Nicodemus was such a man, and he came to Jesus with all his opinions cut and dried, ready for an argument. He begins in a very formal and precise way. "Rabbi, we know thou art a teacher come from God, for no man can do these miracles that thou doest except God be with him." He observes all proprieties; he calls Jesus Doctor,—"Rabbi,"—but takes good care not to call him Christ. He gives his reason for thinking Jesus a teacher come from God, namely, his miracles. Not his holiness, not his inspiration, not his supreme sweetness, not that he is a channel through which God's tenderness runs down into our hearts. No; he sees no such spiritual proof as this, but a merely logical one, expressed almost in the form of a syllogism. Major proposition—"No man can work miracles without God's help." Minor proposition—"Jesus works miracles." Conclusion—"Therefore Jesus has God's help."

Now, what does Jesus reply? Evidently much of the conversation has been omitted. We have only the substance of it here. "You believe in the kingdom of heaven, Nicodemus." "Certainly." "How do you expect to know it when you see it?" "By some great outward signs; something which shall shake heaven and earth; the Messiah coming in the sky, with angels." "Nicodemus, you cannot even see the kingdom when it is here, if you look for it so; you must be born again yourself; you must be changed, and become as a little child, in order to enter the kingdom." We remember that Peter, who was probably not half as good as Nicodemus, an impulsive soul, was nevertheless enough of a little child, in openness of heart, to see that this was the kingdom of heaven,—this teaching and life of Jesus,—and that Jesus was the Messiah.

But Nicodemus says, "No. A Gentile, a heathen, ought, no doubt, to begin at the beginning, give up all his old opinions, and be born of water by being baptized. He should begin by a recantation. I suppose that is what you mean by being born again. But I ought not, for I am a Jew, grown up in the true knowledge of God, learned from Moses and the prophets. So I need not begin my life again."

Jesus then replies, "The form is nothing. You must be born not only of water, but of the Spirit, in order to enter the kingdom of God. You need not only to wash off all your old opinions and conduct, as the Gentiles must do; but also you must be made a little child by laying your heart open to God's Spirit, and letting it lead your thoughts into new ways, your heart into new love, and your life into new action. You must be willing to follow me, not by night only, but in the day. If they turn you out of the Sanhedrim, you must not mind that; you must find your happiness in getting good and doing good; receiving God's love into your soul, and letting it go out again. You must give yourself up to this divine influence."

Then Nicodemus says, "How can these things be?" He wishes to see the way, to have it all marked out; to have a creed with all its articles of belief fixed; a programme of what he is to do arranged. The spirit he does not quite understand. Give it to him in the letter, and he can do it. He wants a map of the operations of the Holy Spirit.

"Are you a teacher of Israel, and do not know this?" replies Jesus. "The whole Old Testament is full of this inspiration; full of the Spirit of God coming and going, in a thousand ways, and not by any special rule or method; going as the wind comes and goes in the sky, we do not know whence or how." It is well that some things cannot be arranged beforehand—well that no almanac can tell if the wind to-morrow is to be east or west, north or south.

I sit in the sweet autumn woods. I see the squirrel leap from branch to branch. I hear the woodpecker tapping the trunk with sagacious beak, watching when the sound shall indicate that a worm has hidden himself below the bark. All else is calm and still. I look up and see the white clouds drifting through the deep ocean of blue above. Then there comes a sudden shiver through the tree-tops, a sprinkling of dry leaves on the grass, a whisper, a rush of air; and now every tree is swinging its branches in the breeze.

So is every one that is born of the Spirit! God comes to us all in these uncalculated, incalculable ways. He moves our conscience by the light of loyalty and fidelity in another soul. There comes through all the land a fresh breeze of justice and right, and all at once we feel that we ought to lead better lives, more manly, more true. There comes a revival of honesty, as well as of piety. Yesterday you did not care for it; now you do. God's holy air of truth and right is sweeping through the land. We all arise and say, "No matter what our fathers consented to; no matter what we have consented to in past times; we will have no more compromises with evil and sin, no more concessions to tyranny and cruelty." When this spirit comes to a nation, or to a community, it is as much a revival sent by God, as the reformation of Luther, or the reformation of Wesley.

Jesus means to teach us here that the Spirit of God comes in a great many different ways, comes unexpected and unforeseen, comes unapparent as the invisible air. So came the reformation of Luther. Luther did not mean to make a reformation, or to build a new Church.(17)

All recollect the story of the Quaker, George Fox, how he went from Church to Church, and got no good, and at last opened his soul to God, and was led by the Spirit into new and strange thoughts and purposes, and became a reformer, and founder of a denomination, unintentionally. And so the Quaker movement came—the most radical reform which ever sprang up in the Christian Church. It abolished the ministry and sacraments, baptism, and the Lord's supper. It reformed the theology of Christendom, putting the inner light above the written words. It reformed life, opposing war, oaths, slavery, and fashion. And as it came, so is it passing away, having done its work. As the breeze dies softly, and the leaves cease to glitter in the sunlight, and the red leaf on the top-most twig, far up in the sky, leaves off its airy dance, and at last hangs motionless, so the wild air which stirred in the depths of all hearts dies away in silence, and old opinions and old customs resume their places, yet all purified and changed. Only those which were so wholly dead that the wind blew them entirely away, are gone forever.

So are the changes which come in human hearts, we know not whence or how. It is a great mistake in the Church to have a stereotyped experience, to which all must conform. Procrustes only lopped the limbs to suit the measure of his bed; but these rules and moulds for the spiritual life, cut down the new man, who is made by God's Spirit, to the earthly standard of some narrow stunted experience of other times. This it is "to grieve the Spirit," and to "quench the Spirit." For God's Spirit goes everywhere, and where it goes it produces the best evidence of Christianity in sweet, holy, Christian lives. It is the wind which blows where it will, which does not run on a railroad through the sky, or stop at any particular stations in the clouds, or go by any time-table. God's Spirit comes and goes not according to any rules of ours. The publicans and sinners have it, and show it, sometimes, instead of the Scribes and Pharisees. For so the apostle declares that there are "differences of operation, but the same Spirit."

Sometimes you see a hard man, a man of the world, who has been fighting his way through life, till he has come to rely wholly on himself, and feels like some of those rocky reefs which stand out in the sea on our New England coast, and have borne the onset of a thousand storms. Yet at last he is softened. We see it, we feel it. There is a strange softness in his tone, a gentleness in his manner, a suspicion of moisture in his eye. The good God has been moving in his heart; perhaps it was by some trial or disappointment, or the loss of some curly-headed darling, who went up to heaven, and left the doors open behind, so that the joyful music which welcomed her came down to his ears and touched his soul.

When men see that, they say, "Well, there is something in religion, after all, if it can touch such a heart as his."

Sometimes we see a Christian who is at first all conscience, all work. Religion means to him, doing his duty. He intends to be a Christian, and wishes others to be so. But it is a piece of hard work. His Christianity reminds one of the poor woman who thought it "a chore to live." But after a while, we see a change—very gradual, but still very certain. He is beginning to get acquainted with the gospel side of Christianity. He learns to forgive himself his own sins, and so he can forgive others. His face begins to reflect more and more of heaven. It is the change which comes to the grapes in October. Perhaps you have some Catawba grapes on the south side of your house, and they grow very nicely all through the summer. They are good, large grapes well formed, good clusters, but very sour. But by and by there comes the final change; the juice grows sweet within the berry. There is but a very little difference in its appearance, but a very great change within.

When we see this alteration in a man, we say, "There is surely something in Christianity to produce such a change. Why, what a very sweet Christian he has grown to be!" It took all the summer and part of the fall to do the work; but no matter. God is not in a hurry. Some fruit ripens sooner, and some later; that is all.

I looked up from my table as I wrote these words, and saw from my window a tulip tree and a maple, each dressed in its royal robes of beauty—the gift of the declining year; the green leaves of the one touched with gold, and the other with its crimson and scarlet glories. They were full of sunlight, and made the whole landscape glad and gay. No Tyrian loom could rival the purple splendors and deep crimson of these trees. Why does God give all this varied beauty to the October woods, so that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these oaks or maples? Is not this also to touch our hearts with a sense of his love? An autumn ride is also a means of grace; quite as much so, perhaps, as a tract or sermon. If we see God in nature, then nature may also be the source of a new birth to us.

"One impulse from the autumn wood May teach us more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can."

What I understand Jesus, then, to teach in this passage, is, that we must become as little children, in order to see heavenly things; that, like new-born babes, we must receive meekly the milk of the word of God; that spiritual influences are all around us, invisible—incalculable: that not by the regular outward means of religion alone, but by a thousand other ways, God comes to us. He means that we should believe in the presence and nearness of God's Spirit always; that we should open our hearts and minds to be led by it into truth and love. He meant the very opposite of what he has been made to mean. He did not mean that all souls must pass through one and the same religions experience, but that, as the wind blows a thousand ways, so God's Spirit comes to the heart by a thousand ways. So coming, it makes the hard heart tender, the rude will gentle, the selfish soul generous, gives the reckless a new sense of responsibility. Jesus means that we should not be discouraged because we find it hard to correct our faults, or to enter into God's love. God's Spirit comes to us when we cannot go to find it. God's love comes into our hearts when we long for it, look for it, wait for it.

Look up, then, poor trembling heart; look up, and see God near. Look up, hard heart, and feel the soft showers of divine grace coming down to make everything tender. Look up, and be made new creatures, become as little children, be born anew, every day, into a fresh inspiration, faith, and hope; and so enter every day the kingdom of heaven!



12. Evidences of Regeneration.

The common Orthodox method is to require and expect evidence of the Christian change. As we have already said, a Christian is expected to know and to be able to tell when, where, and under what circumstances he entered into the new life.

But, perhaps, the preliminary question is, Ought we to have, and can we have, any evidence at all of the new life? And to this question many reply in the negative, and with very good reason.

The new life is a hidden life; a "life hid with Christ in God." Its essence is love, and love is an inward sentiment, not an outward act. Conviction demands utterance; actions speak louder than words; but love is accustomed to hide itself away in the heart, and to be known only to its object, and that indirectly. Evidences of love! What should we think of asking of young people coming to be married, the evidences that they loved each other; obliging them to give an account of their experience; to say when, where, and how they began first to care for each other; and then, if the evidence was satisfactory, allowing them to be married! Why, then, ask of the soul wishing to be united with God and Christ in a Christian covenant, to tear open the folded bud of this tender affection, analyze it metaphysically, measure it mathematically, and cross-examine it as a witness suspected of falsehood is questioned by lawyers before a jury?

What do we know of this new life? what can we tell of it? Almost always it comes to us gradually and unconsciously. It is veiled in shadows, misty lights, and neutral tints. The second life comes like the first. The child is born, and knows not of the awful change from not being to being—the immense event of passage from unconscious existence to conscious life. For consciousness dawns slowly, imperceptibly. The infant is long immersed in outward things. Years pass before it becomes aware of the fact that it exists, before it begins to look in and see itself in the mirror of reflection. So, probably, will it also be, when we pass from this life into the next. We shall, perhaps, awaken very gradually, in the future life, to the knowledge that we are in another state. As the little child becomes quite at home in this world before he thinks to ask how he came here, so probably in the other world we shall become quite at home with the angels, before we shall begin to say, "I am in heaven."

All the births of time partake of this quality. They do not reflect on themselves, are not surprised at themselves, but come as a matter of course. Years after, when the early heat of the new life has grown cold, the historians and biographers arrive to examine it in the crucible of their painful analysis, and to tell us how wonderful it is.

How can any man prove that he is alive? Why should he prove it? Let his life show itself, but not try to prove itself. Let its light shine, and those who see its good and joy will glorify the Father in heaven who has sent it.

The mistake here, as before, is in confounding conversion and regeneration.

Including in the terms "conversion" and "repentance" the whole activity of the will, the religious purpose, the aim of life, it is, no doubt, of the utmost importance to see, continually, what it is. "Know thyself" is a heaven-descended maxim, if we understand by it that we are to watch ourselves always, and see whither we are going. We need continually to know the direction of our life, whether it is to God or from him; whether it is upward or downward; whether we are following truth, and justice, and love, or following our own selfish desires and will. In this sense self-examination is both possible and necessary.

When the great ocean steamer is in the midst of the mighty Atlantic, it is necessary to watch continually its direction, and keep it always heading the right way. Day and night, therefore, the man stands sleepless at the helm, his eye always turning from the compass to the ship's head, with unfailing vigilance. But it is not thought necessary to inspect the interior of the boilers, or to examine the quality of the fire. If steam enough is made, and the wheels revolve, that is enough.

The new life into which we enter by the new birth has this one character—that it gives us for a motive, not fear, but hope; not law, but love; not constraint, but joy. Prayer is not a duty, but the spontaneous impulse of the child, to seek and find its father. Work is not drudgery but satisfaction, when the motive is to serve the great cause of Christ. The only real evidence, therefore, that we are born of God, is, that we have the fruits of the Spirit, love, joy, and peace. The tree is known by its fruits, and these are the appropriate fruits of the new life. When we find them, let us gladly receive them; but if we do not find them, let us at least be glad that if not yet new-born, we are, nevertheless, converted; if not sons, at least servants. We have the one thing needful when we have the right purpose; sooner or later, we shall also have the happy life. When we do right, we sow to the Spirit, and we shall, in due season, reap life everlasting.

As regards the evidence of the new life, too much stress, we think, has been laid on outward profession, ceremonies, religious language, religious acts. Because a man professes religion, it is no evidence that he is religious. Because he partakes of the Lord's supper, or prays openly, or speaks in the habitual religious language of his sect, it is no evidence of his religious life. Many persons are quite comforted if one who has led an immoral life says on his death-bed that he "trusts in the atoning blood of Christ." But this may be a mere word.

All ceremonies and prayers are means, but none of them are evidence, of a state. The only evidences are the fruits of the Spirit. "The tree is known by its fruits." "The fruits of the Spirit are love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance."

Let us remember that though a man may be converted, and not as yet be regenerate, he cannot be regenerate unless he is converted; that is, there can be no true piety, no love, no faith, no spiritual religion, except there be a sincere and determined purpose of righteousness beneath it. There may be true morality without piety, but there cannot be a true piety without a true morality. The law must precede the gospel. Conscientiousness must go before love, to prepare its way. "That is not first which is spiritual, but that which is natural, and afterwards that which is spiritual."

The first question, therefore, to ask ourselves, is not, "Do I love God?" but, "Do I obey God?" Every man's own soul, if sincere, can answer that question. "If our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart." "If our heart condemn us not, then have we confidence towards God."

But if we are obeying God, then let us believe in a higher life which God has to bestow, and believing, seek for it. It is not earned, it is not a reward, it is not by works; but it is very nigh and close at hand; it is ready to be given to those who believe in it and look for it.

So, if the question be asked, "Is man active or passive in this process?" the answer is, that he is active in conversion, receptive in regeneration.

So in regard to faith and works. "We are justified by faith;" but justification is the sense of God's forgiving love which is received into an open heart. Justification is not salvation; it is only a step in that direction, and a preparation for it.

And now we ask, "Why is it, if this new life is a gift, do not all good men receive it?" The answer is, "There are conditions. All good men do not believe in it. Some believe that duty is every thing; that Christianity consists wholly in obedience. They know nothing higher, and therefore seek for nothing higher. Regeneration they hear of, but think it something mystical, miraculous, unnatural, and, to say the truth, not very attractive. If they believed in a life of love and trust, a life free from the burden of anxiety, they would surely desire it."

Those also who believe in it do not always believe it is for themselves. They think it not meant for common people in the midst of common life, but for some special saintship. They do not believe in this divine life flowing into every heart and soul, high and low, wise and ignorant, be it only sincere, honest, and believing.

Yet it is like the life of nature, which in the abounding spring-time comes down from the skies, and flows not only into the majestic tree, swelling at once its myriad buds, but also into every seed, and root, and weed, awakening them all.

This is what we need for peace, for real progress, for present comfort, for future joy.

It is communion with God, it is receiving his love, it is accepting his forgiveness, and living day by day as his beloved children.



CHAPTER VIII. THE ORTHODOX IDEA OF THE SON OF GOD.



1. Orthodox Doctrine stated.

Having considered the Orthodox idea of man in his natural state, and of man in his supernatural state, we next pass to consider the Orthodox idea of Christ's person and of Christ's work. In this chapter we shall consider the Orthodox view of the person of Christ, and ask what is its substantial truth, and what its formal error.

The Orthodox opinion concerning Christ is thus stated in the Assembly's Confession of Faith: "The Son of God, the second person in the Trinity, being very and eternal God, of one substance and equal with the Father, did, when the fulness of time was come, take upon him man's nature, with all the essential properties and common infirmities thereof, yet without sin; so that two whole, perfect, and distinct natures—the Godhead and the Manhood—were inseparably joined together in one person, which person is very God and very Man."

Christ, therefore, was perfectly God and perfectly man. The formula is, "two natures, but one person." The Orthodox doctrine is not of God dwelling in a human body as its soul (which seems to be the view of Swedenborg), but it is of God united with a human soul and body as one person or one consciousness.



2. This Doctrine gradually developed.

This idea of Christ, as we know, was gradually formed in the Christian Church, and did not become Orthodox until after many struggles. First came the question whether the Deity of Christ was equal or subordinate to that of the Father. Hardly had the Orthodox doctrine triumphed over that of subordination, against those who denied the equal Deity, than it was obliged to turn round and contend against those on the other side, who denied the humanity of Christ altogether. The Ebionites considered Jesus as a mere man. Theodotus, in the year 200, taught the same, with Artemon and Praxeas. In the next century the Arians and Sabellians opposed Orthodoxy from opposite sides,—the one confounding the persons of the Godhead, and the other dividing the substance. So for several centuries the pendulum of opinion swung from one side to the other before it rested in the golden mean of Orthodoxy.

The Nestorians separated the two natures of Christ, and maintained that his Divinity consisted only in the indwelling of God. But scarcely had Nestorius been banished for separating the two natures than Eutyches plunged into heresy on the other side, by confounding them together. This was the Monophysite heresy; and no sooner was this overthrown, and it was decided to be wrong to say that Christ had only one nature, than others began to contend that he had only one will. These were the Monothelites. But through all these controversies, the main doctrine of Orthodoxy continues to shine out luminous and distinct, asserting that Christ combines the fulness of Deity and the fulness of Humanity.



3. Unitarian Objections.

As this view of the Deity of Christ has been stated, it seems, in its doctrinal form, contradictory to Scripture as well as to reason. That the infinite God, who fills the universe, and sustains it; present in the smallest insect; present in the most distant nebula, whose light just arriving at our eye has been a million of years on its journey,—that this infinite Being should have been born in Palestine, seems to confute itself by its very statement. Who took care of the universe when God was an infant in the arms of the Virgin Mary? Jesus was born, and died; but God cannot be born, and cannot die. Jesus suffered from hunger, fatigue, and pain; but God cannot suffer. Jesus was seen by human eyes, and touched by human hands; but no man hath seen God at any time. Jesus had a finite body; but God is Spirit. Jesus was tempted; but God cannot be tempted with evil. Jesus prayed; but God cannot pray. Jesus said, "My Father is greater than I;" but God has no one greater than himself. Jesus said, "I can of mine own self do nothing;" but God can of his own self do everything. Jesus said "that he came down from heaven not to do his own will;" but God always does his own will. Jesus said that there were some things he did not know; but God knows everything. He declared that all power was given to him in heaven and earth; but God's power cannot be given to him. Scripture, therefore, as well as common sense, seems to deny the Orthodox doctrine of the Deity of Christ.

The common Trinitarian answer to these texts is, that Christ is speaking in his human nature when he asserts these limitations. But this answer, as Dr. Bushnell has well shown, is no answer; for, as he says, "it not only does an affront to the plain language of Scripture, but virtually denies any real unity between the human and the divine." Jesus does not say, "All power in heaven and earth is given to my human nature," but "to me;" and when the Trinitarian himself declares that in Christ, with two natures, there is but one person, the question is concerning that one person, whether that is finite or infinite, absolute or dependent, omniscient or not so, omnipresent or not so, omnipotent or not so. The question does not concern his nature, but himself. The one person must be either finite or infinite: it cannot be both.



4. Substantial Truth in this Doctrine.

But now we ask, What substantial truth underlies this formal error? What truth of life underlies this error of doctrine? Let us remember how empty the world was of God at the time of Christ's coming. The wisest men could speak thus with Pliny: "All religion is the offspring of necessity, weakness, and fear. What God is,—if in truth he be anything distinct from the world,—it is beyond the power of man's understanding to know." All intelligent men agreed that if God existed he could not possibly take any interest in the affairs of the world or of individuals. Phariseeism on the one hand, and Sadduceeism on the other,—a religion hardened into forms, and an empty scepticism, cold and dead,—divided the world between them. But men cannot live without God, and be satisfied. They were feeling after him, if haply they might find him, who is not far from any one of us.

Then Christ came; and in all that he said and did, he spoke from the knowledge of God; he acted from the life of God. Here was one, then, at last, to whom God was not an opinion, but a reality; through whose life flowed the life of God in a steady current. We see that all sincere souls who came near Jesus received from him the same sight of God which he possessed; for faith in a living and present God is so congenial to the nature of man, that it carries conviction with it wherever it is not a mere opinion, but a state of the soul.

Those, therefore, who could find God nowhere else, found him in Christ. Those who saw him, saw the Father. As when through a window we behold the heavens, as when in a mirror we see an image of the sun, we do not speak of the window or the mirror, but say that we see the sun and the heavens, so those who looked at Christ said that they saw God.

The apostle said that God was in Christ; and this was wholly true. Christians afterwards said that Christ was God; and they thought they were only saying the same thing. They said that Christ had a divine nature as well as a human nature; and in this also there was no essential falsehood, for when we speak of our nature, we intend merely by it those elements of character which are original and permanent, which are not acquired, do not alter, and are never lost. God dwelt in the soul of Christ thus constantly, thus permanently. The Word thus "became flesh, and dwelt among us." The word of the Lord came to the prophets, but it dwelt in Christ. He and his Father were one. The vital truth of all this was that men were now able to see God manifested in man as a living, present reality. "Here," they said, "is God. We have found God. He is in Christ. We can see him there."

Is it any wonder that men should have called Jesus God? that they should call him so still? In him truly "dwelt the fulness of the Godhead bodily;" and this indwelling Spirit expressed itself in what he said and what he did. When Jesus speaks, it is as if God speaks. When Jesus does anything, it is as if we saw God do it. It becomes to us an expression of the divine character. When Jesus says to the sinner, "Go and sin no more," we see in this a manifestation not merely of his own compassion, but of God's forgiving love; and when he dies, although God cannot die, yet he dies according to the divine will, and thus expresses God's willingness to suffer for the redemption of the world.



5. Formal Error of the Orthodox Statement.

When we look at Christ's Divinity from this point of view, the distinction between the Trinitarian and Unitarian seems almost to disappear. Still the question remains, Is it right to call him God? The distinction remains between saying, "God was in Christ," and saying, "Christ was God." In short, was the person of Christ human or divine? We agree with the Orthodox in saying that Christ had two natures—a divine nature and a human nature. We also maintain with them that he had one person. But the question comes, Was that one person divine or human, finite or infinite, dependent or absolute? The consciousness of the one person is a single consciousness. Christ could not at the same time have been conscious of knowing all things and of not knowing all things, of having all power and of not having it, of depending on God for all things and of not depending for anything. One of two things alone is possible. Either Christ was God united with a human soul, or he was a human soul united with God. When Christ uses the personal pronoun "I," he must mean by that "I" either the finite man or the infinite God. I believe the Unitarian is right in saying that this personal pronoun "I" always refers to the finite being and consciousness, and not to the infinite Being. For example: "I am not alone, but I and the Father that sent me." "I proceeded forth and came from God; neither came I of myself, but he sent me." God cannot proceed from God; God cannot send God. Again: "If I honor myself, my honor is nothing; it is my Father that honoreth me." This cannot mean, "If God honors God, his honor is nothing; but it is God that honors him." It must mean that the human being, Christ, receives his honor from the divine Being. This view—that the person of Christ is human, but is intimately united and in perfect union with the indwelling God—makes all Scripture intelligible. Any other view is either unintelligible or contradictory. This view of the divine nature of Christ united with the human person, of God dwelling in the flesh, does not confound the mind like the common Trinitarian view, and yet has a value for the heart of paramount importance. If Christ is really a man like ourselves, made in all respects like his brethren, and yet is thus at one with God, thus full of God, it shows us that sin and separation from God are accidental things, and not anything necessary. If Jesus is truly a man, he redeems and exalts humanity. What he has been is a type of what all men may be. Thus the apostle Paul speaks when he says that all things were created in Christ, who is the beginning, the first-born from the dead, that he might go before us, or be our leader in all things; which is a much higher view than the common understanding of the passage, which merely supposes him to have been God's instrument in creating the physical universe. He is the image of the invisible God—the first-born of the whole creation. This creation is the new creation—that which is intended in Revelation (3:14), where Christ is spoken of as the Amen, the faithful and true Witness, the Beginning of the creation of God, and that which Paul means when he says that in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision is worth anything, "but the new creation."

All such passages refer, as it seems to us, not to a past natural creation, but to a supernatural creation—a creation of life eternal, which, beginning in Christ, is to embrace the whole of humanity.



6. Errors of Arianism and Naturalism.

And we cannot but think this doctrine far truer, as well as more Orthodox, than the Arianism which so long struggled in the Church for supremacy. That view which supposed that Christ was neither truly man nor truly God, but some high, preexisting being between the two, appears to us to be the falsest and most unsatisfactory of all the doctrines concerning Christ's person. It separates him more entirely from our sympathies than either of the others. It destroys both his divinity and his humanity, and, by giving us something intermediate, gives us really nothing. It makes his apparent human life a delusion, his temptation unreal, his human sympathies and sorrows deceptive. We think, therefore, that the Church was right in rejecting the Arian doctrine.

We think it was also right in rejecting the Humanitarian doctrine, or that of mere Naturalism. Christ was something more than mere man,—something more than Moses and Elijah,—something more than a man of great religious genius. The peculiarity of Christ was, that he was chosen by God's wisdom, and prepared by God's providence, to be the typical man of the race,—the God-man, in whom the divine Spirit and human soul become one in a perfect union. He was, perhaps, placed, by an exceptional birth, where the first Adam stood,—rescued from inherited depravity, made in the image of God. Then the Spirit was given him without measure. The word of God dwelt in him, and did not merely come to him as a transient influence for a special purpose. Add to this a freely chosen aim of life, and a fidelity which was always about his Father's business, and aiming to finish the work which was given him to do, and we have a being in whom we can see either a manifestation of God or a manifestation of man. The Spirit in Christ was one with God; the soul and body were human.



CHAPTER IX. JUSTIFICATION BY FAITH.



1. This Doctrine of Paul not obsolete.

That portion of the New Testament which speaks so earnestly of justification by faith is by many supposed to have become obsolete for all useful purposes at the present time. The doctrine that "we are justified by faith, and not by works," it is supposed, was intended for the benefit of the Jews alone, and to amount to this—that admittance to the privileges of the gospel is to be obtained, not by practising the ceremonies and external ritual of the Jewish law, but by a simple belief in Jesus Christ. Accordingly, as no one nowadays endeavors to become a Christian by practising the Jewish ceremonies, we suppose that there is no present need of this doctrine; and when we come upon it in the Scripture, we turn over the pages in search of something more practical and profitable. As, in the book of Acts, we read, that, "when Paul was about to open his mouth, Gallio said unto the Jews, If it were a matter of wrong or wicked lewdness, O Jews, reason would that I should bear with you; but if it be a question of words and names, and of your law, look ye to it; for I will be no judge of such matters," so we, when Paul is about to open his mouth to speak to us of this doctrine, think it a mere question of words and names, and of the Jewish law, and interrupt him to ask him for something practical. If he has anything to say to us of wrong-doing or wicked conduct, it would be reasonable to hear him; but we will be no judge of such matters as this.

There are also many persons, who, while they can understand the Gospels and enjoy them, find it difficult to understand and enjoy the writings of the apostle Paul. Among these writings, the most difficult is the Epistle to the Romans, and especially that part of it which treats of this doctrine of justification by faith. Anything which can be done to remove this difficulty will do good; for the writings of Paul are so intimately connected with the rest of the New Testament, that it is not easy to reject them, and yet to believe the rest. It can be done, no doubt; but it is done with difficulty. It is as if one part of the foundation of the house had given way: perhaps the house will not fall; but it has become unsafe. It is as if a part of the wall of a city had been battered down: the breach may be defensible from within; but it is also practicable from without. At all events, we miss the satisfaction of a complete faith, perfect and entire, round and full.

Besides, may there not be something important for us to know in this part of the New Testament? Are we quite sure we do not need these very doctrines, and that they will do us good?

We have said that it is sometimes thought that the questions discussed by Paul were only Jewish questions,—not human questions; that they belonged only to that time, not to all time. But, though the form which they assumed was temporary and local, there is reason to believe that the substance of the question is one belonging to human nature in every age; that it is the question of the spirit and the letter, the substance and the form, the root and the branches, the inside of religion and the outside. While contending against a particular Jewish error, the apostle unfolded principles by which similar errors may be opposed and refuted in every age.

At all events, it is a matter of fact, that there seldom has been in the Church any great religious movement which has not immediately gone back to the apostle Paul, and planted itself on his doctrine of justification by faith. This was the watchword of Luther, and the soul of the reformation. Luther and his companions armed themselves with this doctrine to contend against the great power of the Papacy and the Romish Church.

Let us, then, endeavor to see what we can of the truth there may be in this doctrine.



2. Its Meaning and Importance.

And, first, let us see what the doctrine does not mean, and what it does mean.

To be justified by faith does not mean that we are to be saved by our opinions. To say that a man can be saved by holding certain opinions, instead of certain other opinions, is to say what is contradicted by all experience; for experience shows us that there are good men holding every variety of opinion, and bad men holding every variety of opinion. But God saves men by making them good: therefore men are not saved by their opinions. Let us suppose that men are to be saved by the opinion that Jesus is the Christ: then we ought to find that all men holding that opinion are on the way of salvation; that is, are becoming good men. But this is far from being the case. In fact, the connection between mere opinion of any kind, and goodness, is very distant and indirect. No doubt, in the long run, opinion affects character; but it is only in the long run that it does so. And, at all events, the doctrine of the New Testament is very distinct and decided, that men may hold very sound opinions, and yet not be in the way of salvation. The Scribes and Pharisees held very sound opinions; and Jesus told his disciples to do whatever they said, but not to imitate their works; for their doctrine was much better than their lives.

Nor does the apostle mean to say that one can be saved without morality. He certainly does not mean to undervalue goodness; for, in that case, he would contradict his own teachings, which uniformly declare, as all the rest of the Bible declares, that without holiness no man can see the Lord. It is certainly a very superficial view which is satisfied with supposing that an earnest man, as the apostle certainly was, devoting his life, as he certainly did, to the teaching of Christianity, with such a grand intellect as he certainly possessed, could assert with so much energy a doctrine plainly contradicting common sense, daily observation, the plain teachings of Jesus, and his own uniform doctrine elsewhere.

Some persons have a short method of getting over the difficulty by saying that Paul did not himself know what he meant. They assume that he was talking at random. It would be about as wise, when we open Newton's "Principia," and cannot understand it, to say that Newton was talking at random; or, when we cannot understand Plato or some other profound metaphysician, to declare directly that he did not himself know what he was talking about. No doubt, this is the shortest and easiest way of getting out of such difficulties, but perhaps not the most modest, nor the most wise.

When an earnest man, a profound man, a man in the highest degree practical, a man who has done the greatest work for Christianity which has been done since its foundation, sums up his doctrine in a comprehensive maxim like this, it is, perhaps, wise to admit, at once, that he had a meaning, and probably an important one.

"No doubt he had a meaning," it may be said; "but has he any meaning now? His formula meant something for the Jews; but does it mean anything for us? Is not this merely a Jewish question, with which we have nothing to do?"

This is another easy way of getting over difficulties. In reading the New Testament, when we come to a place where we are stopped by something which looks deep and is dark, we are often told, "That darkness is not depth: it is the shadow of a Jewish error which lies across the path."

Have we not often felt dissatisfied, when, approaching some great saying of Christ and his apostles from which we hoped to gain new insight, we have been told, "That has nothing to do with us. The Jews had such and such an opinion, and this was meant to show them their mistake"? So the great and earnest words of the Bible, which we thought to be full of spirit and life, are found to be only fossil remains of old opinions, of opinions long since passed away—good for nothing but to be put into the museums of antiquaries, and paraded by scholastic pedants.

But, after all, take it on the lowest ground, were not the Jews men? Did they not, as a race, represent some element, common, in a less degree, to the rest of mankind? and therefore is there not in each of us something of that Jewish element? Are not we also sometimes Jews, therefore liable to Jewish errors, and needing to have them corrected? The Jews did not live in vain: their struggles, errors, hopes, were for the benefit of humanity. We were to learn something by their mistakes, and to be taught something by their experience.

Another way of treating such a passage is to translate it into some trivial, insignificant commonplace. Thus, we are told, our doctrine only means that "God does not approve a man merely for going through a routine of outward, formal ceremonies, but for a thoroughly religious life." This explanation assumes that the apostle is here talking to simpletons, and that what he says is no more worth listening to by us than the prattle of a nurse to her infant.

There are, therefore, four ways of explaining this passage, none of which are satisfactory. These are, that Paul,—

1. Was teaching a self-evident absurdity;

2. Was teaching a self-evident truism;

3. Was teaching nothing, and only talking at random;

4. Was correcting a Jewish error, which only the Jews ever had, or are ever likely to have.

If these views are not satisfactory to us, the simplest way would seem to be, first, to endeavor to understand precisely what the Jewish error was, and then to see if there is anything like it in ourselves, and if there be anything which we can learn from this old argument which will be, not old, but new for our time and for all time, because a part of the tendencies of man. Let us translate these old terms—justification, faith, works—into their modern equivalents, and see what they mean for us at the present time.

We have shown that we may be mistaken in supposing this Orthodox doctrine of justification to be of merely local and temporary interest, having no permanent value. It is not likely that a man like Paul, of so large, so deep, so philosophic a mind, should have devoted himself so earnestly, and returned so fondly, to a theme involving no universal and eternal principles, whose interest was to perish with the hour. It is not probable that, in this small volume of writings of the new covenant,—this precious gift of God to the world in all ages and in every nation,—so large a portion should be devoted to a wholly temporary argument; and, more than all, it is a most remarkable fact, that whenever there arises a man uniting a deeper spirit of piety with a larger sense of liberty than other men,—a man commissioned by God to give a new religious impulse to his age, and to help Christianity to shake itself free from the cumbrous mass of human forms and traditions which have crushed it, and to go forth in its native grace and loveliness again,—some profound instinct should always lead him to this doctrine as to a weapon effectual for pulling down the strongholds of bigotry, scepticism, and spiritual death. Sir James Mackintosh somewhere says, that the great movement which shook Christendom to its centre, and did more to change and reform society than the political revolutions and wars of a thousand years, originated with an obscure Augustinian monk preaching the doctrine of justification by faith. This acute Scotchman saw, what all must see who read Luther's writings with any attention, that it was no accident, no temporal interest, which led him to lay such stress on this doctrine. It was the soul of his preaching, the essence of his doctrine, the secret of his strength, the life of his life. And so, when Wesley and the early Methodists were called upon to pour new religious life into the English Church, they fell back on this doctrine—this ancient sword of the Spirit. And so we may believe that it has a value for all ages; that it did not relate merely to Jewish usages, but is a principle of vital and everlasting application.

No doubt that if by faith we understand intellectual belief, or the assent to opinions, and if by works we understand true obedience, and by justification final salvation or actual goodness, there can scarcely be a greater absurdity than to say that a man is justified by faith, and not by works. To say that goodness, in the sight of God, consists in receiving certain opinions, rather than in true obedience, is a most unscriptural and irrational doctrine.

But none of the great reformers of whom I have spoken, and no profound theologians of any sect or school, have ever held the doctrines of justification by faith in this way. Neither Luther nor Wesley ever made faith synonymous with intellectual belief or opinion. "What is faith?" said Wesley. "Not an opinion, nor any number of opinions put together, be they ever so true. A string of opinions is no more Christian faith than a string of beads is Christian holiness. It is not an assent to any opinion, or any number of opinions. A man may assent to three or three and twenty creeds, he may assent to all the Old and New Testament, and yet have no Christian faith at all."

But what is the true doctrine of justification by faith, as taught in the Scriptures, and as inspiring these great reformers? This is naturally our next inquiry.



3. Need of Justification for the Conscience.

There is nothing in the nature of man more paradoxical than conscience. It is that which lifts him to God; and yet it is that which makes him capable of sin, and without which he could not be a sinner. It gives him the sense of right, but at the same time makes him conscious of wrong. It makes him capable of duty, but thereby also capable of disobedience. It shows us what we ought to do, without giving us the least strength wherewith to do it. It condemns us for not doing right, even when we have no power to do anything but what is wrong. It shows us a great ideal of goodness to which we ought to aspire, and discourages us by the very loftiness of the standard. It tells us in the same breath that we are sinners, and that we ought to be angels. It seems at the same time to elevate and degrade us. It elevates us by giving a great object to life, and making it serious and earnest; but it degrades us by making us constantly ashamed of ourselves, and keeping us in a perpetual state of humiliation. Now, one of the chief peculiarities of the conscience is, that beyond a certain point, the more we try to obey it, the less satisfaction we have. We know that this is not the usual theory. We are commonly told that the conscientious man is always contented and happy,—satisfied with himself, and at peace with God. But facts contradict this theory. The conscientious man is apt to be very much dissatisfied with himself,—much, more so than the man whose conscience is torpid and indifferent. There is comfort in faithful work; no doubt there is great content in the steady performance of regular duties; but here conscience is subordinate to work. It is work which gives contentment; but CONSCIENCE, when thoroughly roused by the strong meat of a divine law, is the source of much self-dissatisfaction. How can it be otherwise? It shows us that we ought to love God and love man with all our heart, soul, mind, strength. Which of us does it? Do you? Do I? How large a part of our life have we given to the service of God? how large a part to the service of our neighbor? How often do we thank God for his goodness? How often do we pray to him? how often think of him? If we do not think of him, of course we do not love him.

Love makes us very thoughtful of another's wishes. When people love each other, they joy in thinking of each other; they treasure souvenirs of each other; they like to make each other presents of things they think will please; they steal an hour from daily cares or nightly rest to write letters to each other. Our heavenly Father's arms are around us all day,—his infinite bounty blessing us, his careful providence making for us home, friends, all; yet we do not think of him, or wish to do anything to please him.

Conscience tells us that our heart is hard and cold to our best Friend; and that is by no means a pleasant piece of information.

Moreover, it is evident that this condition of self-dissatisfaction is not a good one. Self-reproach may be a wholesome medicine, but it is a bad food. We cannot do our work while we are finding fault with ourselves. The man whose conscience is always tormenting him is in a morbid state. He is a spiritually sick man,—sick of too much medicine. What must be done? He is always looking at his sins, and that disqualifies him for doing his duties. What shall he do?

This question in its Jewish form is stated thus: HOW SHALL HE BE JUSTIFIED BEFORE GOD? If God can excuse him, he can excuse himself. How, then, can he know that God looks at him not as a sinner, but as a just man, so that he can look on himself not as a sinner, but as a just man? This is the problem. What are its solutions?

In the Jewish mind, the Jewish law had brought the conscience into an extremely irritable state. The same effect, in a less degree, is produced by the Catholic confessional.



4. Reaction of Sin on the Soul.

Now, the consequences of sin are these: First, every act of sin brings after it natural evil consequences. It weakens the strength of the soul, it darkens the spiritual eye, it hardens the heart, it adds a new link to the chain of evil habit. By a result as inevitable as the law of gravitation, every act of sin pollutes, darkens, weakens the spiritual principle in man. "He who sows to the flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption." We may call these results the external consequences of sin, because they change our spiritual relation and position in God's external universe. But there is another more awful and as inevitable consequence of sin. It alienates us from God himself. It turns our face from the Source of life and love. It makes us at war with him. It fills us with the sense of his displeasure, and burdens us with the consciousness of guilt. To escape the dreadful sense of his anger, we hide ourselves from him, as Adam did. It is a law of the human mind that we dread the sight of any one whom we have wronged, because it condemns us. Perhaps he may be perfectly willing to forgive us; perhaps he does not even know that we have wronged him; but we cannot bear to see him, notwithstanding. It was a profound feeling of this law which led an ancient historian to say, "He hated him because he had injured him." Thus an active conscience, if it does not make a man better, will make him worse: to escape its torture he will plunge into new crimes. Some of the darkest crimes which stain the page of history may be traced to this source,—to the operation of a conscience strong enough to produce the sense of guilt, but not strong enough to produce the determination to reform. It is related that when the mother of Charles IX. of France and his uncles were urging the young king to consent to the execution of some of the principal Protestants to whom he was strongly attached, after a long resistance, when he at last gave way, it was with these remarkable words: "I consent, then, but only on one condition,—that you do not leave a Huguenot in France to reproach me with it."(18) And hence the Bartholomew Massacre, which its authors had intended before only to include a few individuals. So sin takes occasion by the law, and the commandment ordained for life becomes death.

The same principle operates with respect to God. We have broken his law. We feel that he must be displeased with us; we therefore hide ourselves from him, turn away from him, avoid the thought of him, are alienated from him. This is the greatest evil of sin, and this we may call the inward consequence of sin, because it affects our inward relation to God rather than our outward relation to the universe.

And now, how are we to be reconciled to God? How are we to be freed from this sense of guilt which falls on us in his presence, and makes us fear and shun him?



5. Different Methods of obtaining Forgiveness.

There are two ways in which, when we have injured our brother, and so have become estranged from him, we may become reconciled again, and freed from a sense of shame in his presence. One is by endeavoring to atone for the evil we have done by acts of kindness, by expressions of penitence. So at last we may feel that we have done him far more good than evil; and though he may not forgive us or be reconciled to us, we, on our part, may feel freed from any shame in his presence, and be reconciled to him. The other way is by his coming to us, and proving to us, by his conduct and words, that he is not estranged from us by our bad conduct; that he loves us as ever. So he will overcome our evil by his good, and reconcile us to him.

The pagan nations in all ages and lands have taken the first way of being reconciled to God. Oppressed by a guilty fear of their terrible idols, they have brought as gifts to their altars what they had most valuable; they have hung their gold, their jewels, in the temple; they have slain their cattle on the shrine. Still unable to pacify their trembling hearts, they have gone farther, and sought to prove the sincerity at least of their repentance by self-inflicted tortures, and by giving even their children's lives to the bloody power whom they worshipped. Hence sacrifices: they originated in the very same feeling which induces a man to give a present to one whom he has wronged, to appease him.

Pagan religions are founded, therefore, wholly on the first mode of reconciliation. The offending party comes to him whom he has injured, and does something to pacify him. But these religions never brought peace to the heart of the worshipper. After the wretched mother had dropped her infant into the burning arms of Moloch, she still had no evidence that his wrath was turned away.

In the religion of Moses, the first mode of reconciliation was united with the second. Pitying the weakness of man, the law allowed him to bring his sacrifice of birds or beasts or the fruits of the soil, and place it on God's altar as an expiation and atoning offering for his sin; and then, the suppliant, having faith in the permanent presence of God in the holy of holies, was received again to favor and assured of pardon. The Jew, who had broken any of the laws of Jehovah, knew exactly what to do in order to be reconciled to his national God and King. God had pointed out the way which he would accept. By certain acts of sacrifice and restitution, the Jew became once more worthy of living under the protecting care of Jehovah.

This mode of reconciliation under the law was far superior to that in pagan religions. It gave temporary peace to the conscience, though not permanent. It prevented the sinner from going farther from God, though it did not unite him with God in unbroken union. It kept the conscience awake, and prevented it from being hardened. It was a schoolmaster to bring the Jews to Christ. It was a preparation for a more excellent way. In the Epistle to the Hebrews, the writer declares that the law was but the shadow of that which was to come; that it could not, "by the sacrifices offered year by year, make the comers thereunto perfect; for then would they have ceased to have been offered, because the worshippers, once purged, would have had no more conscience of sin." The sacrifice made no revelation of God's character and love, planted no root of piety in the heart: it relieved the conscience only for this once, only with respect to this one sin; and there its influence ended. And therefore was a new covenant necessary, and promised by the prophets, and looked forward to by holy men, when they should be reconciled not by works, but by faith.

We have seen that there are two modes by which alienation may be removed: first, by the offending party doing something to atone for his offence; second, by the injured one showing that he has forgiven the offence, and is ready to be reconciled without an atonement. The first mode is the way of reconciliation in pagan religions; the first and second are united in the Jewish religion; the second is the mode in the Christian religion.



6. Method in Christianity.

In Christianity, in the gospel of grace, God offers pardon freely to those who are willing to accept it. He is ready now to receive those who are ready to come to him. It is only necessary to believe this in order to be reconciled. We are, therefore, reconciled by faith.

But we are said to be reconciled by the death and blood of Christ. How is this? We have seen the source of our alienation: it lay not in God, but in ourselves. God had not gone away from us; we went away from him. He had not ceased to love us; but by a terrible reaction from our sinfulness, we had ceased to believe in his love. "God's hand," says the prophet (Isa. 59:2), "is not shortened, that he cannot save, nor is his ear grown dull, that he cannot hear; but your iniquities have separated you from your God, and your sins have hidden his face from you, that he doth not hear." By an immutable law of our mind, God's wrath abides on us, and we cannot believe in his love. Here is the source of our alienation. Now, merely to be told that God is merciful does not wholly help the matter. True, we say, He is merciful, but not to us; we have sinned too long and deeply. Something must be done, then, to convince us that God is ready to forgive and receive us freely. The death of Christ is the fact which produces this conviction. The death of Christ, therefore, is not merely an emblem of God's love, but an act of God's love. It draws us to him. It changes our hearts. It melts our doubt, our distrust. It reveals to us our Father's love. The blood of Christ makes those who were afar off nigh. This all experience teaches as a matter of fact. It is the cross of Christ, borne by the simple missionary, preached by the devout Moravian, which, amid the ice of Greenland or beneath the burning sun of the tropic, reconciles the sinner to God.

And if one asks how the death of Christ does this, we will briefly indicate what we believe to be the way in which it operates. We look at Christ, and see the brightness of God's glory and express image of his person. We see a holiness pure and perfect, a character infinitely beautiful and lovely. We see how dear and near such a one must have been to God; and we hear God say, "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased;" and we hear him say of God, "My Father has not left me alone; for I do always the things which please him."

And now we look at the world, and see it "lying in wickedness;" we see men trampling on God's law, polluting his image, cruelly oppressing each other, and boldly defying and mocking at the Almighty. What does he then? For the sake of these miserable, weak, and wretched sinners, who seem scarcely worth the saving, he sends his holy child among them; he sends this pure being to have his heart rent with the sight and knowledge of human sin; he sends him to be cruelly and shamefully killed by a death of agony, in order that we, sinful and miserable, may be reconciled. We say, in the view of all this, "He who spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us, how shall he not with him freely give us all things?" We say, "God commended his love towards us, in that, while we were sinners, Christ died for us." "Herein is love; not that we loved God, but that he loved us." Christ, "being lifted up, draws all men unto him." Thus, in the midst of the gloom of that horrible scene on Calvary, when the power of darkness was at its height,—that crisis of the world, when human sin stood at the flood,—the heavens were opened, and a new ray of divine love poured into the world.



7. Result.

Let us sum up, then, the doctrine of justification by faith, as we have now explained it.

1. JUSTIFICATION is not the doing away with all the consequences of sin, but only the consequence which consists in present alienation from God. It is objectively, as a divine act, what forgiveness is subjectively, as a human experience. It relates to present acceptance with God; it is not the cancelling of the results of our past sins on the character, nor is it the hope of future salvation. It relates to the present.

The following passages show that justification is equivalent to reconciliation or forgiveness. Rom. 5:8-10: "But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Much more then, being now justified by his blood, we shall be saved from wrath through him. For if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, being reconciled, we shall be saved by his life." Rom. 4:6-8: "David also describeth the blessedness of the man unto whom God imputeth righteousness without works; saying, Blessed are they whose iniquities are forgiven, and whose sins are covered. Blessed is the man to whom the Lord will not impute sin."

2. FAITH is not mere intellectual belief or opinion; nor is it mere feeling, nor a mystical emotion in which we are wholly passive; but a sentiment, in which belief, feeling, and determination are blended together. The belief is that Christ is the Son of God; the feeling is trust and joy in the love of God seen in him; and the determination is to rely on him as a Mediator and Saviour.

That faith is not a mere intellectual belief, but involves also a feeling of trust, appears from such passages as these: "If thou believe in thy heart;" "An evil heart of unbelief."

That faith is not a mere emotion, in which we are wholly passive, appears from such cases as those where men are exhorted to believe, as a thing in their own power.

3. WORKS, in this doctrine, include every effort to reconcile God by offering him anything in expiation of our sin, whether sacrifices, sacraments, the assent to creeds, the struggle after feelings and experiences, or reformation of character.

And the whole doctrine of justification by faith may be thus expressed:—

If you are burdened with a sense of unworthiness and guilt; if something seems to separate your heart from God; if you want confidence to come to him boldly in prayer,—do not try to remove this difficulty by any effort to do something different, or become something different; but simply look at Jesus in his sufferings and death, and see your heavenly Father calling you to him now to be forgiven. Go at once to God through Christ. Repose on that love that will cleanse you, that will save you; and nevermore doubt, even in your darkest hour, that your Father is ready to hear, to forgive, and bless you.



8. Its History in the Church.

We have seen the origin, nature, and value of this doctrine. Let us now look at its history.

The apostolic Church was founded on the simple doctrine of faith in Christ. It was not founded on any theory or speculation about Christ, or about his plan of salvation, but on Christ himself as the Saviour. All that the first Christians professed was faith in Jesus as the Son of God. They had been reconciled to God by him; they were at peace with God; they were washed in the blood of the Lamb; and they were happy. A deep and wonderful joy brooded over the early church. A hurricane of persecution and war raged around them: within the Church, all was security and peace. How beautiful are the expressions by which the apostles describe the serenity and joy of the Church! "They ate their meat in gladness and singleness of heart, praising God, and having favor with all the people." New converts "gladly received the word, and were baptized" by thousands, in the face of the bitterest persecution. "The multitude of them that believed were of one heart and one soul; neither said any of them, that aught of the things that he possessed was his own." Whence came all this peace and union in the early Church? Was it because they had attained to such clear views of truth, and all held the same opinions? So far from it, some had not heard that there was a Holy Ghost; others did not believe in a resurrection of the dead; and many thought the whole Jewish ritual essential to salvation. Was it that they had become suddenly pure in heart, and holy in life, and freed from sin? So far from it, we find the apostles exhorting them against very great vices,—against murder, theft, and licentiousness,—and condemning them for having practised gross immoralities. It came from the simplicity of their faith. They looked to Jesus, and their faces were lightened. They saw the love of God in him; they felt it in their hearts; they reposed on it undoubtingly. In quietness and confidence was their strength. O, happy days! in which men's minds had not yet been harassed by thousands of vain controversies and empty verbal disputes; by questions, and strifes of words; by most profound theological discussions, ending in nothing but weariness; but were satisfied, that, if men would go to Christ, they would find truth. O, happy time! in which men had not learned to dissect their own hearts, and pry curiously into their feelings, and torture themselves by anxious efforts to feel right, and tormenting doubts as to whether their inward experiences were as they ought to be, but believed that all good feelings would come in their own time out of Christian faith. O, happy, golden hour! when love, and joy, and duty were all one; when men did not prescribe for themselves and others a task-work, an outward routine of duties; but had confidence, that, if they lived in the Spirit, they would also walk in the Spirit.

That hour of simple, child-like faith passed away. Its decay appeared in a return to the old mode of justification. Instead of simply relying on what God had done, men must do something themselves to atone for their sins; they must do penance, and have priests, and sacraments, and masses, and countless ceremonies to come between them and God; they must pile up a cumbrous fabric of religious and moral works, by which to climb up to God; until, at last, though the doctrine of justification by faith was never given up, it was made of none effect by the rubbish of human ceremonies heaped before it. And then came Luther, armed with the old doctrine, to sweep these all away, and call men back to the simple faith in the Saviour. The pure word of faith went forth through all lands, conquering and to conquer.

But there is a continual tendency to fall back again from faith upon works. Ever as the life of religion weakens, ever as the strength of holy confidence decays, men betake themselves to some outward forms or efforts. When they cease to lean on the love of God, they begin to lean on sacraments and ceremonies, on opinions and doctrines, on feelings and experiences, on morality and works of duty. Ever, as the cold winter of worldliness and sin causes the stream of holy faith to shrink back into its channel, the ice of forms accumulates along its shores; and then, as the inevitable consequence and sign of the decay of faith, we find the Church becoming anxious and troubled, confidence giving way to anxiety, cheerfulness to gloom, hope to fear. Everything terrifies the unbelieving Church; new opinions terrify it; new measures terrify it. It has ashes instead of beauty, mourning for joy, the spirit of heaviness instead of the garment of praise.



9. Orthodox Errors, at the present Time, in Regard to Justification by Faith.

We have said that there is a constant tendency to fall back from faith to works of some kind or other. The important question comes, How is it with us now? Does this tendency show itself in our present churches? And the answer we am compelled to make is, that it does, certainly to some extent, and in all the churches. Orthodox churches have fallen away, more or less, from the doctrine of justification by faith. They have fallen back from the central point of Christianity, faith in Jesus, in different directions, and seek to be justified by a law,—some upon a law of belief, and others on a law of emotion.

Do not understand us as saying that any of the churches have denied, or that they do not constantly teach, the doctrine of justification by faith. This is not the point. The Romish Church never denied, nor ceased to teach, this doctrine; but she virtually abolished it, and made it of none effect by teaching other things also. Is not this, to some degree, the case now?

Are there not many Orthodox Christians, at the present time, who seek to make their peace with God, not by relying on Jesus himself, but on some theory with respect to his nature or person; not on his death, but on some speculation about his death,—some theory, scheme, or plan? Is it not the idea of many, that they are to be brought to God, not by faith in Jesus and his death, but by assenting to the correct doctrine about it? and accordingly they anxiously labor, and make it a WORK, to believe in the true theory, in order that they may be brought to God. We do not say that correct opinions on these points are unimportant; but we say that the faith in Christ which justifies us does not come from believing right opinions, but that right opinions come from the justifying faith. Are religious teachers now willing to do as Paul did, and say simply, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ"? or do they not rather find it necessary to say, "Believe this, that, and the other thing, about Jesus Christ"?

And again: is it not thought by Orthodox people, that, in order to be justified and have peace with God through Jesus Christ, it is necessary that a person should experience certain feelings, beginning with a sense of guilt, a fear of punishment, and passing into a state of hope and assurance? And, accordingly, men make it a WORK, and labor, to have these feelings in the precise order and manner, and, until they can experience these feelings, believe that they can have no access to God. As before, we do not mean that these feelings are unimportant, but only that we should not try to work ourselves up into certain feelings in order to be just before God. It is faith in Jesus which is the source, not the result, of piety as well as of holiness. It is faith in God's love to us which enables us to love him. The sense of pardon produces both the feeling of gratitude and of unworthiness. God does not forgive us because we have had the right feelings, but that we may have them. Those love much to whom much is forgiven; but to whom little is forgiven, the same love little.

Were we ever struck with the remarkable contrast between the conversions to God in the apostolic time and those which we hear of now? How much more simple they were! A man is riding in a chariot, reading his Bible, and trying in vain to comprehend it. An apostle comes, and explains to him the prophecy, and applies it to Jesus. Presently they come to water, and he says, "See, here is water;" he is baptized, and goes on his way rejoicing. We fear there are not many churches now who would receive that Ethiopian as a member, if he could give no further account of his religious experience than is recorded in the book of Acts.

But is it not, we say again, remarkable, that not only in this case, but in all the cases of conversion recorded and described in the Acts, there should be nothing of the descriptions which we read every week in our religious newspapers? In the case of the three thousand baptized on the day of Pentecost, we only read that they were cut to the heart; said, "What shall we do?" were told to repent and be baptized; joyfully received the word, and were baptized. Even the remarkable conversion of Paul was nothing like what we now have. How is this—that now we are not willing to trust to a simple act of faith in Jesus Christ, and in turning to God; but we have a scale and rule of religious experience—a work which all must go through in order to be justified?

And what is the result of thus substituting for justification by faith, justification by belief in opinions, and by processes of feeling? Look at the churches where this has been carried farthest, and see the result. Religion becomes gloomy, anxious, and austere; it ceases to breathe cheerfulness and joy around; the gentler graces die before it; fear treads fast in the footsteps of hope; a stiff formality introduces cant in the place of what is natural and artless; the heart is stretched on a rack of self-torturing doubts and anxieties. The biographies and private journals of many eminent saints show us how little happiness they had in their religion,—how they were tortured by spiritual doubts, perplexities, and anxieties. The reason is, that they rely on their own feelings, instead of relying on Christ.

And with the reliance placed on theory and opinion vanishes the union of the Church. There are five sects in this country, all holding to the Assembly's Catechism—a large and minute compendium of opinions,—and yet which often do not allow each other to commune at the Lord's table. The New School Presbyterians might permit the others to commune with them, but are themselves excluded. The Old School Presbyterians would commune with all but the New, but are not permitted. Nay, the Associate Reformed, the Covenanters, and the Seceders carry it so far as to discipline and excommunicate their members for what is called occasional hearing; i.e., attending worship at other churches than their own. There was in the State of Indiana an Old School preacher, and president of a college, who refused to allow a Unitarian to give a literary address which the students had asked him to give, and which he had gone to deliver, and, in defending himself for this, called him a "public propagator of infidelity;" and within a mile or two of his college there was a society of Seceders, or Covenanters, holding, like himself, the Assembly's Confession, who would excommunicate any of their members who should go to hear him preach.

There is, then, a tendency among the Orthodox to rely on their own opinion and their own feelings, rather than on Jesus Christ.



10. Errors of Liberal Christians.

Liberal Christians have fallen into error of a different sort. They seek to be justified, not by opinion nor by feeling, but by action; by works of righteousness, honesty, charity; by the faithful performance of social duties; by an active obedience to the law of God. Looking at the Scriptures, and seeing in how many places we are plainly taught that we are to work out our own salvation; to be rewarded and punished according to our active goodness; to be judged by our works,—they say that a man is forgiven when he has corrected his fault, and not before; that repentance and reformation are the only means of atonement with God; that, if we wish to be forgiven, we must reform our conduct and change our character. Accordingly, they lay great stress on DUTY, and are continually exhorting men to the performance of their duties in order to be forgiven.

But there is a mistake here also, which arises from confounding two very different things; namely, justification and final salvation. We have seen that the consequences of sin are twofold—external and internal. The inward consequence of sin is separation from God; the external is the weakening and debasing of the soul. The first consequence is removed by faith; the second, by obedience. Every act of sin pollutes, darkens, and ruins the soul; every act of obedience strengthens, elevates, and saves it. Obedience, persevered in to the end, insures the salvation of the soul. But, in order that we may obey, we must first be justified; for what is to give us the strength and the heart to obey, except the pardoning love of God? It is this sense of reconciliation,—it is this spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, "Abba, Father,"—which gives us the power to obey. We do not obey God to be forgiven; but we are forgiven that we may obey. Have we read the Gospels, and have we forgotten all the instances in which Jesus said, "Thy sins are forgiven thee," before there had been any change of conduct, or reform of character? and have we forgotten the memorable passage in which he explains to the captious Pharisee why he does this (Luke 7:36-50),—on the principle that the one to whom the most is forgiven will love the most?

To point out to men their duties, and tell them to do them, does not enable them to do them; but the sight of God's love in Jesus Christ does create in them new strength. That true follower of Jesus, the first of our Ministers at Large, Dr. Tuckerman, did not say to the poor victim of sin, that when he reformed his conduct, he would be his friend. No: like his Master, he showed himself his friend while he was yet a sinner, and so gave him hope and courage to break away from his sin. He has left on record one of the most touching instances of the power of love to melt down the impenitent heart, in the case of a convict whom he persisted in visiting, though he was perfectly hardened, and filled with bitterness and rage. He persisted in patient attempts to soften his heart, till he succeeded, by the irresistible power of love, in making him humble as a little child. Suppose he had sent him word, that if he repented, and showed the proper spirit, he would come and visit him. He had not so learned God or Christ. He knew that he must overcome evil with good. Exactly so does God overcome our evil with good.

To tell men to do their duties that they may be forgiven, is to tell them to do what they have no power to do. A confident reliance on God's love, and steadfast communion with him, are the only source of real improvement. When we feel these, we are one with God; when we can go to him confidently, as children to a father; when we can betake ourselves to his love in every emergency of life,—we have a source of real strength, and growth, and improvement within us. But, without this feeling of peace with God, the effort to do our duties only harasses and irritates our conscience: it produces weariness of heart, a constant feeling of unworthiness and failure, a constant sense of obligations and responsibilities which we do not and cannot fulfil. Duty is a weary task, a heavy burden; and our life is crushed down by constant anxiety and care. But if we begin right, and come to God first, and lean on his love, and rely on his promise, then we are filled with hope and joyful assurance, and failure does not dismay us, for we say, "God's truth is pledged for our success; and if, while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, being reconciled, we shall be saved by his life."

It may be objected that it is dangerous to religion to admit that we can be justified before we have believed certain important doctrines or experienced certain peculiar feelings. It may also be objected, on the other hand, that it is dangerous to morality to suppose that pardon can precede reformation. But the more we read the Scriptures, the more we look into our own heart, and the more we become acquainted with our fellow-men, the deeper is our conviction, that there is but one source of true piety and sound morality—a heart reconciled to God, and at peace with him. We do not undervalue correct belief, deep feeling, or active obedience; but we place them where they belong. They are the fruit of the tree, not the root of the tree. The root and source and beginning of all piety and holiness is simple faith in God through Christ. We must ask ourselves, therefore, first of all, "Are we reconciled to God, or are we not? Are we living in filial communion with him, or living without him in the world?" If unreconciled, we must not think to work ourselves up into a degree of goodness or pious feeling without God. There is no strength where there is no confidence, where there is nothing to lean on, where there is hollowness within. We ought to come at once to God. We ought to lift our hearts to him, not saying, "Who shall go up to heaven for us, to bring him to us? Who shall go over the sea for us?" For his word is very nigh, in our mouth and heart.

The above discussion will show what we consider to be the truths, and what the errors, in the Orthodox view of justification by faith.



CHAPTER X. ORTHODOX IDEA OF THE ATONEMENT.



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.