I am trained primarily as a philosopher, not (primarily) as a theologian or even a biblical scholar. Despite my limitations, I’d like to offer some brief, informal reflections on Christ and Christ’s Atonement.
I used to wonder about the scope of the atonement. Christ died, but for whom? I now wonder about the mechanism of the atonement. How does the atonement save? This is an extraordinarily complex question, and I do not expect to resolve it, at least not in a way I find completely satisfactory. But I have hope that some progress can and has been made.
I confess that I am unsure how to interpret various passages allegedly related to how the atonement works to save. I believe that this skepticism justifies me in constructing a largely philosophical atonement. (After all, if the biblical evidence is currently mysterious to me, but non-biblical evidence is not, why should I not use that latter evidence to construct a theory of the atonement? I find this acceptable.)
But a strictly philosophical atonement – that is, a theory of the atonement constructed purely on non-biblical grounds – seems unfitting for an Easter homily. I would like to say much more about what I think the biblical authors envision for the atonement, but the most I can claim for these reflections is that they make a great deal of sense to me; that is, when I read these passages, I take them to mean such-and-such. But I am unprepared to offer exegetical defenses of my readings. I am not equipped to do that, and (as I just confessed) I am already quite skeptical that I can make plausible heads or tails of the biblical data.
This places me in the somewhat unfortunate situation of saying, essentially, ‘Well, I do not claim that this can be defended exegetically in extreme detail, only that things seem to me as being such-and-such upon initial reflection.’ I make no claim, then, that my reflections on the biblical data are such that you should regard them as plausible or binding; I haven’t the evidence to do that. Instead, I make the (much) more modest claim that this is how the biblical data often looks to me, and I welcome you to adopt whatever seems right to you about my reading. If nothing about my reading seems right to you – indeed, if it seems quite wrong to you – recall my confession of skepticism, and recall in particular that I have not said that you should accept what I say about the biblical reading.
When contemplating the atonement, we would do well to remember several things: (1) the Jewish sacrificial rituals and their parallelisms to the death of Christ; (2) the model or models of divine forgiveness in the scriptures, as well as the divine character and nature; (3) the nature of sin and its effects; and (4) how a successful redemption is portrayed in the scriptures. This is far from exhaustive, but it represents what I take to be a plausible set of theological guidelines for atonement theorizing.
We see in the Jewish sacrificial ritual a rite of moral disassociation. I have sinned, but I want to be made clean. I therefore associate with an animal of some kind (though not always: flour and fruits were sometimes used) in such a way that I pass onto it the consequences of my sin (spiritual and perhaps even physical death), and God accepts this and allows me to avoid those consequences for the present.
Did Christ do this for us? I suspect in some form he did, and that it looks something like this: By freely becoming incarnate and living among us and eventually being tortured and murdered, Christ truly felt the consequences of life apart from perfect, Trinitarian harmony. (Life apart in this sense at least: being among those who were in a state of wicked rebellion.) By associating with the God-man through faith and obedience, we are made righteous and justified in the sight of God. But 'being in' Christ does much more for us than prior sacrificial rites did. Not only do we avoid the consequences of life apart from God, but in fact we are raised to a new life, made new creatures, and we participate fully in the divine life.
Theologians sometimes talk of the ‘transfer of righteousness,’ or the ‘imputation of Christ’s righteousness.’ Understood as an instantaneous sort of thing, this makes little sense. (Do I already possess Christ’s righteousness? If so, then why do I sin as I do? Is it merely a declaration of my present righteousness? Whence my sin? Whence the need to live rightly? Whence God’s more substantive standard of righteousness, namely, actually being righteous?) But understood as a Spirit-guided, grace-infused transformation of our character, this transfer makes a great deal more sense. It is the working of divine grace in our hearts, without which there is nothing good whatsoever.
The Gospel of Luke (15:11-31) tells the story of the Prodigal Son, who leaves home and squanders his inheritance. He returns home and admits (rightly!) that he does not deserve to be regarded any longer as his father’s son. But his father – and this is crucial as a model of divine forgiveness, as I suspect was intended by Jesus, because a number of atonement theories seem to betray the lesson here – accepted him with open arms. There was no punishment; there was no animal sacrificed for sin (only for celebration: if it were a sin offering, it wouldn’t have been consumed). There was only forgiveness and love, and an overlooking of past offenses in light of sincere repentance. The older son complains that he and his brother have received unequal treatment. The older son has always obeyed and received not even a goat; but the younger son has disobeyed terribly and has received the fattened calf!
We do well to see the point: repentance equals things out; it restores, and equal treatment is again morally appropriate. I think this justifies at least a modest skeptical attitude toward the complaint that punishment is necessary for complete restoration. The parable makes no mention of it, and even seems to oppose it, both by marked omission (quite an omission in a Jewish culture obsessed with sacrifice) and a denial of the elder brother’s complaint of unfair treatment. (Shouldn’t he receive more? Or shouldn’t his disobedient brother receive some punishment? Let’s treat all like they deserve!)
What is sin? Speaking broadly, it is a disruption to the prescribed divine-creature relationship. The law is meant to guide us to God, to show us what God requires of us. Missing the mark is missing perfect communion with God. (It is also failing to commune properly with others, but we may safely ignore this for now.) Sin means separation; it is why we are on one side of the Temple veil, and God on the other. Correcting this is what salvation is about, and likewise for the means to salvation. (Is it any puzzle that we call it the ‘at-one-ment’?) Salvation is, for us, about obedience, and obedience (in large part) so that we unite with God once more, being partakers in the divine nature.
Whatever we say of the atonement must explain this. It is at best an incomplete atonement that fails to explain how we really are restored in a substantively transformative sense. The sum of our atonement theory must go beyond the law: it is not enough that we are declared righteous; we must be made righteous. For without being made righteous, we are not fully reconciled; we are still evil, still unclean, still missing that wonderful and perfect communion with God.
What did Christ do for us? He showed us the way to God, and did so in a way that did not downplay our own sufferings. (I say our suffering would be objectionably downplayed if only Christ’s sufferings were sufficient to recompense God.) He lived his life in perfect obedience, and by associating with him through faith and obedience we are brought into the Kingdom. Was this something we could do on our own? In one sense the answer is ‘yes,’ but in another sense (a highly important sense) the answer is ‘no.’ It is true, I think, that we could restore ourselves to God in such a way that fits us for eternal communion with Them, but it is false that we could do this without divine grace. Christ did not need to suffer and die to repay God, but instead suffered and died to live rightly throughout tribulation, loving even his enemies to the end – even to an end on the cross.
It is beautiful that Christ’s life inspires us, and that God’s grace (through Christ’s example, among other things) fits many of us for that Love which formed us, which let us go our own way, and which plucked us from sin and darkness into light. We are saved by God, for God, and in God. For this reason, it is right to celebrate Good Friday and the atonement, but wrong to celebrate the injustices done to innocent Christ. Christ’s life was love, and so was his enemy-forgiving death (‘Father, forgive them’).
Christopher Hitchens, before his death, scolded then-Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams for his plea to love our enemies. Hitchens informed Williams that Williams is welcome to love his enemies, but that he (Hitchens) would not. It’s too dangerous. (Perhaps this is why the way is narrow.) Let us be grateful for Jesus, whose love found its way into the heart of even the Roman executioner at the cross.
May we forgive others as Christ forgave us, loving, forgiving, reconciling. Even to the end. Even to a cross.
"The purpose and cause of the incarnation was that He might illuminate the world by His wisdom and excite it to the love of Himself"
--Peter Abelard