To maintain my certification as an official theoblogger, sometimes it’s necessary to post something about a bona fide theological issue. And since I had to do some research on theories of atonement anyways (for something completely unrelated to blogging), I thought I’d share some of my reading, in particular, the book pictured at right:
Recovering the Scandal of the Cross: Atonement in New Testament & Contemporary Contexts, by Joel B. Green & Mark D. Baker (InterVarsity Press, 2000)
I suppose atonement begins with confession, so here’s mine: the idea of atonement has always been a puzzle to me. If a stranger walked up to me and said, “So you’re a Christian? Tell me all about this atonement business.” I’d probably look at him cross–eyed (in a manner of speaking) and mumble something about how it’s supposed to be important. But if my questioner pressed me for a straight answer, I’d break down and admit that I haven’t got a clue what it means.
Green & Baker go some distance to remedy that gap in my religious education. Their writing is clear and sometimes entertaining (an amazing feat for academic writers). They begin by laying out categories of atonement theories and, without being simplistic, give histories, accounts of major proponents, sources, and their own critical assessments. In the second half of the book they shift to what might best be described as case–studies with particular emphasis on mission and the problem of how to translate a Eurocentric concept to other cultures in ways that are both meaningful and relevant.
Notwithstanding their helpful volume, I find myself still in a state of puzzlement. Is it just that I’m thick? Or is it that no amount of finesse can rescue atonement from the sin of obscurantism? Nevertheless, having a good guide like this lends clarity to the challenge of addressing some of the most problematic strands of thinking in 21st century Christianity.
Atonement is the theory that answers a simple question: why did Christ have to die? To explain the meaning of Christ’s death, contemporary North American thinking tends to reduce everything to a simple, relatively unnuanced proposition—Christ died as the price paid to save us from our sinful nature. This is the penal substitutionary theory of atonement. Such an interpretation is understandable in today’s North America given our highly developed criminal justice system with its focus on personal guilt and punishment. But Green & Baker are quick to point out some fundamental defects with this proposition. 1) This version of atonement can only be Biblically supported by stretching certain passages and by ignoring a wide array of others that suggest alternatives. 2) It raises a huge ethical problem because it demands nothing of us on our own account. 3) It produces images—like god as divine child–abuser—that have been used to justify the perpetration of great evil. 4) It arises from a highly individualistic account of human responsibility and seems blind to the possibility of justice as a communal value.
The first serious commentary on the death of Jesus and the meaning of the cross comes from Paul. Curiously, Paul had no scruples about cobbling together whatever images and metaphors were close at hand to explain the significance of death on a cross. So we have reconciliation, vicarious substitution, representation or interchange, sacrifice, justification, forgiveness, and new creation. All these can be gleaned from two representative texts: 2 Cor 5:14–6:2 and Gal 3:10–14. One of the lessons we learn from Paul is that these are, after all, only metaphors, and so none of them, taken alone, can bear the full weight of the meaning we find on the cross. Given the later attention which Green & Baker give to mission, Paul is a good starting point, since much of his own work was aimed at carrying meaning across cultural boundaries. It is after Paul that a narrowing of interpretations begins.
Green & Baker present four models of atonement as broad categories to consider theories which followed Paul.
1) The first was the Christus Victor model which viewed the world as embroiled in grand conflict between god and the forces of evil. It was through Jesus’ death and resurrection that god prevailed against sin, the devil, and evil whatever its form. In the second century, Irenaeus was perhaps the earliest theologian even to consider the significance of Christ’s death, and his version of the Christus Victor account treats Jesus as the second Adam, returning all of us to the garden and a state free of the taint that Adam brought upon us. Two centuries later, Gregory of Nyssa adapted the Christus Victor model to changing circumstances, perhaps influenced by events on the margins of the Roman empire. As with Irenaeus, Gregory of Nyssa viewed Christ on the cross as a sign of victory over evil, but rather than framing it in terms of recapitulation to an earlier time, he saw victory as the fruit of ransom.
2) The second model—satisfaction—was articulated by Anselm of Canterbury in the 11th century. Green & Baker describe it as follows: Anselm “gives singular importance to a substitutionary motif in which Christ’s sacrificial death offers satisfaction to God for the debt owed to God by sinful humanity.” On its face, this looks like the penal substitutionary atonement model which is so prevalent in the United States today. However, its meaning differs in subtle ways when we consider Anselm’s context—medieval England. His theory of atonement was conditioned by (and spoke to) a feudal social organization in which great value was placed upon honour and satisfaction. So, for example, punishment was not contingent upon responsibility only, but also upon the degree of one’s position within the social hierarchy. The authors also take pains to argue that it does Anselm a disservice to finger him as the source of the idea that atonement is a form of divine child–abuse.
3) The third model comes from Peter Abelard. Writing almost at the same time as Anselm, he offers a “moral influence” account of atonement: “The example of Jesus’ life arouses within us a greater love of God, and we become more righteous. For Abelard, the cross was not so much about removing an objective barrier between God and humans but rather a demonstration to humanity of God’s matchless love.” Green & Baker take exception to the individualistic nature of this account. It requires that people be moved in order for saving love to be effective.
4) Finally, Green & Baker present the penal substitution model. Anybody can learn the content of this model by turning on a television set on a Sunday morning. As a proponent of this model, the authors rely on Charles Hodge, who taught for 50 years at Princeton Seminary during the 19th century. While Hodge did not create the penal substitutionary model, he did give it a systematic articulation. The authors offer an important critique: “Unfortunately, then, in calling people to imitate Christ the model too easily has been misused to glorify suffering and encourage passive tolerance of abuse.”
This latter model incidentally underscores a common misconception which today’s liberal believer is apt to assume regarding the nature of god—namely that the god of ancient Israel was an angry, vengeful god who periodically threw temper tantrums and visited wrath upon his people. In fact, the god of the old testament is typically portrayed as slow to anger and highly temperate. To the extent that god is cast within the penal substitution model, it is the god of the new testament who is capricious and vengeful. Perhaps we need to reevaluate our statements about Christian compassion which are so often accompanied by glib comparisons to Judaism.
Green & Baker view these models not so much as competing accounts of atonement as successive attempts to engage in contextual theology. Various theologians have tried to communicate the meaning of the cross within their own cultures in terms which are both meaningful and capable of transforming the culture to which they speak. So they conclude this section of their book with a loosely stated purpose for what follows: “Like the New Testament writers, we seek to shape people and social systems; hence, to root our explanations of the atonement in the society around us uncritically means that our models will not critically engage society. The cross will lose its scandalous character.”
Before Green & Baker consider how they might translate the meaning of the cross to 21st century North American culture, they observe how contemporaries have done this in other contexts. Most striking is their account of the work which C. Norman Kraus has done in Japan. Because, even today, Japanese culture remains firmly rooted in notions of shame, the guilt–based penal substitution model has little traction in Japan, yet most missionaries have assumed that their understanding of the cross is universally portable. Kraus has found that other tellings of the story are more effective, particularly those which play upon the concept of saving face. Ironically, there are ways in which the new testament is more accessible to the Japanese than to Americans. The same may be said for Anselm’s satisfaction model which also arises from within a shame–based culture. And so, in Japan, “the cross provides liberation from shame through revealing God’s love, through vicarious identification, through exposing false shame and through removing alienation.”
After chapters offering a feminist and a (second) non–Western approach to atonement, Green & Baker present a final chapter which is the crux of the book—how do we communicate the significance of the atonement in today’s world? And it is here that I find myself in murky waters, for much of their work is predicated upon a view of mission which I do not share. This book operates on the assumption that, regardless of the metaphors we use and regardless of the arcane explanations we give, these are like looking through a glass darkly; when we peel them all away, there will still be an essential meaning that can be gleaned from Christ’s death. All we have to do is recast that essential meaning in terms which are accessible to a given culture. It is here that the real challenge lies: how do you communicate the essential meaning of the cross to a culture which no longer believes in the possibility of essential meaning? In the end, I am left believing that the cross is so culture–bound that no measure of translation will save it.