§ 1. Confusion in the Orthodox Statement.
The subject of this chapter is the Orthodox doctrine of the work of
Christ, and especially of the atonement.
No doctrine of Orthodoxy is more difficult to state to the satisfaction of
the Orthodox than this. The reason is, that there is no doctrine
concerning which the Orthodox differ so much among themselves. There is no
difficulty in stating the Orthodox doctrine of the Trinity; for this is
the same, or nearly the same, in the symbols of all the Orthodox sects.
The Roman Catholic doctrine of the Trinity is essentially the same with
that of the Presbyterian, Lutheran, Methodist, and Episcopal Churches. But
not so with the doctrine of Christ’s reconciling and atoning work. This
has taken every form in past history, and is altogether unsettled at the
present time. Usually, many views are mingled together in modern
Orthodoxy; and while all Orthodox teachers use the same language, speaking
of the death of Christ as “atonement,” “expiation,” “vicarious sacrifice,”
“sin-offering,” “substitution,” “satisfaction,” yet they connect with
these words very different ideas. Such is the testimony of an eminent
Orthodox divine, who speaks thus:—
“There is a general concurrence in the words _vicarious_, _expiation_,
_offering_, _substitute_, and the like, but no agreement as to the manner
in which they are to get their meaning. Sometimes the analogy of criminal
law is taken; and then our sins are spoken of as being transferred to
Christ, or he as having accepted them to bear their penalty. Sometimes the
civil or commercial law furnishes the analogy; and then, our sins being
taken as a debt, Christ offers himself as a ransom for us. Or the analogy
of the ceremonial law is accepted; and then Christ is set forth as a
propitiatory or expiatory offering to obtain remission of sins for us.
Regarding Christ as suffering for us in one or another of these Scripture
forms or figures taken as the literal dogmatic truth, we have as many
distinct theories. Then, again, different as these figures are from each
other, they will yet be used interchangeably, all in the sense of one or
another of them. And then, again, to double the confusion yet once more,
we have two sets of representations produced under each, accordingly as
Christ is conceived to offer himself to Jehovah’s justice, or as Jehovah
is conceived himself to prepare the offering out of his own mercy.
“On the whole, I know of no definite and fixed point on which the Orthodox
view, so called, may be said to hang, unless it be this, viz., that Christ
suffers evil as evil, or in direct and simple substitution for evil that
was to be suffered by us; so that God accepts one evil in place of the
other, and, being satisfied in this manner, is able to justify or pardon.
“As to the measure of this evil, there are different opinions. Calvin
maintained the truly horrible doctrine, that Christ descended into hell
when crucified, and suffered the pains of the damned for three days. A
very great number of the Christian teachers, even at this day, maintain
that Christ suffered exactly as much pain as all the redeemed would have
suffered under the penalties of eternal justice. But this penal view of
Christ’s death has been gradually giving way, till now, under its most
modern, most mitigated, and least objectionable form, he is only said to
have suffered under a law of _expression_.
“Thus God would have expressed a certain abhorrence of sin by the
punishment of the world. Christ now suffers only as much pain as will
express the same amount of abhorrence. And considering the dignity of the
Sufferer, and his relations to the Father, there was no need of suffering
the same, or even any proximate amount of pain, to make an expression of
abhorrence to sin, that is, of justice, equal to that produced by the
literal punishment of the race. Still, it will be seen to be a part of
this more mitigated view, that Christ suffers evil as evil; which evil
suffered is accepted as a compensative expression of God’s indignation
against sin. Accordingly, in the agony of Gethsemane, and when the Saviour
exclaims in his passion, ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’ it
will be taken for literal truth, that the frown of God, or divine justice,
rested on his soul.
“It will probably be right, then, to distribute the views of those who are
accepted now as Orthodox teachers, into two classes—one who consider the
death of Christ as availing by what it _is_; the other, by force of what
it _expresses_; the former holding it as a literal substitution of evil
endured for evil that was to be endured; the latter holding it as an
expression of abhorrence to sin, made, through the suffering of one, in
place of the same expression that was to be made by the suffering of many.
“As regards the former class of representations, we may say,
comprehensively, that they are capable, one and all, of no light in which
they do not even offend some right moral sentiment of our being. Indeed,
they raise up moral objections with such marvellous fecundity, that we can
hardly state them as fast as they occur to us.”(19)
§ 2. Great Importance attributed to this Doctrine.
But, notwithstanding the fact that there is such confusion in the minds of
the Orthodox about this doctrine, there is, nevertheless, no doctrine the
belief in which is regarded as so important. With respect to other
doctrines,—the Trinity, for example,—dogmatic Christianity declares our
salvation to depend upon our belief of it; but in regard to the atonement,
it goes farther, and makes our salvation depend on using the phraseology
of the doctrine. Other doctrines will save us, on the condition of
believing them; this, on the condition of using the language. If a man
shall lead a life of purity and goodness, but expresses doubts concerning
this doctrine, his Orthodox friends will have scarcely any hope of his
salvation; but if the most depraved criminal, after a life steeped in
wickedness, shall merely say on his death-bed, that he hopes “to be saved
by the atoning blood of Christ,” he is thought immediately to be on the
fair way to heaven. No matter how good a man is, if he does not accept the
Orthodox language on this point, his friends _fear_ for him: no matter how
bad he is, if he does accept it, they _hope_ for him. There is a sort of
magical power attributed to the very words. They are almost supposed to
act like a talisman or a charm.
Now, while we reject all such superstitious views of the power of mere
words, while we reject all false meaning and all no meaning, it is proper
to think that there may be some substantial truth in these Orthodox
opinions concerning the atonement. Let us endeavor to find what this vital
truth really is, and why this doctrine is so dear to the heart of
Orthodoxy.
§ 3. Stress laid on the Death of Jesus in the Scripture.
Consider the stress laid on the sufferings of Jesus in the New Testament.
Notice what our Saviour says himself: “This is my blood of the New
Covenant, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.” “The bread
that I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the
world.” “For as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so
must the Son of man be lifted up, that whosoever believeth in him should
not perish, but have eternal life.” “I am the good shepherd: the good
shepherd giveth his life for the sheep.”
Consider, again, what is said on this subject in the Epistles. “Jesus
Christ, whom God hath set forth as a mercy seat through faith in his
blood.” “When we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of
his Son.” “He died for our sins.” “He is sacrificed for us.” “He gave
himself for our sins.” “We have redemption through his blood, even the
forgiveness of sin.” “Having made peace through the blood of his cross.”
“He gave himself a ransom for all.” “He washed us from our sins through
his blood.” “By whose stripes we are healed.” “Though he were a Son, yet
learned he obedience by the things which he suffered, and being made
perfect, became the author of eternal salvation unto all them that obey
him.” Again: “But we see Jesus, who was made a little lower than the
angels, for the suffering of death, crowned with glory and honor, that he,
by the grace of God, should taste death for every man. For it became him,
for whom are all things, and by whom are all things, in bringing many sons
unto glory, to make the Captain of their salvation perfect through
sufferings.” “Wherefore in all things it behooved him to be made like unto
his brethren, that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest in
things pertaining to God, to make reconciliation for the sins of the
people. For in that he himself hath suffered, being tempted, he is able to
succor them that are tempted.”
These are some of the passages which connect the sufferings of Jesus
Christ with sin on the one hand, and salvation on the other.
§ 4. Difficulty in interpreting these Scripture Passages.
There is a difficulty, however, in understanding the meaning and feeling
the force of such texts as these. This difficulty consists in the fact
that these passages are constantly quoted as proof texts. From our
childhood up we have heard them brought forward to prove the truth of some
particular doctrine or theory of atonement, and when we read these verses,
we immediately associate them with some doctrine which we like or dislike.
Our feelings and prejudices are involved in interpreting the passage one
way or the other, so that we are unable to look at it fairly. In order to
overcome this difficulty, we must make this obvious distinction. We must
distinguish between the statement of a fact and the theory concerning it.
The fact which the Bible states is simply this—that the sins of man were
the occasion of Christ’s death, and that by his death he saves us from our
sin. This is the fact which the Scriptures assert. The way in which he
saves us is a matter of theory. Why it was that human sin made it
necessary for Christ to die, how it is that his death reconciles us to
God,—this belongs to the theory.
Now, while the Scriptures say a great deal about the fact that Christ’s
sufferings save us from our sins, they say very little as regards the way
in which they save us from our sins.
§ 5. Theological Theories based on the Figurative Language of the New
Testament.
The Scriptures state the fact; the theologians have supplied the
explanations. Innumerable have been the theories devised by theology to
show in what way the sufferings of Christ have availed for the salvation
of men—theories of imputation, theories of substitution, theories of
satisfaction. He was punished in our place; he paid our debt; he was our
federal head and representative; he satisfied the justice of God; he
appeased the wrath of God. But especially are the figures and metaphors of
the New Testament pressed into the service of theology, and made the basis
of grave theories. Thus are metaphors turned into metaphysics, and
rhetoric changed to logic. The images of the New Testament were naturally
taken from familiar objects and transactions, especially from war, from
slavery, and from the Jewish ritual. Sin is our enemy, who has conquered
us in battle, and made us his prisoners. Christ redeems us from this
captivity, and pays our ransom. Sin is a cruel master, and we are his
slaves. He is about to torture us with the rod. Christ comes and takes our
punishment on himself. He bears our stripes. According to the Jewish
ritual the paschal feast was a commemoration of God’s mercy. It was to the
Jews what Thanksgiving Day is to the people of New England. So the
Christians said Christ is our Passover. In the Jewish ritual God was
believed to manifest himself over the mercy seat in the inner sanctuary of
the temple. The Christians said, Christ is our mercy seat. All this was
natural; but these images have been turned into elaborate theories by the
theologians who have argued that Christ’s death was a literal ransom, a
literal mercy seat, and a literal passover.
These theories have mostly passed by. The common Orthodox theory in New
England now is much more reasonable, but unfortunately much less
scriptural. It is founded on the analogy of human government. God is
compared to a wise and kind ruler, who governs by law, and who wishes to
pardon the penitent criminal, but fears that if he does so, he will impair
the respect felt for his law, and therefore thinks it necessary to do
something to show the evil of disobedience before he can pardon. Christ is
willing to die in order to make this impression on the minds of men. And
this he accordingly does. But unfortunately, as we said, there is nothing
in the Scripture, not even a metaphorical expression, to support this
theory. The apostles did not have recourse for their figures and images to
such usage of government, and that for the simple reason that no such
usage or necessity then existed. The governments were all despotic, and no
despot, wishing to pardon, had any difficulty on the ground that the
sanctity of his laws might be impaired.
War, slavery, and the Jewish ritual, and household usages existed. Their
images were taken from these. They spoke of ransom, of stripes, of the
passover, and the mercy seat, of washing and healing, but not of
governments and laws.
Sin is our conqueror, and Christ redeems us. Sin is a slavery, and Christ
ransoms us. Sin is defilement, and Christ washes us. Sin is a disease, and
Christ heals us. All this occurs again and again, but nothing occurs about
constitutional governments, or conflicts between the claims of justice and
mercy.
§ 6. The three principal Views of the Atonement—warlike, legal, and
governmental.
Three principal views on this subject have prevailed in the Christian
Church as Orthodox. The first may be called the _warlike_ view of Christ’s
work, the second may be called the _legal_ view, and the third the
_governmental_ view. The first was the prevailing Orthodox view from the
earliest times till the middle ages, and is based on the idea of a
conflict or war between Christ and the Devil for the soul of man. The
Devil had gained possession of the human race in consequence of its sin.
The right of the Devil over men was fully admitted. Augustine considered
it as the right of property, Leo the Great as the right of a conqueror.
Christ gave his own life to the Devil as a ransom, which was adequate to
redeem the whole race. This theory rested on the literal interpretation of
the words “ransom” and “redemption.” If Christ’s death was a _ransom_, if
he came “to give his life a ransom for many,” the question naturally
arose, “_From_ whose power were men redeemed, and to whom was the ransom
paid?” Certainly, men were not redeemed from the power of God. The ransom
could not have been paid to God, but to some enemy who held us as his
prisoners. The only possible answer, therefore, is, that the ransom was
paid to the Devil. The Devil was the cruel tyrant who had enslaved us. He
had a right to do so; for we had become his slaves through our sin. But he
had no right over Christ, for Christ had committed no sin; so that the
death of Christ was a free offering to the Devil to redeem the race.
According to this view, therefore, the atonement was made to the Devil.
But in the middle ages another view of the atonement became Orthodox,
founded not upon the idea of a ransom, but on that of a _debt_. According
to this view the divine law requires that the debt which man owes to God,
which is perfect obedience, shall be paid, either by himself or by some
one else. Anselm, the founder of this theory, defined sin “as not giving
to God his due.” Man cannot pay this debt himself, and therefore Christ
pays it for him. This is the legal view of the atonement, or perhaps we
might rather call it the commercial view.
But this theory, after having endured as Orthodox for some five hundred
years, gave place to a third, based not on the idea of a ransom or of a
debt, but of a state necessity. It would not do for God, as a moral
Governor, to forgive sin, unless by some great example an impression could
be made of the evil of sin. This impression is produced by the death of
Christ, who therefore died not to atone for past sin, but to prevent
future sin, or, in other words, to make a moral impression on the human
mind. This is the popular theory of the atonement held by the Orthodox at
the present time. But it is very much mixed up with the others. The
different views held by modern Orthodoxy range all the way from the old
Calvinism of Princeton, through the various shades of New England
theology, to the latest form expressed by Dr. Horace Bushnell in his
recent work on “Vicarious Sacrifice.”
§ 7. Impression made by Christ’s Death on the Minds of his Disciples.
First Theory on the Subject in the Epistle to the Hebrews.
The sufferings of Jesus produced a wonderful impression on the minds of
his disciples. This impression was compounded of astonishment, tenderness,
and gratitude. That a man so divine in character, in wisdom, in a command
over nature, should submit willingly to such labor, ignominy, and anguish,
was a wonder to them. But there was a mystery of sorrow beneath the
visible sorrow, a pain within the pain, a depth of grief felt not for
himself, but for others, an anguish on account of the sin of the world,
which especially awed and touched them. Christ plunged into the midst of
sin to save souls, as a hero rushes into the midst of burning flames to
save lives. No man like Jesus had ever felt such anguish and horror at the
sight of sin; but instead of flying from it, he came into the midst of it
to save the sinner. This was the secret of his agony, the bitterness of
his cup. Martyrs at the stake are borne up by their own triumphant
self-approval. But Jesus, in his anguish, did not think of his own
triumph, but the sin and sorrow of those who afflicted him. “Daughters of
Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and your children.”
“Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.” This is the secret of
Christ’s anguish—this infinite horror of sin joined to an infinite love
for the sinner.
Through this depth of sorrow there came to the minds of the apostles a
revelation of the evil of sin and the infinite compassion of God, which
produced penitence, hope, and love. The dying Christ reconciled them to
God. This they felt and declared; they did not attempt to explain how, but
by images and metaphors drawn from all familiar objects, they declared
that Christ’s sorrows more than his glory, his patience rather than his
power, his death more than his life, had withdrawn their hearts from sin,
and given them peace with God.
One writer alone in the New Testament attempts an explanation of this
influence. It is only an attempt, a mere hint, the germ of a theology: it
is found in the Epistle to the Hebrews.(20)
According to these passages Christ suffered,—1. To learn obedience; 2.
That he might thus become perfect; 3. By an entire cultivation of his
sympathies with the tempted; 4. So as to become to them the author of
eternal salvation by reconciling them to God.
This, we may observe, so far as it goes, is really a theory of atonement,
and not a mere statement of the fact. Moreover, it seems to us to contain
the germ of a far nobler and deeper theory than any in which the Church
has hitherto believed. It is more human, more rational, connected more
with real experience and the solid facts of life.
§ 8. Value of Suffering as a Means of Education.
The sufferings of Christ were necessary for his own perfection, and
suffering in some form or other is necessary for all perfection. It is
often said that suffering in this world is casual, an accidental thing,
arising from human mistakes, and that the time will come in which man will
grow up into perfection without suffering. A perpetual sunlight is thought
to be the best condition for the human plant. Pain and want stunt its
growth, winter storms arrest its development; and so it is supposed that
if we can get rid of this element of suffering, human beings will soon
become all they ought to be. But the poet speaks more wisely who says,—
“To each their sufferings: all are men
Condemned alike to groan;
The feeling for another’s woe,
The unfeeling for his own.”
For suppose that we could remove from the world all outward evil—get rid
of sickness, pain, poverty, death. Would not the worst part of evil still
remain? Would not discontent, selfishness, envy, wilfulness, cruelty,
self-indulgence continue? All these exist—perhaps exist most
frequently—where there is the least of outward evil; and the outward evil
is the bitter medicine which comes by and by as a cure.
§ 9. The Human Conscience suggests the Need of some Satisfaction in order
to our Forgiveness.
The central idea of the atonement is, that Christ has done something which
enables God to forgive us our sin; and the reason why this doctrine of
atonement seems so precious is, that we feel that there is a real
difficulty in the way of forgiveness,—as if something else were necessary
besides repentance,—as if some compensation or reparation should be made
somehow to the offended law of God, or to the aggrieved holiness of God.
We do not say that this feeling is a true feeling: that question we must
consider afterwards. But it is, at any rate, a natural feeling, whether it
be founded on our knowledge of God or our ignorance of God. It is hard to
believe that a _man_ whom we have injured will forgive us that injury
merely because we ask him to do so, and are sorry for what we have done.
We feel that we must make some reparation before he can or ought to
forgive us. Unquestionably, the conscience is the source of this feeling.
It led Zaccheus to say, “If I have done any man wrong, I restore him
four-fold.” A full reparation for an injury, accompanied with sorrow for
having done it, the expression of which sorrow is confession, satisfies
the conscience. Having done this, we feel that we have a right to be
forgiven.
But it is very seldom that such full reparation can be made. The
consequences of our wrong acts cannot usually be removed or effaced.
Wrong-doing is like the gate of hell—easy to open, but difficult, if not
impossible, to close again. “She opened, _but to shut_ excelled her
power.” Instead of reparation, therefore, the conscience substitutes
retribution—either reparation or the penalty; and the natural form of the
penalty is an equivalent. Natural justice says, “An eye for an eye, a
tooth for a tooth.” This the conscience thinks right; this is justice. All
less than this is mercy; all more than this is revenge.
We think that if we analyze the feeling which the conscience gives us
concerning the consequences of wrong-doing, it is this: First, conscience
demands reparation to the injured party; second, it demands punishment as
a satisfaction to be made to the law of right, and this suffering to be
accepted as just by the guilty party; and thirdly, it declares that guilt
should produce an alienation or separation between the guilty party and
those who are not guilty.
To illustrate all this, let us suppose a case. A man, hitherto respected
and trusted by society commits some great breach of trust, and robs the
community. What does the conscience in such a case demand? First, that he
should give up his property, and make, if he can, full restitution;
second, that he should endure some suffering—that he should not continue
to enjoy, as before, all his accustomed privileges; and third, that he
should not retain his standing in society, and receive, as before, the
countenance and esteem of honorable persons. Conscience requires that he
should make atonement to those he has injured by restitution; to the law
of right, which he has offended, by suffering some punishment; and to
honorable men by keeping out of their way.
This, which the conscience teaches of an injury done to man, it also
teaches of an injury done to God. The offence against man is _a crime_;
the offence against God is _a sin_. For a crime, the conscience requires
restitution, punishment with confession, and alienation from the good,
which is shame. For a sin, the conscience requires, in like manner,
restitution, punishment, and alienation. It merely transfers to God’s
justice the ideas of atonement which human justice has given to it.
But God’s justice is not like man’s. The ideas of atonement so abstracted
are essentially false; and to convince us of their falsehood is one of the
objects of Christ’s death. It is to show us that God does _not_ demand
this full restitution, does _not_ intend to inflict this punishment, and
is _not_ alienated from the penitent sinner. The death of Christ has done
this.
§ 10. How the Death of Jesus brings Men to God.
As a matter of fact, the death of Christ has enabled men to come to God.
“They who were afar off are made nigh by the blood of Christ.” As a matter
of fact, it has lifted men above the fear of God into the love of God. And
this must be a divine work. Not the mere death of the human being could
have done this; but the God who dwelt in him has uttered his tender love,
his forgiving grace, from the cross. “God was in Christ, reconciling the
world unto himself.” The death of Christ is an expression of God’s free
grace. If we regard Christ, in his life and character, as a manifestation
of God’s will, then his pathetic and tender death reveals to us that God
loves us even when we are sinners, before reparation or repentance; “for,
while we were sinners, Christ died for us.”
There is, however, a difficulty in _believing_ that we can be forgiven.
This difficulty is in the conscience; and,—
(_a._) To say _there is no difficulty_, will not remove it.
(_b._) To say that _repentance and good works_ are enough, will not remove
it.
(_c._) To say that _God is merciful_, will not remove it; for the
difficulty lies in the _conscience_, which declares that every sin is,—
1. An injury done to God.
2. An injury to the moral universe; inasmuch as it is an example of evil,
and a defiance of right.
3. An injury to ourselves, by putting us away from God, the source of
life, and alienating us from him.
Now, it is true that the New Testament says, “Repent, and be converted,
and your sins shall be blotted out;” “Believe, and be saved.” It is true
that if we will believe ourselves forgiven, we shall be forgiven. But how
can we believe it, when the inward voice of conscience is always saying
that God ought not to forgive us without some reparation made for the
injury done to himself, to the universe, and to ourselves?
We need something to believe in—some manifestation, some object. Something
we need done by God to assure us that he is in earnest in desiring us to
come and be reconciled to him.
Now, the _sufferings and death_ of Christ seem to be this object: they
enable us to believe in forgiveness, and so to be forgiven; they meet the
difficulty of the conscience, and relieve it of its threefold
embarrassment. For, in regard to the injury done to God, Christ’s
sufferings are substitution, or vicarious suffering. I do not say
vicarious _punishment_. The innocent cannot be _punished_ in the place of
the guilty; but he can suffer, and constantly _does_ suffer, in the place
of the guilty. These two laws are announced in the Old Testament: “The
soul that sinneth, it shall die;” “The wickedness of parents shall be on
the children.” If a man is alone, he must bear _all_ the consequences of
his sins; but if he have friends and children, they will relieve him of
some by their self-sacrificing kindness: their _sufferings_ take the place
of his _punishment_. How often a wife does this!—interposing her
sufferings between her husband’s sins and their penalty. And what a
profound impression is made by it of the evil of sin! It torments innocent
women and children; it shipwrecks the peace of a family. What an effect is
produced on the man himself! What a reproach and tender rebuke to him is
this! The sufferings of Christ are _substituted_ in this way for ours,
according to this law; and this divine substitution is continued in the
sacrifices of Christians. Missionaries and martyrs, by their zeal,
patience, and generosity, carry out the sacrifice of Christ. This is God
in Christ working in us and in the Church, and working for sinners.
Then, as to the _injury to the world_ by the contempt sin does to the law,
the sufferings of Christ are _satisfaction_: they satisfy the divine law;
they make an impression of the importance of the law. But here, again, it
is not merely Christ alone who does it, but God in Christ, and Christ in
the Church, who honor the divine law by the respect produced for it. They
bring us to repentance; they make us feel the sinfulness of sin; show us
the misery it causes to those who love us,—how it pains God, pains Christ,
pains the good, and pains our friends. So we feel it, and show it by true
penitence, and so honor the law. The law is _satisfied_ when the
sufferings of Christ and his followers, caused by sin, lead men to abhor
sin, and love righteousness.
As to the injury which _sin does to a man himself_ by separating him from
God’s love, and making him at enmity with God, and God’s wrath on him, the
sufferings of Christ are _reconciliation_. “God was in Christ, reconciling
the world to himself.” Why was God alienated from man? Because he is holy.
How can an unholy person be at one with a holy God? The answer is this:
God comes into his heart by Christ, to form Christ within him, and to make
him holy as Christ was holy. He sees that when united with Christ his
sinfulness is killed in its roots, and a seed of perfect purity is planted
in his soul; and so God is able to be at one with him through his union
with Christ: “I in them, and thou in me, that we may be perfectly at one.”
A love for Christ in the heart forms Christ within us. He is our life, our
motive power, our aim; and so he casts out the root of our sin, and brings
us to God.
Thus we see that, even though we should reject all the Orthodox theories
about atonement, we may accept the fact. We can believe that God in Christ
_does_ reconcile the world to himself,—_does_ create a sense of pardoned
sin,—_does_ remove the weight of transgression,—_does_ take away the
obstacle in our conscience,—_does_ help us into a living faith, hope,
peace, and joy.
Moreover, Christ is really a sacrifice for sin—a real and true
sin-offering. For what were the sin-offerings under the law? How did they
remove sin? Not by themselves (it was impossible for the blood of bulls
and goats to remove sin), but because they were an appointment of God, and
so showed God’s disposition. They showed that his holiness was displeased
with evil; they showed that he loved the sinner, and wished to make him
holy. So the death of Christ is a true sacrifice in exactly the same way,
but in a higher degree, convincing us of the evil of sin and the love of
God.
The experience of the whole Church teaches the power of this faith to
create in our souls a new life of love. Seeing God coming to us in Christ
to reconcile us to himself, and freely forgiving our sins, removes from
our hearts doubt, anxiety, and the burden of hard responsibility, and
fills the soul with a deep peace and joy in believing. So felt the apostle
Peter when the Master forgave him his denial. From the fountain of that
forgiveness flowed forth a river of devotion. So felt Paul when forgiven
by Jesus; so felt Augustine, so Ambrose, so Luther, so Wesley: because
they had been forgiven much, they loved much; for to whom little is
forgiven, the same loveth little.
The practical conclusion is, that it is less important to speculate as to
the _how_, than to endeavor to see the fact. What we need is faith in
God’s pardoning, redeeming, saving love in Christ Jesus—faith that our
sins are blotted out; that we can come at once to our Father; that we can
come boldly to the throne of grace; that the infinite Father looks at us
with love when we are a great way off, and says, “This my son was dead,
and is alive again; was lost, and is found.”
We may therefore, when we are conscious of going wrong and of doing wrong,
instead of trying to reform ourselves alone by our own strength, go first
to God, and be forgiven through faith in the great sacrifice of Christ:
“When God hath set forth to be a propitiation (or mercy seat), through
faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins
that are past, through the forbearance of God, that he might be just, and
the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus.”
§ 11. This Law of Vicarious Suffering universal.
Orthodoxy, in all its theories concerning the influence of the death of
Jesus, has supposed his case exceptional and his work peculiar. It would
be very shocking to most Orthodox minds to suppose that the same law of
vicarious sacrifice applies to others; that the sufferings and death of
the good, in all ages, have helped to atone for evil; have enabled sinners
to obtain pardon. But such, we believe, is the fact.
Jesus Christ came, providentially, as the typical and perfect man—the one
who was sent by God, in his providence, to illustrate what humanity is to
be and to do. If this is so, then Christ did essentially nothing but that
which is finally to be done by _all_, in some degree, or some way. He is a
channel, a mediator, through whom God’s life flows into ours; but then he
makes us also mediators, by whom _his_ life shall flow to others. He is
the image of God; but every true Christian is, again, the image of Christ.
For what Christ did, and was, was no afterthought, no exception, but a
part of the plan of the universe. He was “foreordained before the
foundation of the world, but manifest in these last times.” He was the
“Lamb of God, slain from the foundation of the world.” That is, his
coming, his character, his death, his resurrection, his miracles, were all
a part of a divine law. And all God’s laws are the same “yesterday,
to-day, and forever.”
If this were not so, we could not understand Christ, nor sympathize with
him. His life would be, not only supernatural, which it is, but unnatural,
which it is not. His miracles would be, not what they truly are,—God’s
higher life flowing into nature, and the Spirit overcoming the material
resistance of things,—but they would be magical; they would be like
sorcery and enchantment—violations of the course of events.
All of Christ’s life, then, is typical of our future lives, in this world
or in some other world. It would be easy to prove this out of Scripture.
Everything asserted of Christ is, somewhere and in some way, asserted also
of his disciples, and of all Christians. Is he said to be one with God? “I
and my Father are one.” They also are said to be one with God: “That they
all may be one, as we are one; I in them, and thou in me. As thou, Father,
art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us.”
Was Christ said to know all things? It is also said of his disciples, “Ye
have an unction from the Holy Ghost, and know all things.”
Did Christ work miracles? He says to his disciples, “Greater works than
these shall ye do?”
Did God give to Christ glory which he had before the world was? He himself
says of his disciples, “The glory thou gavest me I have given them.”
Did Christ rise from the dead into a higher life? We shall do the same.
“As we have borne the image of the earthly, we shall also bear the image
of the heavenly.”
Christ, in his high and perfect life, may be regarded as a prophecy of
what man is to become: we may look on him as a revelation of the higher
laws of human nature, as a type of all humanity.
As regards his atoning death, his reconciling sufferings, the same thing
is true. As he died for man, so must we die for each other. Thus says the
apostle John: “Herein is love; not that we loved God, but that he loved
us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God
so loved us, we ought also to love one another.” And again, “Because he
laid down his life for us, we ought also to lay down our lives for the
brethren.”
And Paul, after having spoken of “Christ’s having made peace by the blood
of the cross,” says of himself that he rejoices in his own sufferings for
their sake—rejoices to “fill up that which is behind of the afflictions of
Christ;” that is, make up any deficiency in Christ’s sufferings for them.
“Christ’s sufferings,” he says elsewhere, “abound in us,” his disciples.
“We are partakers of his sufferings,” says the apostle Peter. If he
thought Christ’s sufferings entirely different in their nature and meaning
from all other sufferings, he would scarcely have said that he “partook”
of them.
§ 12. This Law illustrated from History—in the Death of Socrates, Joan of
Arc, Savonarola, and Abraham Lincoln.
The death of Jesus, therefore, manifested in a higher degree the same law
which is illustrated in the deaths of all good and great souls, martyrs to
a principle, or to an idea. In proportion to the greatness and
universality of the idea, and the greatness and holiness of the martyr, is
the impression profound. We will give a few instances of this from
history, to see that the death of Jesus was not something wholly outside
of law, wholly exceptional, but the highest example of the great effect
produced by one who walks straight into death for a great idea.
The first instance we take shall be that of Socrates. When we think of
Socrates, we think of his death. He, like Jesus, spent the time before his
death conversing with his friends concerning the highest themes. He talked
of immortality through the long summer day. He showed the superiority of
the soul to the body in which it dwelt; and he had lost all fear of dying.
He had silenced what Plato calls “the child within us, who trembles before
death.” In fact, the whole tone of his defence before the judges shows
that he did not care to save his life. The verdict of guilty was
pronounced by a majority of five or six, in a vote of five hundred and
fifty-seven dicasts. He made no preparation for his defence, and said that
a blameless life was the best defence. When he came to speak before those
whose vote was to decide on his life or death, his speech seems a sort of
confidential clearing of his breast of all his opinions. He declares he
has been the greatest benefactor of Athens. He tells them they ought not
to be offended at the resolute tone of his defence, since it would be
unmanly for him to beg and plead for life; for his duty was to instruct
them, but not to supplicate. It was strange that so small a majority was
cast against him after such a speech. Then the custom required him to say
himself what punishment he should suffer. His accuser had called for
death. If he had named something less severe, as exile, fine,
imprisonment, no doubt his life had been saved. Instead, he said, “I
propose that I be rewarded as a public benefactor, by being supported at
the public expense, as a teacher of the people. Still, as my friends wish
me to name a fine, I will say thirty _minæ_.” They took this as an insult,
and sentenced him to death. Then he spent his hours in those immortal
conversations which will be remembered when all the rest of the glory and
beauty of Greek literature and art has passed away. Every moment of his
last hours has been carefully recorded; and the death of Socrates gave a
power to his life, and his life an influence to his death, which placed
him among the names which will never perish from human memory and
gratitude.
There is another name, which comes out of the darkness and cruelty of the
middle ages, with a sweet, serene, and noble beauty—a pure life glorified
by a death of martyrdom. I mean that of Joan of Arc—the Maid of Orleans.
On her trial, the readiness and beauty of her answers astonished her
prejudiced judges. The poor girl, only nineteen years old, a prisoner in
chains, before these doctors and lawyers, showed as much courage as on the
field of battle.
They asked why she let the people kiss her feet and garments. She
answered, “The poor people came to me because I did them no wrong, and
helped them when I could.” “Was it well to attack Paris on Our Lady’s
day?” “It is well to keep the festivals of Our Lady always.” “Do your
saints love the English?” “They love what God loves, and hate what he
hates.” “Does God hate the English?” “As to his love or hate for their
souls I know nothing; but I know he will drive them from France.” “Can you
tell whether you will escape death?” “That I leave in God’s hands.” When
she went to death, her purity and truth had so touched men’s hearts that a
great tide of remorse and pity began to swell up against her persecutors.
A priest, who had played the part of Judas, and betrayed her, repented
like Judas, and flung himself down before her, accusing himself of his
treachery. The soldiers who stood by were melted. They said, “We have
burned a saint.” The executioner declared that God would never forgive
him. From the day of her death, all men began to believe in her holiness
and truth.
Come down to the end of the same century, and take another instance in
Savonarola, the Florentine friar—the man who was at once the patriot,
leading the minds of the people of Florence to republican institutions;
the reformer, seeking to root out the abuses of the Church; and the
prophetic teacher, preacher, religious inspirer. He also climbed to the
height of his glory on his funeral pile. As Athens was glorified by the
death of Socrates, as the Maid of Orleans has been a vision of beauty in
the square of Rouen, so the place in Florence where Savonarola was
murdered, in front of the Palazzo Vecchio, is memorable as the scene of
virtue triumphing over its enemies and over evil, when it seemed to be
conquered. That day, also, will never be forgotten, when he and his two
companions walked through the furious rabble to their death, calm as if to
a marriage feast. Savonarola was so absorbed in the thought of the life to
come, says his biographer, that he appeared already to have left the
earth. He was put to death by the order of Alexander Sixth, the worst pope
and worst man of modern times; but in twenty years Rafaelle was painting
the monk’s portrait on the walls of the Vatican by order of another pope.
So it is that death glorifies life. If John Brown had escaped from his
prison, and gone to Canada, what would have been his influence? He would
only have been remembered as a crazy fanatic. But now there remains in all
minds the picture of the old man going quietly and peacefully to die,
kissing the little negro child on the way, looking up at the surrounding
hills, and admiring the beauty of the scenery. Death set its seal on his
life, and so his soul became the leader of the armies of the Union, going
before them to victory.
And how much, also, was Abraham Lincoln glorified by his martyr death! How
he rose at once into a great figure in history—a monumental form before
which enmity was silenced! All men forgot their hostility, their
criticisms, their sneers—forgot that they had ever done anything but honor
him. The assassin, who thought to revenge the wrongs of the southern
slaveholders on Lincoln, gave to him a lasting niche in the temple of
fame.
Now, we are not by any means _comparing_ the work of these persons with
that of our great Master, Jesus Christ. Such is not our object. We are
only pointing out the law by which a person who has devoted himself to a
great cause, when he comes to die in its service, gives to that cause an
immense help, and seems to sanctify and glorify the cause and himself.
There is a mystery about it which we do not fully understand,—which is not
accounted for by saying that death proves a man’s sincerity, and makes him
a more competent witness, or that death conciliates his enemies, and puts
an end to personal dislike. No; there is something more than this. When
men live for a cause outside of themselves, when they labor for public
objects, they are not _seen_ while they live. Those whose interests are
interfered with by their action, misrepresent them, and surround them with
a cloud of suspicion, jealousy, and slander. When they go to death for
their cause, all these slanderous voices are hushed, and they emerge from
this cloud of prejudice, and are seen as they are. They are glorified then
in their cause, and their cause is glorified in them. The cause for which
Socrates lived was the education of the people of Athens to truth and
justice. All the Sophists were his enemies. Aristophanes ridiculed him as
no other reformer has ever been ridiculed, holding him up, by his
inimitable wit, to the scorn of the crowded theatre. When he died, and
died in the faith, all this ended. Socrates and his great cause of justice
rose at once, and drew all men to them. So Savonarola, who lived only with
the purpose of helping on the triumph of pure religion in the Church, and
pure liberty in the state, was mocked and abused in his life; but his
death made him an undying power, and being dead, he spoke across the rapid
years to Martin Luther and the reformers who came after. John Brown lived
and died for universal freedom; Abraham Lincoln lived and died for the
existence and deliverance of the nation. Of them, exactly as of Christ, we
may say that when they died the hour came for them to be glorified. They
died, and they rose again. The resurrection, in these instances, came
close after the crucifixion; not seen in their cases, as is that of Jesus,
by the visible eye, but essentially the same thing inwardly as his. They
and their cause went _up_, instead of going down, by their death. When
they were lifted up, they drew all men to them. In all such deaths, also,
there is a certain atoning, reconciling influence. Death brings together,
in harmony, conflicting interests; it silences hatreds, and breaks down
many a partition wall of separation.(21)
The difference between Christ’s death and all of these is, that Christ
lived and died not merely for popular education, for patriotism, for
philanthropy, but to be the power of God for the salvation of the world;
to found a universal religion of love to God and man; to reveal God as a
Father, not a King; to show man to man as brother. But the effect of his
death, as in all these other cases, was simply to glorify his life and his
cause. The same law worked in his case and in theirs, only on a higher
plane, and for a vastly greater object.
We may observe that most of the passages concerning the effect of Christ’s
death are from the apostle Paul. They are written thirty years after that
death by one who probably had never seen him, at least never knew him. But
Paul had seen the actual effect of the death of Jesus on the minds and
hearts of the people. It was a reconciling effect; it did away with their
hatred to his religion, and enabled them to see it, and be led by it to
God. It made “those who were afar off, nigh.” It made peace between man
and God,—between man and man. When Jesus died, men’s eyes seemed at once
to open, and they saw for the first time the beauty and holiness of his
life. His death, therefore, did what his life had not done. We, misled by
a false theology, imagine Paul to be speaking of some transcendental
transaction in the spiritual world by which the death of Jesus acted on
God’s mind to make him placable; whereas, in truth, he is speaking of the
simple historic fact that the death of Christ did draw men to his
religion, and so to God; did, therefore, bring them to see God’s forgiving
love; did unite them with each other. So Paul says that he “is not ashamed
of the cross of Christ,”—not ashamed of the fact that Christ was hanged as
a malefactor, since that very death was the power of God to bring man to
salvation. It made men just, and kind, and true, and so was the power of
God.
§ 13. Dr. Bushnell’s View of the Atonement.
In his book, lately published, Dr. Bushnell teaches that the vicarious
sacrifice of Jesus consists in his sympathy with sinners. He suffers with
them and for them, as a friend suffers for a friend, or a mother for a
child,—in the same way, and in no exceptional or uncommon way. He did not
die officially, but naturally. He did not come here to die, but he died
because he was here.
We are persuaded that this is the right view. We are sure that one day we
shall all see that Christ’s sufferings and death, and their influence, are
as simple, as natural, as wholly in accordance with human nature, as that
of any other saint or martyr; that the difference is of degree, not of
kind; and Christ will go before the world, its great Redeemer and Leader,
all the more certainly because one of us,—educated, as we are, by trial
and sorrow; tempted as we are, but without sin; crying out, as we do, from
the depths of our despair, “My God! why hast thou forsaken me?” and
rising, as we do, through death to a higher life, through sorrow to a
completer joy, through the pains of earth to the glories of heaven. “For
it became him for whom are all things, and by whom are all things, in
bringing many sons unto glory, to make the Captain of their salvation
perfect through suffering; wherefore in all things it behooved him to be
made like unto his brethren, that he might be a merciful High Priest; for
in that he himself hath suffered, being tempted, he is able also to succor
those who are tempted. For we have not a High Priest who cannot be touched
with the feeling of our infirmities, BUT WAS IN ALL POINTS TEMPTED AS WE
ARE, yet without sin; who can have compassion on the ignorant, as he also
himself is compassed with infirmity, and though a Son, yet learned
obedience by the things he suffered.”
§ 14. Results of this Discussion.
The Orthodox doctrine of the atonement contains a fact and a theory which
ought to be carefully discriminated. _The fact_ asserted by Orthodoxy is,
that Jesus Christ has done something by means of which we obtain God’s
forgiveness for our sins. _The theory_ attempts to explain what is the
difficulty in the way of our forgiveness, and how Christ removes it. Thus
Orthodoxy attempts to answer three questions: “What?” “Why?” and “How?”
The first of these regards the fact. “_What_ has Christ done?” And the
answer is, that he has brought to man forgiveness of sin. The second and
third questions regard the theory. “_Why_ was it necessary for Christ to
do and suffer what he did?” and, “_How_ did he accomplish his work?”
Now, as concerns the matter of fact, Orthodoxy is in full accordance with
the Scriptures, which everywhere teach that through Christ we have
redemption, through his blood, even the forgiveness of our sins. But the
Scriptures are perfectly silent concerning the theory. They do not tell us
_why_ it was necessary for Jesus to die, nor _how_ his death procured
forgiveness. The only exception is, as we have seen, in the statement, in
the Epistle to the Hebrews, that the sufferings of Christ were necessary
to make him perfect, and to enable him to be touched with a feeling of our
infirmities.
Of the three theories which in turn have been regarded as Orthodox in the
Church, two have completely broken down, and the third rests on such an
insecure foundation that we may be very sure that it will follow the
others as soon as any better one comes to take its place. The warlike
theory and the legal theory of the atonement have gone to their place, and
are no more believed by men. The governmental theory must soon follow.
Nevertheless, in each of these three theories there is one constant
element. And it is due to Orthodoxy to state it. This element is, that the
necessity of the death of Christ lay in the divine attribute of justice.
According to the first theory, Christ died to satisfy what was due by God
to the Devil; according to the second, he died to satisfy what was due by
God to himself; according to the third, he died to satisfy what was due by
God to the moral universe. Divine justice, in the first theory, owed a
ransom to the Devil, which Christ paid; in the second, it owed a debt to
the divine honor, which Christ paid; in the third, it owed protection to
the universe from the danger of evil example.
The difficulty to be removed before God can forgive sin, lay, according to
all of these theories, in the divine justice. Christ died to reconcile
justice and mercy, so as to make justice merciful, and mercy just.
But, in opposition to this view, the Unitarian argument is so formidable
as to seem quite unanswerable. On grounds of reason, the Unitarian
maintains that there can be no such conflict among the divine attributes,
waiting till an event should occur in human history by which they should
be reconciled. That God’s justice and mercy should have been in a state of
antagonism down to A.M. 4034, when Jesus died, is an incredible
supposition. No event taking place in time and space can be the condition
_sine quâ non_ of divine perfection. And any struggle or conflict like
that supposed implies imperfection.
Moreover, the Unitarian truly maintains that the Orthodox theory that men
cannot be forgiven on the simple condition of repentance, is wholly
unscriptural. The Scriptures plainly teach that forgiveness follows
repentance. In the classic passage of the Old Testament (Ezek. 18:20-32),
the Jews were taught, unequivocally, that the death which is the wages of
sin, is always removed by the simple act of repentance. If the modern
doctrine of Orthodoxy be true, that in order to be saved it is necessary
not only to repent, but also to believe in the atoning sacrifice, the Jews
were fatally misled by this teaching of the prophet.
And so in the New Testament, the parable of the prodigal son teaches us
plainly that when we repent and return to God, we shall be received, and
that without any reference to belief in the atonement.
Moreover, the Unitarians are fully justified in saying that the New
Testament nowhere asserts that the primary and immediate influence of the
death of Jesus is upon the divine attributes. In every instance Christ is
said to reconcile us to God, never to reconcile God to us. (See Rom. 5:10,
11; 11:15. 2 Cor. 5:18, 19, 20. Eph. 2:13, 16. Coloss. 1:20, 21. 1 Peter
3:18.) It is we “who were afar off, and have been made nigh, by the blood
of Christ.” It is _we_, “who, when we were enemies, were reconciled to God
by the death of his Son;” not God, who was afar off, who has been brought
nigh to us; not God, who has been reconciled to us. It is “_we_, who have
received the atonement.” Christ has suffered for sins, “to bring _us_ to
God,” not to bring God to us. All this is plain, positive, and
unequivocal.
And yet, notwithstanding that the Old and New Testaments declare the
forgiveness of sin to the penitent, we nevertheless find a difficulty in
believing it. It seems as if God _ought_ not to forgive us our sins on so
simple a condition. And it is on this very feeling that the whole Orthodox
theory of the atonement rests.
The explanation of this is, that man is obliged to understand God by
himself. Since man was made in the image of God, he can know God only by
understanding the moral and spiritual laws of his own soul. Now, in
himself, he finds the constant antagonism of truth and love, justice and
mercy, conscience and desire. From this essential original antagonism of
truth and love spring all the moral conflicts which make cases of
conscience. Whenever we see before us a divided duty, on being analyzed,
it resolves itself into this conflict between truth and love. We
naturally, and almost necessarily, transfer this same conflict to the mind
of God. Whenever we wish to forgive an offender, but feel as if we ought
not to do so, we teach ourselves to regard God as feeling the same
difficulty. Conscience tells us that we are not fit to be forgiven, that
it would be wrong for God to forgive us. Orthodoxy plants itself on this
instinct, and elaborates its various theories, which men accept for a time
as a sufficient explanation of their difficulty, and then reject when
their inconsistencies appear. The deep-lying difficulty is the sense of
our want of holiness, and the instinctive feeling of the eternal mutual
repulsion of good and evil. Since God is good, and we are evil, how can he
forgive us? If forgiveness merely meant the remitting of penalty, it might
be done after sufficient expiation. If forgiveness meant laying aside of
anger, we can well believe that God cannot retain wrath against his
children. But forgiveness means communion, the mutual love of father and
child, the being always in the presence of God. And for this, even after
we have repented, and are endeavoring to do right, we do not feel
ourselves qualified.
This is the real difficulty. Christ did not die to pay a debt to God, or
to appease his wrath, but “to bring us to God,” and to put the Spirit into
our heart by which we can say, “Abba, Father!” The atonement is made to
the divine justice—but not to distributive justice, which rewards and
punishes, but to divine justice in its highest form, as holiness. And this
consists in making us fit to appear before God, notwithstanding our
sinfulness, because we have received a principle of holiness which will
ultimately cast out all our sin. When we have faith in Christ, we have
Christ formed within us, the hope of glory. God, looking on us, sees us
not as we are now, but as we shall be when we are changed into that same
image from glory to greater glory.
This suggests the theory which may replace the rest, and reconcile all
those who believe in Christ as the Saviour and Redeemer of men. Christ
saves us by pouring into us his own life, which is love. When Christian
love is formed within us, it has killed the roots of sin in the soul, and
fitted us to be forgiven, and to enter the presence of God.
In conclusion, we may say that Orthodoxy is right in maintaining that
Jesus has by his sufferings and death brought forgiveness to mankind—not
by propitiating God or appeasing his anger, not by paying our debt or
removing a difficulty in the divine mind, but by helping us to see that
the love of God is able to lift us out of our sin, and present us spotless
in the presence of his glory with exceeding joy. The way in which his
death produces this result is the sympathy with human sinfulness and
sorrow, which finds in it its highest expression. Those whom men cannot
forgive, and who cannot forgive themselves, see that God, speaking through
the sufferings of Jesus, is able to forgive them. So the love of God
brings them to repentance, and those who were afar off are made nigh by
the blood of Christ.