There was, however, in the application of the law, one most important and vital mistake, in relation to what constituted human guilt. The moral law was generally applied as the civil law, not to the acts of the spirit, but to the acts of the body. It was applied to the external conduct of men, not to the internal life. If there was conformity to the letter of the law in external manners, there was a fulfilment, in the eyes of the Jew and the Gentile, of the highest claims that God or man held upon the spirit. No matter how dark or damning were the exercises of the soul, if it only kept its sin in its own habitation, and did not develop it in action, the penalty of the law was not laid to its charge. The character of the spirit itself might be criminal, and all its exercises of thought and feeling sensual and selfish, yet if it added hypocrisy to its guilt, and maintained an outward conformity to the law—a conformity itself produced by selfishness—man judged himself, and others adjudged him, guiltless. Man could not, therefore, understand his own guilt, as a spiritual being, nor feel his condemned and lost condition, until the requirements of the holy law were applied to the exercises of his soul.

Now, Jesus applied the Divine law directly to the soul, and laid its obligation upon the movements of the will and the desires. He taught that all wrong thoughts and feelings were acts of transgression against God, and as such would be visited with the penalty of the Divine law. Thus he made the law spiritual, and its penalty spiritual, and appealing to the authority of the supreme God, he laid its claims upon the naked soul. He entered the secret recesses of the spirit’s tabernacle; he flashed the light of the Divine law upon the awful secrets known only to the soul itself; and with the voice of a God, he spoke to the ‘I’ of the mind: ‘Thou shalt not will, nor desire, nor feel wickedly.’

When he had thus shown that all the wrong exercises of the soul were sin against God, and that the soul was in a guilty condition, under the condemnation of the Divine law, he then directs the attention to the spiritual consequences of this guilt. These he declared to be exclusion from the kingdom and presence of God, and penalty which involved either endless spiritual suffering, or destruction of the soul itself. The punishment which he declared to be impending over the unbelieving and impenitent spirit, he portrayed by using all those figures which would lead men to apprehend the most fearful and unmitigated spiritual misery.

Before the impenitent and unpardoned sinner there was the destruction of the soul and body in hell—consignment to a state of darkness, where the worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched—cursed and banished from God into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels—agonising in flame, and refused a drop of water to mitigate the agony. Now, these figures, to the minds both of Jews and Gentiles, must have conveyed a most appalling impression of the misery that was impending over the soul, unless it was relieved from sin, and the consequent curse of the law. Jesus knew that the Jews, especially, would understand these figures as implying fearful future punishment: he therefore designed to do, what was undoubtedly accomplished in the mind of everyone that believed his instruction, which was, to produce a conviction of sin in the soul, by applying to it the requirements of the spiritual law of God, and by showing that the penalty consequent upon sin was fearful and everlasting destruction. We say, then, what everyone who has followed these thoughts must perceive to be true, that the instruction of Jesus would necessarily produce, in the mind of everyone that believed, a conviction that he was a guilty and condemned creature, and that an awful doom awaited his soul, unless he received pardon and spiritual deliverance.

Thus, then, by the instruction of Jesus Christ, showing the spirituality and holiness of the Divine law, and applying it, with its infinite sanctions, to the exercise of the soul, that condition of mind was produced which alone could prepare man to love a spiritual deliverer; and there is no other way in which the soul could have been prepared, in accordance with truth and the constitution of its own nature, to appreciate the spiritual mercies of God, and love him as a spiritual Saviour.

The law and the truth being exhibited by Christ in the manner adapted to produce the condition of soul pre-requisite to the exercise of affection for spiritual deliverance—now, as God was the author of the law, and as he is the only proper object both of supreme love and obedience; and, as man could not be happy in obeying the law without loving its author, it follows, that the thing now necessary, in order that man’s affections might be fixed upon the proper object of love and obedience, was, that the supreme God should, by self-denying kindness, manifest spiritual mercy to those who felt their spiritual wants, and thus draw to himself the love and worship of mankind. If any other being should supply the need, that being would receive the love; it was therefore necessary that God himself should do it, in order that the affection of believers might centre upon the proper object.

But, notice, that in order to the accomplishment of this end, without violating the moral constitution of the universe, it would be essentially necessary that the holiness of God’s law should be maintained. This would be necessary, because the law is, in itself, the will of the Godhead, and God himself must be unholy before his will can be so. And whatever God may overlook in those who know not their duty, yet, when he reveals his perfect law, that law cannot, from the nature of its Author, allow the commission of a single sin. But, besides, if its holiness were not maintained, man is so constituted that he could never become holy. Every change to a better course in man’s life must be preceded by a conviction of error; man cannot repent and turn from sin till he is convicted of sin in himself. Now, if the holiness of the law, as a standard of duty, was maintained, man might thus be enlightened and convicted of sin, until he had seen and felt the last sin in his soul; and if the law allowed one sin, there would be no way of convicting man of that sin, or of converting him from it; he would, therefore, remain, in some degree, a sinner for ever. But, finally and conclusively, if the holiness of the law was not maintained, that sense of guilt and danger could not be produced which is necessary in order that man may love a spiritual Saviour. Jesus produced that condition by applying to the soul the authority, the claims, and the sanctions of the holy law. It is impossible, therefore, in the nature of things, for a sinful being to appreciate God’s mercy, unless he first feel his justice as manifested in the holy law. Love in the soul is produced by the joint influence of the justice and mercy of God. The integrity of the eternal law, therefore, must be for ever maintained.[34]

How, then, could God manifest that mercy to sinners by which love to himself and to his law would be produced, while his infinite holiness and justice would be maintained?

We answer, in no way possible, but by some expedient by which his justice and mercy would both be exalted. If, in the wisdom of the Godhead, such a way could be devised, by which God himself could save the soul from the consequences of its guilt—by which he himself could in some way suffer and make self-denials for its good; and, by his own interposition, open a way for the soul to recover from its lost and condemned condition, then the result would follow inevitably, that every one of the human family who had been led to see and feel his guilty condition before God, and who believed in God thus manifesting himself to rescue his soul from spiritual death—everyone, thus believing, would, from the necessities of his nature, be led to love God his Saviour; and mark, the greater the self-denial and the suffering on the part of the Saviour, in ransoming the soul, the stronger would be the affection felt for him.

This is the central and vital doctrine of the plan of salvation. We will now, by throwing light and accumulating strength upon this doctrine from different points, illustrate and establish it beyond the possibility of rational doubt.

1. The testimony of Jesus that it was necessary man should feel the want, in order to exercise the love.

Jesus uniformly speaks of it as being necessary that, previously to accepting him as a Saviour, the soul should feel the need of salvation. He does not even invite the thoughtless sinner, or the Godless worldling, who has no sense of the evil or the guilt of sin, to come to him. Said Jesus, ‘I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.’ ‘They that are whole need not a physician, but they that are sick.’ ‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ ‘If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.’ ‘Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness for they shall be filled.’ Thus, the points which have been shown to be necessary, from the constitution of things, in order to the soul’s loving God, are presented in the same light by Jesus himself; and upon the principle which they involve, he acted during his ministry.

2. The testimony of the Scriptures that God did thus manifest himself as suffering and making self-denials for the spiritual good of men.

‘God was in Christ,’ says the apostle, ‘reconciling the world to himself;’ that is, God was in Christ doing those things that would restore to himself the obedience and affection of everyone that believed. Christ represents himself as a ransom for the soul, as laying down his life for sinners. He is represented as descending from a state of the highest felicity; taking upon him the nature of man, and humbling himself even to the death of the cross, a death of the most excruciating torture; and thus bearing the sins of men in his own body on the tree, that through his death God ‘might be just, and the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus.’

It was thus, by a self-denial surpassing description, by a life of labour for human good, accomplished by constant personal sacrifices, and tending at every step towards the centre of the vortex, he went on until, finally, life closed to a crisis, by the passion in the garden, the rebuke, and the buffeting, and the cruel mockery of the Jews and the Romans: and then, bearing his cross, faint with former agony of spirit, and his flesh quivering with recent scourging, he goes to Calvary, where the agonised Sufferer for human sin cried, ‘It is finished;’ and gave up the ghost.

Such is the testimony of the Scriptures; and it may be affirmed, without hesitancy, that it would be impossible for the human soul to exercise full faith in the testimony that it was a guilty and needy creature, condemned by the holy law of a holy God; and that from this condition of spiritual guilt and danger, Jesus Christ suffered and died to accomplish its ransom—we say a human being could not exercise full faith in these truths and not love the Saviour.

3. The atonement of Christ produces the necessary effect upon the human soul, in restoring it to affectionate obedience, which neither philosophy, law, nor perceptive truth could accomplish.

The wisdom of Divine Providence was conspicuous in the fact that, previously to the introduction of Christianity, all the resources of human wisdom had been exhausted in efforts to confer upon man true knowledge and true happiness. Although most of the great names of antiquity were conspicuous rather for those properties which rendered them a terror and a scourge to mankind; and although society, among the ancients, in its best state, was little better than semi-barbarism, yet there was a class in society, during the Augustan and Periclean ages, and even at some periods before the last-named, that was cultivated in mind and manners.

From this class, individuals at times arose who were truly great—men distinguished alike for the strength, compass, and discrimination of their intellect. In all the efforts of these men, with the exception of those who applied themselves exclusively to the study of physical phenomena, the great end sought was the means or secret of human happiness. All admitted that human nature, as they found it, was in an imperfect or depraved condition, and not in the enjoyment of its chief good; and the plans they proposed by which to obtain that happiness of which they believed the soul susceptible, were as various and diverse from each other as can be imagined. No one of these plans ever accomplished, in any degree, the end desired; and no one of them was ever adapted to, or embraced by, the common people. The philosophers themselves, after wrangling for the honour of having discovered truth, and making themselves miserable in the pursuit of happiness, died; and man was left unsatisfied and unhappy, philosophy having shed only sufficient light upon his mind to disclose more fully the guilty and wretched state of his heart.

There are, perhaps, two exceptions to these remarks as applied to the great minds of antiquity: those are Socrates and his pupil Plato. These men, with a far-penetrating insight into the constitutional wants of man, contemplating the disordered and unhappy condition of human nature, and inquiring for a remedy adequate to enlighten the mind, and give the heart a satisfying good, perceived that there was not in the resources of philosophy, nor within the compass of human means, any power that could reach the source of the difficulty, and rectify the evil of human nature, which consisted in a want of benevolent affection.[35] Inferring from the nature of man what would be necessary, and trusting in the goodness of the Deity to grant the requisite aid, they expressed their belief that a Divine Teacher would come from heaven, who would restore truth and happiness to the human soul.[36]

It is strange that among philosophers of succeeding ages there has not been wisdom sufficient to discover, from the constitutional necessities of the human spirit, that demand for the instruction and aid of the Messiah which Socrates and Plato discovered, even in a comparatively dark age.

There are two insuperable difficulties which would for ever hinder the restoration of mankind to truth and happiness from being accomplished by human means. The first, which has been already alluded to, is that human instruction, as such, has no power to bind the conscience. Even if man were competent to discover all the truth necessary for a perfect rule of conduct, yet that truth would have no reformatory power, because men could never feel that truth was obligatory which proceeded from merely human sources. It is an obvious principle of our nature that the conscience will not charge guilt on the soul for disobedience, when the command proceeds from a fellow man who is not recognised as having the prerogative and the right to require submission. And besides, as men’s minds are variously constituted, and of various capacities, there could be no agreement in such a case concerning the question, ‘What is truth?’ As well might we expect two schoolboys to reform each other’s manners in school, without the aid of the teacher’s authority, as that men can reform their fellows without the sanction of that authority which will quicken and bind the conscience. The human conscience was made to recognise and enforce the authority of God; and unless there is belief in the Divine obligation of truth, conscience refuses to perform its office.

But the grand difficulty is this:—Truth, whether sanctioned by conscience or not, has no power, as has been shown, to produce love in the heart. The law may convict and guide the mind, but it has no power to soften or to change the affections. This was the precise thing necessary, and this necessary end the wisdom of the world could not accomplish. All the wisdom of all the philosophers in all ages could never cause the affections of the soul to rise to the holy, blessed God. To destroy selfish pride, and produce humility—to eradicate the evil passions, and produce in the soul desires for the universal good, and love for the universal Parent, were beyond the reach of earthly wisdom and power. The wisdom of the world in their efforts to give truth and happiness to the human soul, was foolishness with God; and the wisdom of God—Christ crucified—was foolishness with the philosophers, in relation to the same subject;[37] yet it was Divine philosophy: an adapted means, and the only adequate means, to accomplish the necessary end. Said an apostle, in speaking upon this subject: ‘The Jews require a sign, and the Greeks seek after wisdom; but we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling block, and unto the Greeks foolishness: but unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God.’ The Jews, while they required a sign, did not perceive that miracles, in themselves, were not adapted to produce affection. And the Greeks, while they sought after wisdom, did not perceive that all the wisdom of the Gentiles would never work love in the heart. But the apostle preached ‘Christ crucified,’ an exhibition of self-denial, of suffering, and of self-sacrificing love and mercy, endured in behalf of men; which, when received by faith, became ‘the power of God, and the wisdom of God,’ to produce love and obedience in the human soul. Paul understood the efficacy of the cross. He looked to Calvary and beheld Christ crucified as the sun of the Gospel system. Not as the moon, reflecting cold and borrowed rays; but as the Sun of righteousness, glowing with radiant mercy, and pouring warm beams of life and love into the open bosom of the believer.

4. Analogy between the moral and physical laws of the universe.

The laws which govern physical nature are analogous to those which the gospel introduces into the spiritual world. The earth is held to the sun by the power of attraction, and performs regularly its circuit round the central sustaining luminary: maintaining, at the same time, its equal relations with its sister planets. But the moral system upon the earth is a chaos of derangement. The attraction of affection which holds the soul to God has been broken, and the soul of man, actuated by selfishness—revolving upon its own centre only—jars in its course with its fellow spirits, and crosses their orbits; and the whole system of the spiritual world upon earth revolves in disorder, the orbs wandering and rolling away from that centre of moral life and power which alone could hold them in harmonious and happy motion. Into the midst of this chaos of disordered spirits, God, the Sun of the spiritual world, came down. He shed light upon the moral darkness, and by coming near, like the approaches of a mighty magnet, the attraction of his mercy, as manifested in Christ crucified, became so powerful, that many spirits, rolling away into darkness and destruction, felt the efficacy, and were drawn back, and caused to move again, in their regular orbits, around the ‘Light,’ and ‘Life,’ and ‘Love’ of the spiritual system.

If free agency could be predicated of the bodies of the solar system, the great law which governs their movements might be imposed on them—of attraction to the Sun, and mutual attraction among themselves. Similar is the great law of the spiritual world: ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy soul, and thy neighbour as thyself.’ Now, if a planet had broken away from its orbit, it would have a tendency to fly off for ever, and it never could be restored, unless the sun, the great centre of attraction, could, in some way, follow it in its wanderings, and thus by the increased power of his attraction, as he approached nearer to the fallen planet, attach it to himself, and then draw it back again to its original orbit. So with the human spirit; its affections were alienated from God, the centre of spiritual attraction, and they could never have been restored, unless God had approached, and by the increased power of his mercy, as manifested in the self-denial, sufferings, and death of Christ, united man again to himself, by the power of affection, that he might thus draw him up from his misery and sin, to revolve around him, in harmony and love, for ever.

If this earth had, by some means, broken away from the sun, there would be no way possible of recovering it again to its place in the system but that which has been mentioned—that the sun should leave his central position, and approach the wandering orb, and thus, by the increased power of his attraction, draw back the earth to its original position. But the sun could not thus leave the centre of the system without drawing all the other planets from their orbits by the movement to recover the lost one. The relations of the system would be broken up, and the whole solar economy sacrificed, if the universal and equal law of gravitation were infringed by the sun changing his position and his relations in the system.

Further, the established laws of the physical universe would render it impossible that any other planet should be the instrument of recovering the earth to the sun. If another planet should approach the earth while thus wandering, the increased power of attraction would cause the two globes to revolve round each other; or if the approaching planet was of greater magnitude, the earth would revolve as a satellite round it. But this would not be to restore the earth to its place in the system, nor to its movement round the sun, but to fix it in a wrong position and a wrong movement, and thus alienate it for ever from the central source of light and heat. It follows, therefore, that in accordance with the established laws of the solar system, the earth could never be recovered, but would fly off for ever, or be broken into asteroids.

There would, therefore, be no way possible for the recovery of the earth, unless God should adopt an expedient unknown to the physical laws of the universe. This, all who believe that God is almighty, and himself the Author of those laws, will allow that he might do. That expedient must not destroy the great laws of the system, upon which the safety of all its parts depends, but an augmented force of attraction must be thrown upon the earth from the sun itself, which would be sufficient to check the force of its departing momentum, and gradually draw it back to its place. If a portion of the magnetic power of the sun could be thrown into the earth, an adhesion would take place between it and the earth, and then, after the cord was fastened, if that body of attractive matter could ascend again to the body of the sun, the earth would receive the returning impulse, and a new and peculiar influence would be created to draw it back to its allegiance to the sun. If, as has been said, the power came from any other body but the sun itself, or attracted towards any other body, the earth would lose its place in the system for ever.[38]

So in the moral world: God’s relations to the moral universe must be sustained. The infinite justice and holiness of the Divine law must not be compromised. The end to be gained is, to draw man, as a revolted sinner, back to God, while the integrity of God’s moral government is maintained. Now affection is the attraction of the moral universe. And, in accordance with the foregoing deduction, to reclaim alienated man to God would be impossible, unless there should be a manifestation of the Godhead in the world to attract to himself man’s estranged affections; and then, after the affinity was fastened by faith, by his ascending again to the bosom of the Deity, mankind would thus be gradually drawn back to allegiance to Jehovah.

5. Illustrations from nature and the Scriptures.

The plan of salvation is likened to a vine which has fallen down from the boughs of an oak. It lies prone upon the ground; it crawls in the dust, and all its tendrils and claspers, which were formed to hold it in the lofty place from which it has fallen, are twined around the weed and the bramble, and having no strength to raise itself, it lies fruitless and corrupting, tied down to the base things of the earth. Now, how shall the vine arise from its fallen condition? But one way is possible for the vine to rise again to the place from whence it had fallen. The bough of the lofty oak must be let down, or some communication must be formed connected with the top of the oak, and at the same time with the earth. Then, when the bough of the oak was let down to the place where the vine lay, its tender claspers might fasten upon it, and, thus supported, it might raise itself up, and bloom and bear fruit again in the lofty place from whence it fell. So with man—his affections had fallen from God, and were fastened to the base things of the earth. Jesus Christ came down, and by his humanity stood upon the earth, and by his Divinity raised his hands and united himself with the Deity of the everlasting Father: thus the fallen affections of man may fasten upon him, and twine around him, until they again ascend to the bosom of the Godhead, from whence they fell.

It was thus that prophets, evangelists, apostles, and the Son of God himself, presented the Divine scheme of human redemption. Christ is the ‘Branch’ by which the vine may recover itself from its prone and base condition: he is the ‘Arm of the Lord’ by which he reaches down and rescues sinful men from the ruins of the fall: ‘through whom,’ says Peter, ‘ye believe in God’ [that is, believe in God manifested through Christ], ‘that raised him up from the dead, and gave him glory, that your faith and hope might be in God.’ Says Paul, ‘Your life is hid with Christ in God.’ Jesus himself proclaimed that the believer should have within him ‘a well of water, springing up into everlasting life’—that is, he that believeth in Christ crucified, the hard heart within him will be struck by the rod of faith, and in his soul there will be a well of pure and living affection springing up to God for ever. And again: ‘Jesus cried and said, He that believeth on me, believeth not on me, but on him that sent me, and he that seeth me seeth him that sent me’—that is, Christ was God acting, developing the Divine attributes through human nature, so that men might apprehend and realise them. God might have been as merciful as he is if Christ had never died; but man could never have known the extent, nor felt the power, of his mercy, but by the exhibition on the cross. His mercy could have been manifested to man’s heart in no other way. And men cannot love God for what he truly is, unless they love him as manifested in the suffering and death of Christ Jesus. ‘I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life: no man cometh unto the Father but by me.’ ‘If ye had known me, ye would have known my Father also; and from henceforth ye know him, and have seen him.’

6. The preceding views established by reductio ad absurdum.

It is necessary that man should know the character of the true God, and feel the influence of that character upon his mind and heart. But human nature, as at present constituted, could not be made to feel the goodness of God’s mercy unless God—blessed be his name!—should make self-denials for man’s benefit; either by assuming human nature, or in some other way. And is it not true that God could make self-denials for men in no other way than would be plain to their apprehension, except by embodying his Godhead in human nature? Mercy can be manifested to man, so as to make an impression upon his heart, in no other way than by labour and self-denial. This principle is obvious. Suppose an individual is confined, under condemnation of the law, and the governor, in the exercise of his powers, pardons him: this act of clemency would produce upon the heart of the criminal no particular effect, either to make him grateful, or to make him better. He might, perhaps, be sensible of a complacent feeling for the release granted; but so long as he knew that his release cost the governor nothing but an act of his will, there would be no basis in the prisoner’s mind for gratitude and love. The liberated man would feel more gratitude to one of his friends, who had laboured to get petitions before the governor for his release, than to the governor who released him. To vary the illustration: Suppose that two persons, who are liable to be destroyed in the flames of a burning dwelling, are rescued by two separate individuals. The one is enabled to escape by an individual who, perceiving his danger, steps up to the door and opens it, without any effort or self-denial on his part. The other is rescued in a different manner. An individual, perceiving his danger and liability to death, ascends to him, and by a severe effort, and while he is himself suffering from the flames, holds open the door until the inmate escapes for his life. Now, the one who opened the door without self-denial may have been merciful, and the individual relieved would recognise the act as a kindness done to one in peril; but no one would feel that that act proved that the man who delivered the other manifested any special mercy, because any man would have done the same act. But the one who ascended the ladder and rescued, by peril, and by personal suffering, the individual liable to death, would manifest special mercy, and all who observed it would acknowledge the claim; and the individual rescued would feel the mercy of the act, melting his heart into gratitude to his deliverer unless his heart were a moral petrifaction.

What are, in reality, the facts by which alone men may know that any being possesses a benevolent nature? Not, certainly, by that being conferring benefits upon others, which cost him neither personal labour nor self-denial; because we could not tell but these favours would cease the moment they involved the least degree of sacrifice, or the moment they interfered with his selfish interests. But when it requires a sacrifice, on the part of a benefactor, to bestow a favour, and that sacrifice is made, then benevolence of heart is made evidently manifest. Now mark—any being who is prompted, by benevolence of heart, to make sacrifices, may not lose happiness, in the aggregate, by so doing; for a benevolent nature finds happiness in performing benevolent acts. Self-denials are, therefore, not only the appropriate method of manifesting benevolence to men, but they are likewise the appropriate manifestations of a benevolent nature. Now, suppose God is perfectly benevolent; then, it follows in view of the foregoing deductions, in order to manifest his true nature to men, self-denials would be necessary, in order that men might see and feel that ‘God is love.’ It is clear, therefore, that those who reject the Divinity of Christ, as connected with the atonement, cannot believe in God’s benevolence; because God is really as benevolent as the self-denials of Christ (believed in as Divine) will lead men to feel that he is: nor can they believe in the mercy of God in any way that will produce an effect upon their hearts. To say that the human heart can be deeply affected by mercy that is not manifested by self-denial, is to show but little knowledge of the springs which move the inner life of the human soul. Man will feel a degree of love and gratitude for a benefactor who manifests an interest in his wants, and labours to supply them; but he will feel a greater degree of grateful love for the benefactor who manifests an interest in his wants, and makes self-denials to aid him. To deny, therefore, the Divine and meritorious character of the atonement, is to shut out both the evidence and the effect of God’s mercy from the soul.

In accordance with this view is the teaching of the Scriptures. There is but one thing which is charged against men, in the New Testament, as a fundamental and soul-destroying heresy, and that is, not denying the Lord, but ‘denying the Lord that bought them.’ It is rejecting the purchase of Christ by his self-denying atonement which causes the destruction of the soul, because it rejects the truth which alone can produce love to the God of love.

But further: the facts have been fully proved, that God Jehovah, by taking a personal interest in the well-being of the Israelites, and labouring to secure their redemption, secured their affections to himself; and that his acts of mercy produced this effect was manifested by their song after their final deliverance at the Red Sea. ‘I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously: the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea. The Lord is my strength and song, and he is become my salvation.’ In like manner, Jesus Christ secured to himself, in a greater degree, the affections of Christians, by his self-denying life and death, to ransom them from spiritual bondage and misery. The Israelites in Egypt were under a temporal law so severe, that while they suffered in the greatest degree, they could not fulfil its requirements: they therefore loved Jehovah for temporal deliverance. The believer was under a spiritual law, the requirements of which he could not fulfil, and therefore he loved Christ for spiritual deliverance. This fact, that the supreme affection of believers was thus fixed upon Christ, and fixed upon him in view of his self-sacrificing love for them, is manifest throughout the whole New Testament—even more manifest than that the Jews loved Jehovah for temporal deliverance. ‘The love of Christ constraineth us,’ says one: thus manifesting that his very life was actuated by affection for Jesus. Says another—speaking of early Christians generally—‘Whom [Christ] having not seen, ye love; in whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory.’ The Bible requires religious men to perform religious duties, moved by love to Christ: ‘And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not unto men; knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.’ Mark—these Christians were moved in what they did, what they said, and what they felt, by love to Christ: love to Jesus actuated their whole being, body and soul. It governed them.

Now, suppose that Jesus Christ was not God, nor a true manifestation of the Godhead in human nature, but a man, or angel, authorised by God to accomplish the redemption of the human race from sin and misery. In doing this, it appears, from the nature of things, and from the Scriptures, that he did what was adapted to, and what does, draw the heart of every true believer—as in the case of the apostle and the early Christians—to himself, as the supreme or governing object of affection. Their will is governed by the will of Christ; and love to him moves their heart and hands. Now, if it be true that Jesus Christ is not God, then he has devised and executed a plan by which the supreme affections of the human heart are drawn to himself, and alienated from God, the proper object of love and worship: and, God having authorised this plan, he has devised means to make man love Christ, the creature, more than the Creator, who is God over all, blessed for evermore.

But it is said that, Christ having taught and suffered by the will and authority of God, we are under obligation to love God for what Christ has done for us. It is answered, that this is impossible. We cannot love one being for what another does or suffers on our behalf. We can love no being for labours and self-denials in our behalf, but that being who voluntarily labours and denies himself. It is the kindness and mercy exhibited in the self-denial that moves the affections; and the affections can move to no being but the one that makes the self-denials, because it is the self-denials that draw out the love of the heart.

It is still said, that Christ was sent by God to do his will and not his own; and therefore we ought to love God, as the Being to whom gratitude and love are due for what Christ said and suffered. Then it is answered: If God willed that Christ, as a creature of his, should come, and by his sufferings and death redeem sinners, we ought not to love Christ for it, because he did it as a creature, in obedience to the commands of God, and was not self-moved nor meritorious in the work; and we cannot love God for it, for the labour and self-denial were not borne by him. And further: If one being, by an act of his authority, should cause another innocent being to suffer, in order that he might be loved who had imposed the suffering, but not borne it, it would render him unworthy of love. If God had caused Jesus Christ, being his creature, to suffer, that he might be loved himself for Christ’s sufferings, while he had no connection with them, instead of such an exhibition, on the part of God, producing love to him, it would produce pity for Christ, and aversion towards God. So that, neither God, nor Christ, nor any other being, can be loved for mercy extended, by self-denials to the needy, unless those self-denials were produced by a voluntary act of mercy upon the part of the being who suffers them; and no being, but the one who made the sacrifices, could be meritorious in the case. It follows, therefore, incontrovertibly, that if Christ was a creature—no matter of how exalted worth—and not God; and if God approved of his work in saving sinners, he approved of treason against his own government; because, in that case, the work of Christ was adapted to draw, and did necessarily draw, the affections of the human soul to himself, as its spiritual Saviour, and thus alienate them from God, their rightful object. And Jesus Christ himself had the design of drawing men’s affections to himself in view, by his crucifixion: says he, ‘And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.’ This he said, signifying what death he should die: thus distinctly stating that it was the self-denials and mercy exhibited in the crucifixion that would draw out the affections of the human soul, and that those affections would be drawn to himself as the suffering Saviour. But that God would sanction a scheme which would involve treason against himself, and that Christ should participate in it, is absurd and impossible, and therefore cannot be true.

But if the Divine nature was united with the human in the teaching and work of Christ—if ‘God was in Christ,’ [drawing the affections of men, or] ‘reconciling the world unto himself’—if, when Christ was lifted up, as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, he drew, as he said he would, the affections of all believers unto himself; and then, if he ascended, as the second person of the Trinity, into the bosom of the eternal Godhead—he thereby, after he had engaged, by his work on earth, the affections of the human soul, bore them up to the bosom of the Father, from whence they had fallen. Thus the ruins of the fall were rebuilt, and the affections of the human soul again restored to God, the Creator, and proper object of supreme love. Oh the length, and the breadth, and the depth, and the height, of the Divine wisdom and goodness, as manifested in the wonderful plan of salvation! ‘Great is the mystery of godliness: God was manifested in the flesh, justified in the Spirit, seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles, believed on in the world, received up into glory.’ Amen. Blessing and honour, dominion, and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever. Amen and amen.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE INFLUENCE OF FAITH IN CHRIST UPON THE MORAL DISPOSITION AND MORAL POWERS OF THE SOUL.

The solution of this inquiry is not difficult. Is Jesus Christ holy? All Christendom—sceptics and believers—answers in the affirmative. Now the love of a holy being will, as a necessary result, counteract unholiness in the heart. Holiness is the antagonistic principle of sin. The soul cannot love a holy being, and at the same time cherish those principles and exercises which it is conscious are offensive to the soul of the beloved object. From the nature of the case, love to holiness will produce opposition to sin. Love is the fulfilling of the law, and sin is the transgression of the law; so that, while the soul is entirely actuated in all its exercises by pure love to Christ, those exercises of the heart cannot be sinful.

When the heart is attached to any being, especially when that being is lovely and pure in his character, it becomes averse to everything which, from its evil nature, causes suffering to the object of its affections. There are few things which will cause one to feel so sensibly the evil of sin as to see that his sins are causing anguish to one that he loves.

It is said of Zeleucus, a king of the ancient Locri, that he enacted a law, the penalty of which was that the offender should lose both his eyes. One of his sons became a transgressor of that law. The father had his attachment to his son, and regard to the law he himself had promulgated as righteous in its requirements and in its penalty. The lawgiver, it is said, ordered his son into his presence, and required that one of his eyes should be taken out, and then, in order to show mercy to his son, and at the same time maintain the penalty of the law, he sacrificed one of his own eyes as a ransom for the remaining eye of his child. Now we do not refer to this case as a perfect analogy, but to show the moral effect of such an exhibition of justice and self-sacrificing mercy. As man is constituted, it is perfectly certain that this transaction would produce two effects; one upon the subjects of the king, which would be to impress upon every heart that the law was sacred, and that the lawgiver thus regarded it. This impression would be made much more strongly than it would have been if the king had ordered that his son should lose both his eyes; because it manifested, in the strongest manner possible, his love for his son, and his sacred regard for his law. If he had allowed his son to escape, it would have exhibited to his subjects less love for his law; and if he had executed the whole penalty of the law upon the son, instead of bearing a portion of it himself, he would have manifested less love for his son. The king was the lawgiver; he therefore had the power to pardon his son, without inflicting the penalty upon him, and without enduring any sacrifice himself. Every mind, therefore, would feel that it was a voluntary act on the part of the king; and such an exhibition of justice and mercy, maintaining the law and saving his son by his own sacrifice, would impress all minds with the deepest reverence for the character of the lawgiver, and for the sacredness of the law.

But another effect, deep and lasting in its character, would be produced upon the son who had transgressed the law. Every time that he looked upon his father, or remembered what he had suffered for his transgression, it would increase his love for him, increase his reverence for the law, and cause an abhorrence of his crime to arise in his soul. His feelings would be more kind towards his sire, more submissive to the law, and more averse to transgression.

Now this is precisely the effect necessary to be produced, in order that pardon may be extended to transgressors, and yet just and righteous government be maintained. If civil law had some expedient by which, with the offer of pardon, some influence could be exerted upon the heart of the transgressor which would entirely change his character; an influence which would make him love the law he had transgressed, hate the crime he had committed, hate himself for committing it, and implant within him the spirit of an obedient and faithful subject—if such an effect could be produced by pardon, then pardon would be safe; because there would be some means, or some moral power, connected with it, that would, at the same time that the pardon was granted, change the moral disposition of the criminal from that of a rebellious to that of a faithful and affectionate subject. This expedient the civil law can never have. Such an expedient was that of Zeleucus, the self-sacrificed lawgiver and father. Such an expedient, in some respects, in the moral government of God, is the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ. ‘He,’ says the prophet, ‘was bruised for our iniquities;’ says the apostle, ‘He bare our sins in his own body on the tree;’ says himself, ‘This is my body broken for you.’ Now two effects would follow this exhibition of the self-sacrificing love of Christ. One in the heart of the believing sinner; every time he realized by faith that the Divine Saviour suffered the rebuke, the scorn, and the cross, as a sacrifice for his sins, he would regard the Saviour with greater love; and sin, which caused the suffering of his Divine Benefactor, he would regard in himself and others with greater abhorrence. Another effect which would result would be that all the holy beings in the universe, if they had knowledge of the self-sacrifice of God the Saviour, as an atonement to maintain the law and redeem sinners, would be inspired with greater reverence for the eternal law, and greater aversion to sin. Thus would the faith of Christ affect the moral disposition of believers, and of all holy beings throughout the universe; drawing the believer back to holiness and obedience, and adding a new motive to confirm holy beings in happy allegiance.

The language of the apostle confirms this view: ‘What the law could not do, in that it was weak through the flesh, God, sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin, condemned sin in the flesh’—that is, the law, although it had power to show to the mind the evil and the guilt of sin, had no power to produce in the heart an aversion to it; but Christ coming in the body, and dying for sin, in that way reaches man’s moral feelings, and creates a sentiment of condemnation of, or aversion to, sin in the heart of every believer.

A feeling cannot be manifested by intellect or will. A communication of knowledge, or law, does not manifest feeling so that it produces feeling in others. The moral feelings of God were manifested by the sacrifice of Christ; and that manifestation, through the flesh, affects the moral feelings of man, assimilates them to God, and produces an aversion to sin—the abominable thing which God hates. Blessed faith! which, while it purifies the heart, works by the sweet influence of love in accomplishing the believer’s sanctification.

2. The influence of faith in Christ upon the moral sense, or conscience of believers.—To a mind endowed with the higher qualities of reason, there can be no more interesting thought than that noticed in a previous demonstration; which was, that a man’s conscience is guided by his faith. Conscience is the highest moral faculty, or rather the governing moral power of the soul; and this governing faculty is regulated and controlled by faith. Man’s conscience always follows his religious belief, and changes with it, and grows weak or strong with it. Now, as God has so constituted the world that the affections, and likewise the conscience, are affected and controlled by faith; and the purity of the one, and the integrity of the other, and the activity of both, depend upon what man believes: this being true, no mind can avoid the conviction, that the principle of FAITH, which Christ has laid at the foundation of the Christian system, is from the nature of things, the only principle through the operation of which man’s moral powers can be brought into happy, harmonious, and perfect activity. But this happy effect, as has been shown, can be produced only by faith in the truth; and besides, it is an intuition of reason, that God certainly would not make the soul so that its moral powers would be controlled by faith, and then cause that faith in falsehood should perfect and make happy those powers. Such a supposition would be a violation of reason, as well as an impiety. In searching, therefore, for the answer to the inquiry, What is truth? as it concerns the spiritual interests of man, the direct process of solution would be, to inquire what effect certain facts, or supposed facts, would have upon the moral disposition and moral powers of the soul; and that faith which quickens and rectifies those powers, as we have noticed, is necessarily truth.

We come now to the inquiry, What effect has faith in Christ—in his Divinity, in his teaching, and in his atonement for sin—upon the conscience of believers?

The answer is plain. In those who received Christ as possessing supreme authority as a Divine Teacher, their faith would so affect their conscience, that it would reprove for every neglect of conformity to the example of Jesus. The moment faith recognises Christ as a Divine instructor, that moment conscience recognises his instruction and his example as obligatory to be received and practised. To the believer, the teachings and example of Christ have not only the force of truth, recognised as such by the understanding, but they have likewise the authority of supreme law, as coming from that Divine Being who is the rightful Lawgiver of the soul. Now, then, if faith in Christ would regulate the conscience according to his example and precepts, the only inquiry which remains is, Were the example and precepts of Christ a perfect rule of duty towards God and men? This inquiry has been the subject of examination in another chapter, in which the fact was shown—which has been generally admitted by all men, believers and sceptics—that Christ’s example of piety towards God, and kindness towards men, was perfect. When this is admitted, the consecutive fact follows, whether men perceive it or not, that in the case of all who receive him as their Lord and Lawgiver, the conscience would be regulated according to a perfect standard, and guided by a perfect rule.

But further—While it is true that a knowledge of duty guides the conscience, and a knowledge of the Divine authority of the lawgiver binds it, by imposing a sense of obligation, it is likewise true that faith in Christ’s atoning sacrifice has peculiar efficacy to strengthen this sense of obligation. Two men may have an equal knowledge of duty, and yet one feel, much more than the other, a sense of obligation to perform it: whatever, therefore, increases the sense of obligation, increases the power of conscience, and thereby promotes in a greater degree active conformity of the life to the rule of duty.

The atonement of Christ increases the sense of obligation, by waking into exercise gratitude and hope in the soul of the believer. Gratitude gives the conscience a power in the soul where it exists, which could arise from no other source. Conscience reproves for the neglect of known duty; but to neglect duty, when it involves the sense of gratitude to the kindest of benefactors, is to arm the moral sense of the soul with a two-edged sword. When the lawgiver is likewise the benefactor, conscience rebukes, not only for wrongdoing, but for ingratitude. One step further—

When the being who claims our obedience is not only our benefactor, but the object of all our hopes, the power of obligation is still further increased. To disobey a being whom we ought to obey, would be wrong; to disobey that being, if he were our self-denying benefactor, would be ingratitude added to the wrong; and to disobey that being, if from him we hoped for all future good, would be to add unworthiness to wrong and ingratitude. Thus, faith in Christ Jesus combines the sense of wrong, of ingratitude, and unworthiness, in the rebuke which conscience gives to the delinquent believer; and obedience to the Redeemer’s example and precepts is enforced by the united power of duty, gratitude, and hope.

Further, and finally—Conscience recognises the fact that our obligation of gratitude is in proportion to the benefit conferred. If a benefactor has endured great sacrifices and self-denials to benefit us, the obligation of gratitude binds us the more strongly to respect the will and feelings of that individual. Conscience feels the obligation of gratitude just in proportion to the self-denials and sacrifices made in our behalf. If a friend risks his interest to the amount of a dollar, or an hour of time, to benefit us, the obligation of gratitude upon the conscience is light, but still there is a sense of obligation; but if a friend risks his life, and wades through deep afflictions, to confer benefits, the universal conscience of man would affirm the obligation, and would reprobate the conduct of the individual benefited, as base and unnatural, if he did not ever after manifest an affectionate regard for the interests and the desires of his benefactor.

Thus, by faith in Jesus Christ, the conscience is not only guided by a perfect rule, but it is likewise quickened and empowered by a perfect sense of obligation. Christ is the Divine Lawgiver; therefore it is right to obey him. He is our Benefactor; gratitude, therefore, requires obedience. But as our Benefactor he has endured the utmost self-denial and sacrifice for our sake, therefore we are under the utmost obligation of gratitude to return self-denial and sacrifice for his sake; or, in the words of an apostle, ‘He died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto Him which died for them, and rose again;’ and, added to this, our hope of all future good rests in the same Being that right and gratitude require us to obey and love. Thus does a perfect faith in Christ perfect the conscience of believers, by guiding, quickening, and by producing a perfect sense of obligation.

3. The influence of faith, in Christ upon the imagination.—There are few exercises of the mind fraught with so much evil, and yet so little regarded, as that of an evil imagination. Many individuals spend much of their time in a labour of spirit which is vain and useless, and often very hurtful to the moral character of the soul. The spirit is borne off upon the wings of an active imagination, and expatiates among ideal conceptions that are improbable, absurd, and sinful. Some people spend about as much time in day-dreams as they do in night-dreams. Imaginations of popularity, pleasure, or wealth employ the minds of worldly men, and perchance the Christian dreams of wealth, and of magnificent plans of benevolence, or of schemes less pious in their character. It is difficult to convey a distinct idea of the evil under consideration, without supposing a case like the following:

One day, while a young man was employed silently about his usual pursuits, he imagined a train of circumstances by which he supposed himself to be put in possession of great wealth; and then he imagined that he would be the master of a splendid mansion surrounded with grounds devoted to profit and amusement—he would keep horses and conveyances that would be perfect in all points, and servants that would want nothing in faithfulness or affection—he would be great in the eyes of men, and associate with the great among men, and render himself admired or honoured by his generation. Thus his soul wandered, for hours, amid the ideal creations of his own fancy.

Now, much of men’s time, when their attention might be employed by useful topics of thought, is thus spent in building ‘castles in the air.’ Some extraordinary circumstance is thought of by which they might be enriched, and then hours are wasted in foolishly imagining the manner in which they would expend their imaginary funds. Such excursions of the fancy may be said to be comparatively innocent, and they are so, compared with the more guilty exercises of a great portion of mankind. The mind of the politician and of the partisan divine is employed in forming schemes of triumph over their opponents. The minds of the votaries of fashion, of both sexes, are employed in imagining displays and triumphs at home and abroad; and those of them who are vicious at heart, not having their attention engaged by any useful occupation, pollute their souls by cherishing imaginary scenes of folly and licentiousness. And not only the worthless votaries of the world, but likewise the followers of the holy Jesus, are sometimes led captive by an unsanctified imagination. Not that they indulge in the sinful reveries which characterise the unregenerate sons and daughters of time and sense; but their thoughts wander to unprofitable topics, and wander at times when they should be fixed on those truths which have a sanctifying efficacy upon the heart. In the solemn assemblies for public worship, many of those whose bodies are bowed and their eyes closed in token of reverence for God, are yet mocking their Maker by assuming the external semblance of worshippers, while their souls are away roaming amid a labyrinth of irrelevant and sinful thought.

It is not affirmed that the exercises of the imagination are necessarily evil. Imagination is one of the noblest attributes of the human spirit; and there is something in the fact that the soul has power to create, by its own combinations, scenes of rare beauty, and of perfect happiness, unsullied by the imperfections which pertain to earthly things, that indicates not only its nobility, but perhaps its future life. When the imagination is employed in painting the beauties of nature, or in collecting the beauties of sentiment and devotion, and in grouping them together by the sweet measures of poetry, its exercises have a benign influence upon the spirit. It is like presenting ‘apples of gold in pictures of silver’ for the survey of the soul. The imagination may degrade and corrupt, or it may elevate and refine the feelings of the heart. The inquiry, then, is important. How may the exercises of the imagination be controlled and directed, so that their influence upon the soul shall not be injurious, but ennobling and purifying? Would faith in Christ turn the sympathies of the soul away from those gifted but guilty minds: