that Jesus owed everything to God, justly limits the sense of those passages which ascribe to the Saviour a lofty distinction. This is according to the usage of all writings. Suppose that when the biographer had said of Bonaparte, that "his footstep shook the Continent, or of Mr. Pitt, that he "struck a blow in Europe, that resounded through the world," or the poet, of Milton,

"He passed the flaming bounds of space and time,
The living throne, the sapphire-blaze;"

suppose, I say, that he immediately added, and in every such instance added, that he did not mean to be taken literally-that he did not mean that the personage in question was a demi-god; would anything be more unnatural and unnecessary? Were any writings ever composed upon this plan?

What then is the conclusion at which we arrive? The very objection which we are considering, in fact, gives up the whole argument. For it is admitted by this objection, that if the qualification had been constantly introduced-that is to say, if every time that any lofty distinction had been ascribed to Jesus, it had been expressly said that "God gave him this"-that "God had set him there"-it is admitted, I say, that by this constantly repeated qualification, the whole Trinitarian argument would have been completely overthrown. Is it possible then, for the Trinitarian expositor, interpreting the Bible on the same principle that he does other books, to maintain his argument? If he does so, I fearlessly assert, that he gives up the principle. The moment he feels the Trinitarian ground strong beneath him, that moment he abjures the principle in his exposition that moment he begins to say, "It is profane to interpret the Scriptures, as we do other books--the Scripture biography, as we do other biographies.

The fact is, and I must assert it, that the Trinitarian, with all his assumptions of exclusive reverence for the Bible, does not adhere to the Bible as his opponent does. If he would vindicate his claim, I should be glad to see a little more regard for Scripture usage in his doxologies and ascriptions. From all pulpits, at the close of almost every prayer, may be heard, on any Sunday, formulas of expression like these-nowhere to be found in the Bible—“ And to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be all honour and glory:"-" To the holy and ever blessed Trinity; one God, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, be equal and undivided honours and praises.

And yet those who pass upon us such unscriptural theories, as we think them, and are constantly swaying the public mind, by using such confessedly unscriptural language, are, at the same time, perpetually charging us with rejecting the Bible and relying on our presumptuous reasonings, and with leaning, and more than leaning, to infidelity.

I repeat, in close, that the question between us is a question of interpretation. It is a question of "what saith the Scripture?" It amounts to nothing in view of this question, to tell me, that for many centuries the church has, in the body of it, believed this or that doctrine. The church, by the confession of us all, has believed many errors, for many centuries. It is worse yet, contemptuously or haughtily to say, that it is unlikely, any great or new truth in religion is now to be found out. Such a principle would stop the progress of the age. Such a principle

would have crushed the Reformation. Neither is our doctrine new, nor is it unhonoured, so far as human testimony can confer honour. It was the doctrine, as we firmly believe, of the primitive church. It has been held by many good men ever since. And when you come upon English ground-when you retrace the bright lineage of our English worthies, to whom do all eyes turn as the brightest in that line? Whose names have become household words, in all the dwellings of a reading and intelligent community? I answer, the names of Newton, and Locke, and Milton; and yet Newton, who not only read the stars-and Locke, who not only penetrated with patient study the secrets of the mind—and Milton, who not only soared into the heaven of poetry, and "passed the sapphire blaze, and saw the living throne"-all of whom read their Bibles too, and wrote largely upon the Scriptures-all these, after laborious investigation, concurred in rejecting the doctrine of the Trinity. What these men believed, is not to be accounted of mushroom growth. They were men not of parts and genius only, but men of solid and transcendent acquisitions and ever-during fame. I would not name them in the spirit of vain and foolish boasting. But I do say-and I would urge this consideration particularly-I do say, that the extraordinary circumstance, that these three men have been as distinguished for their study of the Bible, as they have been otherwise distinguished among the great and learned men of England-that this circumstance should lead every man to pause, before he rejects a doctrine which they believed. Much more does it become men of inferior parts and little learning, to abstain from pouring out contempt and anathemas upon a doctrine which Newton, and Locke, and Milton believed.

It is to little purpose, indeed, to lift up warnings and denunciations, and to awaken prejudice and hostility against the great doctrine on which Unitarianism is built-the simple Unity of God; and the entire inferiority, yet glorious distinction, of Jesus, as his Son and Messenger. This doctrine professes to stand securely on the foundation of Scripture. Argument, therefore, not passion, must supply the only effectual weapons against it. If this doctrine be wrong, may God speedily show it! If it be right, he will defend the right. Concerning all improper opposition, we might say to its opponents, in the words of Gamaliel, “Let it alone; for if this counsel, or this work, be of men, it will come to nought: but if it be of God, ye cannot overthrow it; lest haply ye be found, even to fight against God."

CURSORY OBSERVATIONS.

NO. III. ON THE ATONEMENT.

[I insert here, instead of the original article in the series, a Sermon on the Import and Intent of the Sufferings of Christ.]

1 COR. ii. 2: "For I determined not to know anything among you, save Jesus Christ and him crucified."

THE pre-eminence thus assigned to one subject of Christian teachingthe sufferings of Jesus-must command for it our serious attention. It is true that Paul did not mean to say, that he would not speak of anything but the passion of Christ; for he did speak of many other things. But it is quite clear that he did give to this subject, in the Christian system, an importance, pre-eminent-predominating over all others. Why did he so? Why is the death of Jesus the highest subject in Christianity? Why is the cross the chiefest emblem of Christianity? Why has something like Paul's determination always been realized in the Christian church-to know nothing else? Why has it been celebrated, as nothing else has been celebrated? Why has an holy rite been especially ordained to show forth the death of Christ through all time? The brief answer to these questions is, that the substance, the subject-matter of Christianity, is the character of Christ, as the Saviour of men; and that the grandest revelation of his character and purpose was made on the cross. Of this revelation I am now to speak.

In entering upon this subject, I feel one serious difficulty. It has taken such hold of the superstition of mankind, that it is difficult to present it in its true, simple, natural, and affecting aspects. For this reason I shall not attempt to engage your minds in the ordinary course of a doctrinal discussion. I cannot discuss this solemn theme in a merely metaphysical manner. I cannot contemplate a death, and least of all, the death of the Saviour, only as a doctrine. It is to me, I must confess, altogether another kind of influence. It is to me, if it is anything, power and grandeur; it is something that rivets my eye and heart; it is a theme of admiration and spiritual sympathy; it leads me to meditation, not to metaphysics; it is as a majestic example, a moving testimony, a dread sacrifice, that I must contemplate it. I see in it a death-blow to sin; I hear the pleading of the crucified One for truth and salvation, beneath the darkened heavens and amidst the shuddering earth!

I mean to say, that all this is spiritual and practical. It amazes me, that this great event, which is filling all lands and all ages, yea, and is to fill eternity with its presence, should be resolved altogether-all gathered and stamped into a formula of faith. It is every way asto

nishing to me, that such a speculative use should have been made of it; that suffering should have been seized upon as a subject for metaphysical analysis; that the agony of the Son of God should have been wrested into a thesis for the theologian; that a death should have been made a dogma; that blood should have been taken to write a creed; that Calvary should have been made the arena of controversy; that the cross, whereon Jesus, with holy candour and meekness, prayed for his enemies, saying, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do!" -that the cross should have been made a rack of moral torture for his friends, whereon, in all the valleys and upon all the hills of Christendom, they have been crucified by unkindness and exclusion-is there another such contradiction-is there another such phenomenon to be found, in all the strange history of the world? There have been martyrdoms recorded in the world's great story; but when before were martyrdoms wrought into sharp and reproachful metaphysics? There have been fields drenched with righteous blood; there have been lowly and lonely valleys, like those of Piedmont and Switzerland, where the sighs and groans of the crushed and bleeding have risen and echoed among the dark crags that surrounded them; but who ever thought of building up these dread testimonies of human suffering and fortitude into systems of doctrinal speculation?

Let me not be misunderstood. In the train of the world's history, as I follow it, I meet at length with a being, marked and singled out from all others. I read, in the Gospel, the wonderful account of the most wonderful personage that ever appeared on earth. Nothing, in the great procession of ages, ever bore any comparison with the majestic story that now engages my attention. I draw near and listen to this being, and he speaks as never man spake. By some strange power, which I never so felt before, he seems as no other master ever did,—he seems to speak to me. I follow him, as the course of his life leads me on. I become deeply interested, more than as for a friend, in everything he says, and does, and suffers. I feel the natural amazement at the resistance and hatred he meets with. I feel a rising glow in my cheek, at the indignities that are heaped upon him. I say with myself, "surely God will interpose for him!" I hear him speak obscurely of a death by violence; but, like the disciples, I cannot receive it. I look, rather, that some horses and chariots of fire, shall come and bear him up to heaven. But the scene darkens around him; more and more frequently fall from his lips the sad monitions of coming sorrow; he prepares a feast of friendship with his disciples, but he tells them that it is the last; he retires thence to the shades of Gethsemane; and lo! through those silent shades comes the armed band; he is taken with wicked hands; he is borne to the Judgment-Hall; he is invested with bloody crown of thorns, and made to bear his cross amidst a jeering and insulting multitude; he is stretched upon that accursed tree; he expires in agony. Oh! where are now the hopes that he would do some great thing for the world! He seemed as one, who would save the world, and lo! he is crucified and slain! He seemed to hold in his bosom the great regenerative principle; he knew what was in man and what man wanted; he appeared as the hope of the world; and where now is that hope? Buried, intombed, quenched in the dark and silent sepulchre. All is over-all, to my worldly view, is ended. I wander away from

the scene in hopeless despair. I fall in company, as the narrative leads me on, with two of the scattered disciples going to Emmaus. And as we talk of these things, one joins us in our walk, and asks us what are these sad communings of ours. And we say, "Art thou only a stranger in Jerusalem, and hast not known the things which are come to pass there in these days? And he says, what things? And we answer, concerning Jesus of Nazareth. Then expounds he to us the Scriptures; and says, ought not Christ to have suffered these things and to enter into his glory?" In fine, he reveals himself unto us, and then vanishes away. And we say, "Did not our hearts burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the Scriptures?" In short, it is at this point, that a new view enters my mind of the sufferings of Jesus. The worldly views all pass away-the worldly views of death and defeat, of ignominy and ruin; and I see that through death it was that Jesus conquered. I see that his dying, even more than his living, is a ministration of power, and light, and salvation to the world. I see that that ignominy is glory; that those wounds are fountains of healing; that the cross, hitherto branded as the accursed tree, fit only for the execution of the vilest culprits, has become the emblem of everlasting honour.

Now, therefore, the death of Jesus becomes to me the one great revelation. I determine to know nothing else-nothing in comparison with it; nothing is of equal interest. All the glory of Christ's example, all the graciousness of his purposes, shines most brightly on the cross. It is the consummation of all, the finishing of all. The epitaph of Jesus, is the epitome of Christianity. The death of Jesus is the life of the world.

In saying this, I wish to utter no theological dogma, which shall be respectfully received as a mere dogma. I simply express what is, upon my own mind, the natural impression. I stand by the cross of Jesus for no intervening ages can weaken the power of that manifestationand what is its language to me? I will suppose myself to stand alone by that cross; I will suppose that I have never heard of any theological systems; I stand in the simplicity of the elder time, before any systems were invented. And what now is the first feeling that enters my mind, as I gaze upon that Sufferer?

I think I shall state the natural impression, taking into account all that I have known of Jesus, when I say that the first feeling is, that I am a sinner. It is ever the tendency of human guilt, on witnessing any great catastrophe, to exclaim, "I am a sinner." But this is not a catastrophe without an explanation. Let us see if my feeling is not right. I have heard all that Jesus has said of the supreme evil that sin is. I have seen how that one conviction rested upon his mind, and breathed out in all his teachings, that nothing beside is comparatively an evil. I have seen that it was on this very account, that he came on a mission of pity from the Father of mercies. I have heard all that he has said-my heart has been probed by his words, and I involuntarily exclaim, as I see him suspended on the cross, "Ah! sinful being that I am that such an one should suffer for me. It is I that deserved to suffer; but God hath made him the propitiation for my sins. Could nothing else set forth before me the curse of sin? Could no other hand bear the burden of my redemption? Truly, I have sinned against the