Chapter 26

§ 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.