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volves "the entrance of a new principle of light and life into humanity." Very well. Let us now look a little into the matter.

The first expression, says the critic, sounds strangely in our ears. The image of Christ is created in the hearts of believers, but not the Lord himself, according to the Bible. The image of Christ, then, as formed in believers, is something quite distinct, in the mind of the critic, from the living substance of Christ himself. It bears merely an outward resemblance to him, under a wholly independent form of being; it is the picture morally of his holy mind and character, but carries in it no participation whatever in his very nature. It is related to him, not as the branch to the vine, but only as a mechanical transcript or copy to the original object it is employed to represent. Christ stands in the world solitary and alone. He has made it possible, however, for men to obtain forgiveness with God, and then to be formed by the Holy Ghost and their own endeavors into a new religious life, the type of which is set before them in his person as an outward model. This process involves a new creation; for it is wrought in part, at least, by the creative fiat of God's Spirit; but in the end, it is a new creation that belongs in an immediate and exclusive way, to each single believer for himself. It is no reproduction in him of the new creation already at hand in Christ; the Spirit calls into being within him, not the force of what is in Christ himself fontally for the salvation of the world, but the image or picture of this, simply under another form. This, we say, seems to be the meaning which underlies the criticism here in view. The opposite idea, which makes the new life in believers to hold in organic continuity with Christ's life, is set down as 'transcendentalism. To make it an abstraction, a thing of sheer thought, an abruptly miraculous image, is counted to be common sense; and the Bible, we are gravely assured, teaches no other view.

Thus it is that the school here represented, is ever ready to run away with the Bible, in a wholesale way, as though it must of necessity be all on their side, just because with their preconceived system of thought it carries to themselves such sense and no other. Multitudes, in all ages, have read the sense of the Bible differently; but that weighs nothing with this school; no judg ment is allowed to be of any force, in the case, against its own. "This is not the teaching of the Bible," cries the infallible critic; as though his dictum in such style must end the matter; and there it is made to stop. We should have been glad to see something more, in this line of argument, a true appeal to the sacred oracles themselves. The subject is certainly deserving of such attention. It goes to the very foundation of Christianity. Is it

a doctrine only or a fact? Is it a new creation in Christ, or is it a divinely wrought image of that only out of Christ? The question is worthy of something more than a magisterial wave of the hand, after the summary fashion of the criticism here in view.

The Bible as we read it, and as it has been read by millions of God's saints from the beginning, and we will add too, according to the most profoundly scientific exegesis of the present time, does teach broadly and clearly the very mystery which this critic proclaims to be transcendentalism, sounding strangely to his ears. The charge of disregarding it falls of right on himself and his widely influential school, and not on Professor Schaff. Has he never read the Gospel of St. John, in which, according to the judgment of the universal Church, the inmost and deepest sense of Christianity is revealed, and by which, accordingly, all the other Gospels are to be explained and made complete? Could it well be more explicitly affirmed, than it is here affirmed in fact, in the very beginning of this Gospel, that it is the Life of the Word which is the source of light and salvation to men, and that the Word became flesh to make room for its actual entrance into our fallen nature, as the fountain of a new creation? "Of his fullness have all we received" (John i. 16). We become sons of God, by union with him in a supernatural way. Let Christ be apprehended as the central bearer of the new creation, whose universal fullness is made to reach over in the form of grace and truth, (not law but life,) into the souls of his people, and the sublime representation of St. John is simple and clear. Resolve the Christian salvation into an outward image only of Christ, wrought either with or without God's help, and the representation is blind as chaos. The beginning of the Gospel, too, is only in harmony with the idea that fills it throughout. It is not only a text or two, here and there, that admits the sense now urged, by violent and doubtful construction. Such men as Olshausen and Tholuck, find this sense in every chapter; and it is only by the most forced and unnatural exegesis, that commentators of the Rationalistic school have been able at all to keep it out of sight. Everywhere Christ speaks of himself, or is regarded by the sacred writer, as the living fountain of the salvation he reveals. He is the resurrection and the life. To have the Son, is to have life. The sixth chapter is as strong as words can make it, in asserting the real participation of believers in the life of Christ. Except we eat his flesh, and drink his blood, we have no life; this involves eternal life, and a resurrection at the last day; it is to dwell in Christ, and have him dwell in us; to live by him, as he lives by or from the Father (John vi. 53–58.)

Is this simply to have his image formed in us, as something in no organic connection with his person? And what shall we say of his own beautiful emblem of the vine and its branches, employed John xv. 1-8, to represent this mystical union? Is the life of the vine not also the life of its branch? Is the last only like the first, a picture of it under a wholly separate form? Could any representation more forcibly show, that "the Lord is perpetu ally born anew in the hearts of believers," that his life is reproduced in their life, that their formation into his image involves an inward adunation also into the very substance of his mediatorial person? We might refer also to the startling language employed on this subject in his last prayer, John xvii. 21-23; but we forbear.

Nor is this view of the new life confined to St. John. It comes before us also in the more dialectical thinking of St. Paul. No idea is more familiar with him, than that by which Christ and his people are regarded as being joined together in the power of a common life; which, as such, of course, starts from him as its source, and is carried over to them by real organic derivation. He is the head, and they are the members, of the same mystical body. This image is ever at hand in his mind, to express their union. Can it possibly mean less than an actual participation of one side, in the living substance of the other? In this character of Christ's body, the Church is declared to be "the fullness of him that filleth all in all" (Eph. i. 23); which plainly signifies something far more than an outward merely moral relationship, however strict and close. Everywhere again, and under all varieties of expression, believers are spoken of as being in Christ. One or two instances of such language might bear, possibly, to be resolved into a strong figure of speech; although we should feel it a strange hyperbole, indeed, to speak even twice or once of the patriots of the American Revolution, as being in General Washington. But in the case before us, the instances are not one or two only; we meet them on every page; the very frequency and familiarity of their occurrence, serves to blind us us to the true and proper force of the phraseology. The foundation of the phraseology with St. Paul, and the sacred writers generally, is beyond all doubt the sense of such a union between Christ and his people, as actually inserts them spiritually into the substance of his life. They are a new creation (xαivǹ xríois, II. Cor. v. 17,) in Christ Jesus; not a new creation out of him and beyond him, by the fiat of omnipotence, bearing some resemblance to him in a wholly different sphere; but a new creation, whose original seat and fountain is Christ's own person, and which conveys over to them, accordingly, with true reproductive force, the vitality which belongs to it in this form. This does not imply that the believer can be all that Christ is; much less

that he can be thus complete in any separate view. Christ is the central person, in whom is the fullness of life for the whole world; his people are made complete only by being comprehended relatively in this fullness; as all the other points of a circle are made what they are, by real dependence on the centre of it, and not by bringing the centre, as such, over into themselves. The union here, is indeed spiritual; it is wrought by the Holy Ghost; but the realness and inwardness of it are, on this account, only the more sure. It is the spiritual being of the believer, his personality, his intelligence and will, (which in the end, however, must determine the quality of the entire man,) that are poised on Christ as a perpetual living centre. "Christ liveth in me," says Paul, "and the life which I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me" (Gal. ii. 20). "In him dwelleth all the fullness of the Godhead bodily, and ye are complete in him" Col. ii. 9, 10; your life, in other words, is made perfect, finds its true end and sense, in union with him, as the universal centre of the vast spiritual organism of Christianity. It is, in truth, Christ's image, that is formed in the souls of his people; but not a dead image; not an outward image; not such an image as is cut off in full from the object it represents, and comes before us as a quite different thing. It is "Christ in you, the hope of glory" (Col. i. 27); Christ, who is our life" (Col. iii. 4); Christ that dwells in our hearts by faith (Eph. iii. 17); Christ formed with birth travail into our persons, (άχρις οὐ μορφωθή, Χρισ Tòs è v v μìv, Gal. iv. 19); the very thought which the critic of the New York Observer pronounces transcendentalism sounding strangely to his ears. The image of Christ thus born into his people, is like that of the vine in its branches, the power of his own life continuing itself over organically into their persons. He is the beginning of the new creation, the first-born from the dead; not as the outward cause of it simply, or its outward model; but as its principle and fontal spring; the whole flows forth really from his person (Cor. i. 15-18). Thus it is, that his life repeats itself in believers; their salvation is carried forward by a mystical reproduction in them of the grand facts of his history; he is born in them, suffers in them, dies in them, rises in them from the dead, and ascends in them to the right hand of God in heaven. This bold thought, as we all know, abounds in all Paul's writings. Our baptism buries us into Christ's death; our old man is crucified with him; we are risen with him through the faith of the operation of God who hath raised him from the dead (Rom. vi. 4-6; Col. ii. 12, 13). The sufferings of believers are the sufferings of Christ; they fill up that which is behind

of these last, carry onward the sense and value of them in the world, for the sake of his body, the Church (2 Cor. i. 5; iv. 10, 11; Phil. iii. 10; Col. i. 24). In virtue of the living bond, which unites the members with the head, even that which is still future in their case, is at times spoken of as past; they are not only called and justified, but are glorified also in Christ, as potentially secure of all that is comprised in his resurrection (Rom. viii. 29, 30). They are quickened, raised up, and made to sit together with him in heavenly places (Eph. ii. 5, 6). Their citizenship is in heaven; their life hid with Christ in God, and destined by its full relation hereafter, to change even their present vile bodies into the glorious image of his own (Phil. iii. 20, 21; Col. iii. 3, 4). His spirit dwelling in them now, shall in due time quicken even their mortal bodies into immortality (Rom. viii. 11). His resurrection is the guaranty and pledge of theirs, works itself out to its last result only in their recovery from the grave (Rom. viii. 23; 1 Cor. xv. 20-23, 45-49; 1 Thess. iv. 14). But why should we go on to multiply proofs in this way, for what no unsophisticated reader of the New Testament surely will pretend to deny? What can the New Testament be said to teach at all, if it do not teach the fact of the mystical union, the true and actual formation of Christ's life into the souls of his people? Men may get rid of this teaching, if they choose, by wilfully turning the whole of it into barren metaphor and figure. But it is with a very bad grace they then turn round and say: We go by the Bible. The same system of interpretation, with less than half the same trouble, might set aside every text that is usually quoted in favor of the Trinity. The question of election, the question of the perseverance of the saints, and many other questions made to be of primary account in one orthodox system or another, are of far less clear representation in the Bible, than this view of the Christian salvation, as involving "Christ in us the hope of glory." Nor is it, by any means, of new acknowledgment in the Church, however strange and transcendental it may now sound to some "evangelical" ears. It runs through the universal theology of the old Christian Fathers. It forms the key-note to the deepest piety of the Middle Ages. It animates the faith of all the Reformers. Luther and Calvin both proclaim it, in terins that should put to shame the rationalism of later times, pretending to follow them, and yet casting the mystery to the winds.

We pass on to the second point, presented in this criticism. The incarnation, we are told, is plain enough; but the critic is at a loss to make anything out of the "new principle of light and life," which it is supposed to introduce into humanity; and

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