewish form is stated thus: HOW SHALL HE BE JUSTIFIED
BEFORE GOD? If God can excuse him, he can excuse himself. How, then, can
he know that God looks at him not as a sinner, but as a just man, so that
he can look on himself not as a sinner, but as a just man? This is the
problem. What are its solutions?
In the Jewish mind, the Jewish law had brought the conscience into an
extremely irritable state. The same effect, in a less degree, is produced
by the Catholic confessional.
§ 4. Reaction of Sin on the Soul.
Now, the consequences of sin are these: First, every act of sin brings
after it natural evil consequences. It weakens the strength of the soul,
it darkens the spiritual eye, it hardens the heart, it adds a new link to
the chain of evil habit. By a result as inevitable as the law of
gravitation, every act of sin pollutes, darkens, weakens the spiritual
principle in man. “He who sows to the flesh shall of the flesh reap
corruption.” We may call these results the _external_ consequences of sin,
because they change our spiritual relation and position in God’s external
universe. But there is another more awful and as inevitable consequence of
sin. It alienates us from God himself. It turns our face from the Source
of life and love. It makes us at war with him. It fills us with the sense
of his displeasure, and burdens us with the consciousness of guilt. To
escape the dreadful sense of his anger, we hide ourselves from him, as
Adam did. It is a law of the human mind that we dread the sight of any one
whom we have wronged, because it condemns us. Perhaps he may be perfectly
willing to forgive us; perhaps he does not even know that we have wronged
him; but we cannot bear to see him, notwithstanding. It was a profound
feeling of this law which led an ancient historian to say, “He hated him
because he had injured him.” Thus an active conscience, if it does not
make a man better, will make him worse: to escape its torture he will
plunge into new crimes. Some of the darkest crimes which stain the page of
history may be traced to this source,—to the operation of a conscience
strong enough to produce the sense of guilt, but not strong enough to
produce the determination to reform. It is related that when the mother of
Charles IX. of France and his uncles were urging the young king to consent
to the execution of some of the principal Protestants to whom he was
strongly attached, after a long resistance, when he at last gave way, it
was with these remarkable words: “I consent, then, but only on one
condition,—that you do not leave a Huguenot in France to reproach me with
it.”(18) And hence the Bartholomew Massacre, which its authors had
intended before only to include a few individuals. So sin takes occasion
by the law, and the commandment ordained for life becomes death.
The same principle operates with respect to God. We have broken his law.
We feel that he must be displeased with us; we therefore hide ourselves
from him, turn away from him, avoid the thought of him, are alienated from
him. This is the greatest evil of sin, and this we may call the inward
consequence of sin, because it affects our inward relation to God rather
than our outward relation to the universe.
And now, how are we to be reconciled to God? How are we to be freed from
this sense of guilt which falls on us in his presence, and makes us fear
and shun him?
§ 5. Different Methods of obtaining Forgiveness.
There are two ways in which, when we have injured our brother, and so have
become estranged from him, we may become reconciled again, and freed from
a sense of shame in his presence. One is by endeavoring to atone for the
evil we have done by acts of kindness, by expressions of penitence. So at
last we may feel that we have done him far more good than evil; and though
he may not forgive us or be reconciled to _us_, we, on our part, may feel
freed from any shame in his presence, and be reconciled to _him_. The
other way is by _his_ coming to _us_, and _proving_ to us, by his conduct
and words, that he is not estranged from us by our bad conduct; that he
loves us as ever. So he will overcome our evil by his good, and reconcile
us to him.
The pagan nations in all ages and lands have taken the first way of being
reconciled to God. Oppressed by a guilty fear of their terrible idols,
they have brought as gifts to their altars what they had most valuable;
they have hung their gold, their jewels, in the temple; they have slain
their cattle on the shrine. Still unable to pacify their trembling hearts,
they have gone farther, and sought to prove the sincerity at least of
their repentance by self-inflicted tortures, and by giving even their
children’s lives to the bloody power whom they worshipped. Hence
sacrifices: they originated in the very same feeling which induces a man
to give a present to one whom he has wronged, to appease him.
Pagan religions are founded, therefore, wholly on the first mode of
reconciliation. The offending party comes to him whom he has injured, and
does something to pacify him. But these religions never brought peace to
the heart of the worshipper. After the wretched mother had dropped her
infant into the burning arms of Moloch, she still had no evidence that his
wrath was turned away.
In the religion of Moses, the first mode of reconciliation was united with
the second. Pitying the weakness of man, the law allowed him to bring his
sacrifice of birds or beasts or the fruits of the soil, and place it on
God’s altar as an expiation and atoning offering for his sin; and then,
the suppliant, having faith in the permanent presence of God in the holy
of holies, was received again to favor and assured of pardon. The Jew, who
had broken any of the laws of Jehovah, knew exactly what to do in order to
be reconciled to his national God and King. God had pointed out the way
which he would accept. By certain acts of sacrifice and restitution, the
Jew became once more worthy of living under the protecting care of
Jehovah.
This mode of reconciliation under the law was far superior to that in
pagan religions. It gave temporary peace to the conscience, though not
permanent. It prevented the sinner from going farther from God, though it
did not unite him with God in unbroken union. It kept the conscience
awake, and prevented it from being hardened. It was a schoolmaster to
bring the Jews to Christ. It was a preparation for a more excellent way.
In the Epistle to the Hebrews, the writer declares that the law was but
the shadow of that which was to come; that it could not, “by the
sacrifices offered year by year, make the comers thereunto perfect; for
then would they have ceased to have been offered, because the worshippers,
once purged, would have had no more conscience of sin.” The sacrifice made
no revelation of God’s character and love, planted no root of piety in the
heart: it relieved the conscience only for this once, only with respect to
this one sin; and there its influence ended. And therefore was a new
covenant necessary, and promised by the prophets, and looked forward to by
holy men, when they should be reconciled not by works, but by faith.
We have seen that there are two modes by which alienation may be removed:
first, by the offending party doing something to atone for his offence;
second, by the injured one showing that he has forgiven the offence, and
is ready to be reconciled without an atonement. The first mode is the way
of reconciliation in pagan religions; the first and second are united in
the Jewish religion; the second is the mode in the Christian religion.
§ 6. Method in Christianity.
In Christianity, in the gospel of grace, God offers pardon freely to those
who are willing to accept it. He is ready now to receive those who are
ready to come to him. It is only necessary to believe this in order to be
reconciled. We are, therefore, reconciled by faith.
But we are said to be reconciled by the death and blood of Christ. How is
this? We have seen the source of our alienation: it lay not in God, but in
ourselves. God had not gone away from _us_; we went away from him. He had
not ceased to love us; but by a terrible reaction from our sinfulness, we
had ceased to believe in his love. “God’s hand,” says the prophet (Isa.
59:2), “is not shortened, that he cannot save, nor is _his_ ear grown
dull, that he cannot hear; but _your_ iniquities have separated you from
your God, and your sins have hidden his face from you, that he doth not
hear.” By an immutable law of our mind, God’s wrath abides on us, and we
cannot believe in his love. Here is the source of our alienation. Now,
merely to be told that God is merciful does not wholly help the matter.
True, we say, He _is_ merciful, but not to _us_; we have sinned too long
and deeply. Something must be done, then, to _convince_ us that God is
ready to forgive and receive us freely. The death of Christ is the fact
which produces this conviction. The death of Christ, therefore, is not
merely an _emblem_ of God’s love, but an _act_ of God’s love. It draws us
to him. It changes our hearts. It melts our doubt, our distrust. It
reveals to us our Father’s love. The blood of Christ makes those who were
afar off nigh. This all experience teaches as a _matter of fact_. It is
the cross of Christ, borne by the simple missionary, preached by the
devout Moravian, which, amid the ice of Greenland or beneath the burning
sun of the tropic, reconciles the sinner to God.
And if one asks _how_ the death of Christ does this, we will briefly
indicate what we believe to be the way in which it operates. We look at
Christ, and see the brightness of God’s glory and express image of his
person. We see a holiness pure and perfect, a character infinitely
beautiful and lovely. We see how dear and near such a one must have been
to God; and we hear God say, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well
pleased;” and we hear him say of God, “My Father has not left me alone;
for I do _always_ the things which please him.”
And now we look at the world, and see it “lying in wickedness;” we see men
trampling on God’s law, polluting his image, cruelly oppressing each
other, and boldly defying and mocking at the Almighty. What does he then?
For the sake of these miserable, weak, and wretched sinners, who seem
scarcely worth the saving, he sends his holy child among them; he sends
this pure being to have his heart rent with the sight and knowledge of
human sin; he sends him to be cruelly and shamefully killed by a death of
agony, in order that _we_, sinful and miserable, may be reconciled. We
say, in the view of all this, “He who spared not his own Son, but
delivered him up for us, how shall he not _with_ him freely give us all
things?” We say, “God commended his love towards us, in that, while we
were sinners, Christ died for us.” “Herein is love; not that we loved God,
but that he loved us.” Christ, “being lifted up, draws all men unto him.”
Thus, in the midst of the gloom of that horrible scene on Calvary, when
the power of darkness was at its height,—that crisis of the world, when
human sin stood at the flood,—the heavens were opened, and a new ray of
divine love poured into the world.
§ 7. Result.
Let us sum up, then, the doctrine of justification by faith, as we have
now explained it.
1. JUSTIFICATION is not the doing away with all the consequences of sin,
but only the consequence which consists in present alienation from God. It
is objectively, as a divine act, what _forgiveness_ is subjectively, as a
human experience. It relates to _present_ acceptance with God; it is not
the cancelling of the results of our past sins on the character, nor is it
the hope of future salvation. It relates to the _present_.
The following passages show that justification is equivalent to
reconciliation or forgiveness. Rom. 5:8-10: “But God commendeth his love
toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Much
more then, being now justified by his blood, we shall be saved from wrath
through him. For if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by
the death of his Son, much more, being reconciled, we shall be saved by
his life.” Rom. 4:6-8: “David also describeth the blessedness of the man
unto whom God imputeth righteousness without works; saying, Blessed are
they whose iniquities are forgiven, and whose sins are covered. Blessed is
the man to whom the Lord will not impute sin.”
2. FAITH is not mere intellectual belief or opinion; nor is it mere
feeling, nor a mystical emotion in which we are wholly passive; but a
sentiment, in which belief, feeling, and determination are blended
together. The belief is that Christ is the Son of God; the feeling is
trust and joy in the love of God seen in him; and the determination is to
rely on him as a Mediator and Saviour.
That faith is not a mere intellectual belief, but involves also a feeling
of trust, appears from such passages as these: “If thou believe in thy
heart;” “An evil _heart_ of unbelief.”
That faith is not a mere emotion, in which we are wholly passive, appears
from such cases as those where men are exhorted to believe, as a thing in
their own power.
3. WORKS, in this doctrine, include every effort to reconcile God by
offering him anything in expiation of our sin, whether sacrifices,
sacraments, the assent to creeds, the struggle after feelings and
experiences, or reformation of character.
And the whole doctrine of justification by faith may be thus expressed:—
If you are burdened with a sense of unworthiness and guilt; if something
seems to separate your heart from God; if you want confidence to come to
him boldly in prayer,—do not try to remove this difficulty by any effort
to do something different, or become something different; but simply look
at Jesus in his sufferings and death, and see your heavenly Father calling
you to him _now_ to be forgiven. Go at once to God through Christ. Repose
on that love that will cleanse you, that will save you; and nevermore
doubt, even in your darkest hour, that your Father is ready to hear, to
forgive, and bless you.
§ 8. Its History in the Church.
We have seen the origin, nature, and value of this doctrine. Let us now
look at its history.
The apostolic Church was founded on the simple doctrine of faith in
Christ. It was not founded on any theory or speculation _about_ Christ, or
about his plan of salvation, but on _Christ himself_ as the Saviour. All
that the first Christians professed was faith in Jesus as the Son of God.
They had been reconciled to God by him; they were at peace with God; they
were washed in the blood of the Lamb; and they were happy. A deep and
wonderful joy brooded over the early church. A hurricane of persecution
and war raged around them: within the Church, all was security and peace.
How beautiful are the expressions by which the apostles describe the
serenity and joy of the Church! “They ate their meat in gladness and
singleness of heart, praising God, and having favor with all the people.”
New converts “gladly received the word, and were baptized” by thousands,
in the face of the bitterest persecution. “The multitude of them that
believed were of one heart and one soul; neither said any of them, that
aught of the things that he possessed was his own.” Whence came all this
peace and union in the early Church? Was it because they had attained to
such clear views of truth, and all held the same opinions? So far from it,
some had not heard that there was a Holy Ghost; others did not believe in
a resurrection of the dead; and many thought the whole Jewish ritual
essential to salvation. Was it that they had become suddenly pure in
heart, and holy in life, and freed from sin? So far from it, we find the
apostles exhorting them against very great vices,—against murder, theft,
and licentiousness,—and condemning them for having practised gross
immoralities. It came from the simplicity of their faith. They looked to
Jesus, and their faces were lightened. They _saw_ the love of God in him;
they felt it in their hearts; they reposed on it undoubtingly. In
quietness and confidence was their strength. O, happy days! in which men’s
minds had not yet been harassed by thousands of vain controversies and
empty verbal disputes; by questions, and strifes of words; by most
profound theological discussions, ending in nothing but weariness; but
were satisfied, that, if men would go to Christ, they would find truth. O,
happy time! in which men had not learned to dissect their own hearts, and
pry curiously into their feelings, and torture themselves by anxious
efforts to _feel_ right, and tormenting doubts as to whether their inward
experiences were as they ought to be, but believed that all good feelings
would come in their own time out of Christian faith. O, happy, golden
hour! when love, and joy, and duty were all one; when men did not
prescribe for themselves and others a task-work, an outward routine of
duties; but had confidence, that, if they lived in the Spirit, they would
also walk in the Spirit.
That hour of simple, child-like faith passed away. Its decay appeared in a
return to the old mode of justification. Instead of simply relying on what
God had done, men must do something themselves to atone for their sins;
they must do penance, and have priests, and sacraments, and masses, and
countless ceremonies to come between them and God; they must pile up a
cumbrous fabric of religious and moral works, by which to climb up to God;
until, at last, though the doctrine of justification by faith was never
given up, it was made of none effect by the rubbish of human ceremonies
heaped before it. And then came Luther, armed with the old doctrine, to
sweep these all away, and call men back to the simple faith in the
Saviour. The pure word of faith went forth through all lands, conquering
and to conquer.
But there is a continual tendency to fall back again from faith upon
works. Ever as the life of religion weakens, ever as the strength of holy
confidence decays, men betake themselves to some outward forms or efforts.
When they cease to lean on the love of God, they begin to lean on
sacraments and ceremonies, on opinions and doctrines, on feelings and
experiences, on morality and works of duty. Ever, as the cold winter of
worldliness and sin causes the stream of holy faith to shrink back into
its channel, the ice of forms accumulates along its shores; and then, as
the inevitable consequence and sign of the decay of faith, we find the
Church becoming anxious and troubled, confidence giving way to anxiety,
cheerfulness to gloom, hope to fear. Everything terrifies the unbelieving
Church; new opinions terrify it; new measures terrify it. It has ashes
instead of beauty, mourning for joy, the spirit of heaviness instead of
the garment of praise.
§ 9. Orthodox Errors, at the present Time, in Regard to Justification by
Faith.
We have said that there is a constant tendency to fall back from faith to
works of some kind or other. The important question comes, How is it with
us _now_? Does this tendency show itself in our present churches? And the
answer we am compelled to make is, that _it does_, certainly to some
extent, and in all the churches. Orthodox churches have fallen away, more
or less, from the doctrine of justification by faith. They have fallen
back from the central point of Christianity, faith in Jesus, in different
directions, and seek to be justified by a law,—some upon a law of belief,
and others on a law of emotion.
Do not understand us as saying that any of the churches have denied, or
that they do not constantly teach, the doctrine of justification by faith.
This is not the point. The Romish Church never denied, nor ceased to
teach, this doctrine; but she virtually abolished it, and made it of none
effect by teaching other things also. Is not this, to some degree, the
case now?
Are there not many Orthodox Christians, at the present time, who seek to
make their peace with God, not by relying on Jesus himself, but on some
theory with respect to his nature or person; not on his death, but on some
speculation _about_ his death,—some theory, scheme, or plan? Is it not the
idea of many, that they are to be brought to God, not by faith in Jesus
and his death, but by assenting to the correct doctrine about it? and
accordingly they anxiously labor, and make it a WORK, to believe in the
true theory, in order that they may be brought to God. We do not say that
correct opinions on these points are unimportant; but we say that the
faith in Christ which justifies us does not come from believing right
opinions, but that right opinions come from the justifying faith. Are
religious teachers now willing to do as Paul did, and say simply,
“_Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ_”? or do they not rather find it
necessary to say, “Believe this, that, and the other thing, about Jesus
Christ”?
And again: is it not thought by Orthodox people, that, in order to be
justified and have peace with God through Jesus Christ, it is necessary
that a person should experience certain feelings, beginning with a sense
of guilt, a fear of punishment, and passing into a state of hope and
assurance? And, accordingly, men make it a WORK, and labor, to have these
feelings in the precise order and manner, and, until they can experience
these feelings, believe that they can have no access to God. As before, we
do not mean that these feelings are unimportant, but only that we should
not try to work ourselves up into certain feelings in order to be just
before God. It is faith in Jesus which is the _source_, not the _result_,
of piety as well as of holiness. It is faith in God’s love to us which
enables us to love him. The sense of pardon produces both the feeling of
gratitude and of unworthiness. God does not forgive us because we have had
the right feelings, but that we may have them. Those love much to whom
much is forgiven; but to whom little is forgiven, the same love little.
Were we ever struck with the remarkable contrast between the conversions
to God in the apostolic time and those which we hear of now? How much more
_simple_ they were! A man is riding in a chariot, reading his Bible, and
trying in vain to comprehend it. An apostle comes, and explains to him the
prophecy, and applies it to Jesus. Presently they come to water, and he
says, “See, here is water;” he is baptized, and goes on his way rejoicing.
We fear there are not many churches now who would receive that Ethiopian
as a member, if he could give no further account of his religious
experience than is recorded in the book of Acts.
But is it not, we say again, remarkable, that not only in this case, but
in all the cases of conversion recorded and described in the Acts, there
should be nothing of the descriptions which we read every week in our
religious newspapers? In the case of the three thousand baptized on the
day of Pentecost, we only read that they were cut to the heart; said,
“What shall we do?” were told to repent and be baptized; joyfully received
the word, and were baptized. Even the remarkable conversion of Paul was
nothing like what we now have. How is this—that now we are not willing to
trust to a simple act of faith in Jesus Christ, and in turning to God; but
we have a scale and rule of religious experience—a work which all must go
through in order to be justified?
And what is the result of thus substituting for justification by faith,
justification by belief in opinions, and by processes of feeling? Look at
the churches where this has been carried farthest, and see the result.
Religion becomes gloomy, anxious, and austere; it ceases to breathe
cheerfulness and joy around; the gentler graces die before it; fear treads
fast in the footsteps of hope; a stiff formality introduces cant in the
place of what is natural and artless; the heart is stretched on a rack of
self-torturing doubts and anxieties. The biographies and private journals
of many eminent saints show us how little happiness they had in their
religion,—how they were tortured by spiritual doubts, perplexities, and
anxieties. The reason is, that they rely on their _own_ feelings, instead
of relying on Christ.
And with the reliance placed on theory and opinion vanishes the union of
the Church. There are five sects in this country, all holding to the
Assembly’s Catechism—a large and minute compendium of opinions,—and yet
which often do not allow each other to commune at the Lord’s table. The
New School Presbyterians might permit the others to commune with _them_,
but are themselves excluded. The Old School Presbyterians would commune
with all but the New, but are not permitted. Nay, the Associate Reformed,
the Covenanters, and the Seceders carry it so far as to discipline and
excommunicate their members for what is called _occasional hearing_; i.e.,
attending worship at other churches than their own. There was in the State
of Indiana an Old School preacher, and president of a college, who refused
to allow a Unitarian to give a literary address which the students had
asked him to give, and which he had gone to deliver, and, in defending
himself for this, called him a “public propagator of infidelity;” and
within a mile or two of his college there was a society of Seceders, or
Covenanters, holding, like himself, the Assembly’s Confession, who would
excommunicate any of their members who should go to hear him preach.
There is, then, a tendency among the Orthodox to rely on their own opinion
and their own feelings, rather than on Jesus Christ.
§ 10. Errors of Liberal Christians.
Liberal Christians have fallen into error of a different sort. They seek
to be justified, not by opinion nor by feeling, but by action; by works of
righteousness, honesty, charity; by the faithful performance of social
duties; by an active obedience to the law of God. Looking at the
Scriptures, and seeing in how many places we are plainly taught that we
are to work out our own salvation; to be rewarded and punished according
to our active goodness; to be judged by our works,—they say that a man is
forgiven when he has corrected his fault, and not before; that repentance
and reformation are the only means of atonement with God; that, if we wish
to be forgiven, we must reform our conduct and change our character.
Accordingly, they lay great stress on DUTY, and are continually exhorting
men to the performance of their duties in order to be forgiven.
But there is a mistake here also, which arises from confounding two very
different things; namely, justification and final salvation. We have seen
that the consequences of sin are twofold—external and internal. The inward
consequence of sin is separation from God; the external is the weakening
and debasing of the soul. The first consequence is removed by faith; the
second, by obedience. Every act of sin pollutes, darkens, and ruins the
soul; every act of obedience strengthens, elevates, and saves it.
Obedience, persevered in to the end, insures the salvation of the soul.
But, in order that we may obey, we must first be justified; for what is to
give us the strength and the heart to obey, except the pardoning love of
God? It is this sense of reconciliation,—it is this spirit of adoption,
whereby we cry, “Abba, Father,”—which gives us the power to obey. We do
not obey God to be forgiven; but we are forgiven that we may obey. Have we
read the Gospels, and have we forgotten all the instances in which Jesus
said, “Thy sins are forgiven thee,” before there had been any change of
conduct, or reform of character? and have we forgotten the memorable
passage in which he explains to the captious Pharisee why he does this
(Luke 7:36-50),—on the principle that the one to whom the most is forgiven
will love the most?
To point out to men their duties, and tell them to do them, does not
enable them to do them; but the sight of God’s love in Jesus Christ _does_
create in them new strength. That true follower of Jesus, the first of our
Ministers at Large, Dr. Tuckerman, did not say to the poor victim of sin,
that when he reformed his conduct, he would be his friend. No: like his
Master, he showed himself his friend while he was yet a sinner, and so
gave him hope and courage to break away from his sin. He has left on
record one of the most touching instances of the power of love to melt
down the impenitent heart, in the case of a convict whom he persisted in
visiting, though he was perfectly hardened, and filled with bitterness and
rage. He persisted in patient attempts to soften his heart, till he
succeeded, by the irresistible power of love, in making him humble as a
little child. Suppose he had sent him word, that if he repented, and
showed the proper spirit, he would come and visit him. He had not so
learned God or Christ. He knew that he must overcome evil with good.
Exactly so does God overcome our evil with good.
To tell men to do their duties that they may be forgiven, is to tell them
to do what they have no power to do. A confident reliance on God’s love,
and steadfast communion with him, are the only source of real improvement.
When we feel these, we are one with God; when we can go to him
confidently, as children to a father; when we can betake ourselves to his
love in every emergency of life,—we have a source of real strength, and
growth, and improvement within us. But, without this feeling of peace with
God, the effort to do our duties only harasses and irritates our
conscience: it produces weariness of heart, a constant feeling of
unworthiness and failure, a constant sense of obligations and
responsibilities which we do not and cannot fulfil. Duty is a weary task,
a heavy burden; and our life is crushed down by constant anxiety and care.
But if we begin right, and come to God first, and lean on his love, and
rely on his promise, then we are filled with hope and joyful assurance,
and failure does not dismay us, for we say, “God’s truth is pledged for
our success; and if, while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by
the death of his Son, much more, being reconciled, we shall be saved by
his life.”
It may be objected that it is dangerous to religion to admit that we can
be justified before we have believed certain important doctrines or
experienced certain peculiar feelings. It may also be objected, on the
other hand, that it is dangerous to morality to suppose that pardon can
precede reformation. But the more we read the Scriptures, the more we look
into our own heart, and the more we become acquainted with our fellow-men,
the deeper is our conviction, that there is but one source of true piety
and sound morality—a heart reconciled to God, and at peace with him. We do
not undervalue correct belief, deep feeling, or active obedience; but we
place them where they belong. They are the fruit of the tree, not the root
of the tree. The root and source and beginning of all piety and holiness
is simple faith in God through Christ. We must ask ourselves, therefore,
first of all, “Are we reconciled to God, or are we not? Are we living in
filial communion with him, or living without him in the world?” If
unreconciled, we must not think to work ourselves up into a degree of
goodness or pious feeling without God. There is no strength where there is
no confidence, where there is nothing to lean on, where there is
hollowness within. We ought to come at once to God. We ought to lift our
hearts to him, not saying, “Who shall go up to heaven for us, to bring him
to us? Who shall go over the sea for us?” For his word is very nigh, in
our mouth and heart.
The above discussion will show what we consider to be the truths, and what
the errors, in the Orthodox view of justification by faith.