Part 6
name-magic, and consequently falls under the condemnation of the third commandment. We must remember that originally the habit of swearing served a far more realistic purpose than at present. If it has become conventional, and therefore, as some would pretend, innocent, this is largely because the modern man has retained such a small amount of religion as to make him feel that swearing cannot at bottom be irreligious. In ages not so very long ago the employment of supernatural names for the purpose of execration and objurgation had a quite realistic intent. The names served to call out the supernal powers for injuring the enemy or for miraculously attesting the truth of a statement. It is from such practices that all our survivals of swearing have descended. And, even where the swearer professes to attach no real significance to his formulas, yet there still clings to the most thoughtless use of them always more or less of the feeling that it does not matter much if the name of a god, perhaps no longer believed in, can be harnessed to the service of man in the most trivial of affairs. This may be the pale shadow of name-magic, but it is in principle not different from the realistic thing. The core of the sin does not exclusively lie in its believed efficacy, but in the disrespect for God that is implied. It is, as all magic is, the opposite to true religion. Hence the emphatic condemnation: 'Jehovah will not hold him guiltless that pronounces His name for vanity'.
THE FOURTH WORD
The fourth word has reference to the hallowing of the seventh day of the week. This duty is based in Exodus (but cp. Deuteronomy) not on something done to Israel in particular, but on something done in the creation of the world. This is important, because with it stands or falls the general validity of the commandment for all mankind. Traces of a previous Sabbath-observance are not found in the Pentateuch [but cp. Ex. 16:23]. It is certain that the week of seven days was known before the time of Moses [cp. Gen. 29:27]. This mode of reckoning time may have had for its forgotten background the original institution of the Sabbath.
Outside of the circle of Special Revelation two views have been taken as to its origin. By some it is associated with the role played by the planets in astral religion. Saturn, being the chief planet, would have had the last and principal day assigned to him. According to others the seven-days-week is derived from the four phases of the moon, the twenty-eight days divided by four yielding seven. On either view the development would have been a transfer of the worship due to the Creator from Him to the creature. The Assyrians observed the seventh, the fourteenth, the twenty-first, and the twenty-eighth day of the month as a day of rest. This differed, however, from the Old Testament Sabbath observance in two respects: it was dependent on the phases of the moon, and the abstention from labour was due to the supposed ominous character of the day, which rendered working on it inauspicious.
It has been claimed that in two passages of the Old Testament the Sabbath is represented as of Mosaic origin, viz., in Ezek. 20:12; Neh. 9:14. But these passages mean no more than that the institution in its specific Old Testament form dates from the time of Moses. It must be remembered that the Sabbath, though a world-aged observance, has passed through the various phases of the development of redemption, remaining the same in essence but modified as to its form, as the new state of affairs at each point might require. The Sabbath is not only the most venerable, it is likewise the most living of all the sacramental realities of our religion. It has faithfully accompanied the people of God on their march through the ages. With regret it must be admitted that the beauty and comfort of this thought seem to have impressed themselves more deeply upon the Jewish than upon the Christian consciousness.
The principle underlying the Sabbath is formulated in the Decalogue itself. It consists in this, that man must copy God in his course of life. The divine creative work completed itself in six days, whereupon the seventh followed as a day of rest for God. In connection with God, 'rest' cannot, of course, mean mere cessation from labour, far less recovery from fatigue. Such a meaning is by no means required by
the Old Testament usage of the word. 'Rest' resembles the word 'peace' in this respect, that it has in Scripture, in fact to the Shemitic mind generally, a positive rather than a negative import. It stands for consummation of a work accomplished and the joy and satisfaction attendant upon this. Such was its prototype in God. Mankind must copy this, and that not only in the sequences of daily existence as regards individuals; but in its collective capacity through a large historic movement. For mankind, too, a great task waits to be accomplished, and at its close beckons a rest of joy and satisfaction that shall copy the rest of God.
Before all other important things, therefore, the Sabbath is an expression of the eschatological principle on which the life of humanity has been constructed. There is to be to the world-process a finale, as there was an overture, and these two belong inseparably together. To give up the one means to give up the other, and to give up either means to abandon the fundamental scheme of Biblical history. Even among Jewish teachers this profound meaning of the Sabbath was not entirely unknown. One of them, being asked what the world to come would be like, answered that it would resemble the Sabbath. In the law, it is true, this thought is not developed further than is done in the primordial statement about God's resting on the seventh day and hallowing it. For the rest, the institution, after having been re-enforced in the Decalogue, is left to speak for itself, as is the case with most institutions of the law. The Epistle to the Hebrews has given us a philosophy of the Sabbath on the largest of scales, partly in dependence on Psa. 95 [Heb. 3; 4].
The Sabbath brings this principle of the eschatological structure of history to bear upon the mind of man after a symbolical and a typical fashion. It teaches its lesson through the rhythmical succession of six days of labour and one ensuing day of rest in each successive week. Man is reminded in this way that life is not an aimless existence, that a goal lies beyond. This was true before, and apart from, redemption. The eschatological is an older strand in revelation than the soteric. The so-called 'Covenant of Works' was nothing but an embodiment
of the Sabbatical principle. Had its probation been successful, then the sacramental Sabbath would have passed over into the reality it typified, and the entire subsequent course of the history of the race would have been radically different. What now is to be expected at the end of this world would have formed the beginning of the worldcourse instead.
From what has been said about the typical, sacramental meaning of the Sabbath it follows that it would be a mistake to base its observance primarily on the ground of utility. The Sabbath is not the outcome of an abnormal state of affairs in which it is impossible, apart from the appointment of a fixed day, to devote sufficient care to the religious interests of life. On such a view it might be maintained that for one sufficiently at leisure to give all his time to the cultivation of religion the keeping of the Sabbath would be no longer obligatory. Some of the Continental Reformers, out of reaction to the Romish system of holy days, reasoned after this fashion. But they reasoned wrongly. The Sabbath is not in the first place a means of advancing religion. It has its main significance apart from that, in pointing forward to the eternal issues of life and history. Even the most advanced religious spirit cannot absolve itself from taking part in that. It is a serious question whether the modern church has not too much lost sight of this by making the day wellnigh exclusively an instrument of religious propaganda, at the expense of its eternity-typifying value. Of course it goes without saying that a day devoted to the remembrance of man's eternal destiny cannot be properly observed without the positive cultivation of those religious concerns which are so intimately joined to the final issue of his lot. But, even where this is conceded, the fact remains that it is possible to crowd too much into the day that is merely subservient to religious propaganda, and to void it too much of the static, God-ward and heaven-ward directed occupation of piety.
The universal Sabbath law received a modified significance under the Covenant of Grace. The work which issues into the rest can now no longer be man's own work. It becomes the work of Christ. This the
Old Testament and the New Testament have in common. But they differ as to the perspective in which they each see the emergence of work and rest. Inasmuch as the Old Covenant was still looking forward to the performance of the Messianic work, naturally the days of labour to it come first, the day of rest falls at the end of the week. We, under the New Covenant, look back upon the accomplished work of Christ. We, therefore, first celebrate the rest in principle procured by Christ, although the Sabbath also still remains a sign looking forward to the final eschatological rest. The Old Testament people of God had to typify in their life the future developments of redemption. Consequently the precedence of labour and the consequence of rest had to find expression in their calendar. The New Testament Church has no such typical function to perform, for the types have been fulfilled. But it has a great historic event to commemorate, the performance of the work by Christ and the entrance of Him and of His people through Him upon the state of never-ending rest. We do not sufficiently realize the profound sense the early Church had of the epoch-making significance of the appearance, and especially of the resurrection of the Messiah. The latter was to them nothing less than the bringing in of a new, the second, creation. And they felt that this ought to find expression in the placing of the Sabbath with reference to the other days of the week. Believers knew themselves in a measure partakers of the Sabbath-fulfilment. If the one creation required one sequence, then the other required another. It has been strikingly observed, that our Lord died on the eve of that Jewish Sabbath, at the end of one of these typical weeks of labour by which His work and its consummation were prefigured. And Christ entered upon His rest, the rest of His new, eternal life on the first day of the week, so that the Jewish Sabbath comes to lie between, was, as it were, disposed of, buried in His grave. (Delitzsch.) If there is in the New Testament no formal enactment regarding this change, the cause lies in the superfluousness of it. Doubtless Jewish Christians began with observing both days, and only gradually the instinctive perception of the sacredness of the day of the Lord's resurrection began to make itself felt.
The question can be raised, whether in the fourth commandment there is an element that applies to the Old Testament Church only. The answer depends on the precise construction and exegesis of the words. Is the distinction between six days of labour and one day of rest merely a matter of proportion, or is it likewise a matter of sequence? The latter view seems more probable. In so far, we shall have to say that in this element of prescribed sequence there is a specifically Old Testament feature in the commandment which no longer applies to us. But the general principle on which the sequence, both under the old and the new dispensations, rests has not been changed. Precisely because it remains in force, the sequence required a change when the New Testament had arrived. Besides this, there are other prohibitions in the law, which by the very fact of their having not been incorporated in the Decalogue, are shown not to be universally applicable [Ex. 16:23; 34:21; 35:3; Num. 15:32; cp. also Amos 8:5; Jer. 17:21]. Nor must it be forgotten that the Sabbath was under the Old Testament an integral part of a cycle of feasts which is no longer in force now. The type embodied in it was deepened by the Sabbatical Year and the Year of Jubilee. On the Sabbath man and beast rest, in the Sabbatical Year the very soil rests; in the Year of Jubilee the idea of rest is exhibited in its full positive import through the restoration of all that was disturbed and lost through sin. From all this we have been released by the work of Christ, but not from the Sabbath as instituted at Creation. In this light we must interpret certain New Testament statements such as Rom. 14:5, 6; Gal. 4:10, 11; Col. 2:16, 17.
[5] The Ritual [ceremonial] Law
The Ritual Laws: This is what by another name is called the ceremonial law. It forms an integral part of the Mosaic legislation. The elements composing it were not, however, necessarily introduced de novo at the time of Moses. Much of older custom was probably incorporated. Some have thought that the ordinances here prescribed did not originally belong to the structure of the theocracy, but were imposed upon the people as a punishment after their sin
with the golden calf. This view has been held in two forms, a more innocuous and a more serious one. Several of the Church fathers, perhaps out of reaction from Judaism, embraced it. Later the Reformed theologian Cocceius adopted it. In both these instances this was not accompanied by a low or depreciating view of the content of these laws per se.
More serious was the form of the theory proposed by Spencer, stated previously in connection with the redemption from Egypt. Spencer joined, of course, to this view of the pagan provenience of the ritual practices a very sceptical attitude in regard to their typical significance. According to our previous interpretation of the structure of the theocracy it is precisely in these ritual institutions that the greater part of the gospel of Moses is enshrined. The rejection of them as not willed by God, therefore, de-evangelizes the Mosaic revelation to a large extent.
In more recent times the error in question has played a considerable role in the critical appraisal of the several parts of the Old Testament. The Wellhausen school derives many of the ritual customs from the Canaanites, and this again has for its background the extreme, wellnigh exclusive stress placed upon the ethical teaching, which is held to be alone of enduring value. The proof for this last interpretation is found in the general construction of the history of Old Testament religion by this school. By the older advocates of the view Scriptural authority was sought for its adoption. Such was discovered in the time of their introduction, namely, immediately after the idolatry with the golden calf had been committed. It is true that a chronological conjunction exists here. But there was no causal connection as the theory would have us believe. In fact the contents of this part of the law were communicated by God to Moses while he was upon the mount, and it was only after his return that he learned about what in the meanwhile had taken place. In the intent of the Lawgiver, then, the incorporation of all this in the religion of Israel could not have been an afterthought.
Sometimes Ezek. 20:25 is quoted in proof of the penal character of the observance of these things. The prophet here distinguishes between ordinances the Israelites had rejected and 'statutes that were not good, and judgments wherein they should not live'. Jehovah gave them the latter in punishment for their not keeping the former. These punitive statutes and judgments are then identified with the ritual law. This is an impossible exegesis, especially if we remember that Ezekiel was the priest-prophet, for whom it must have been impossible to treat the very things among which his occupation lay, as things purely imposed for punishment. It is another question what precisely is meant by 'the statutes that were not good and the judgments whereby they should not live'. Perhaps these words refer to the idolatrous customs which in their later history, for instance in the time of Manasseh, the people adopted. Causing their children to pass through the fire is mentioned as one of them, vs. 26. It is said, however, that Jehovah 'gave' them these evil ordinances. This is not easy to explain. Perhaps it may be understood of the providential ordering of the history by God, which led to their apostasy to such heathen cults.
SYMBOL AND TYPE
In determining the function of the ceremonial law we must take into consideration its two large aspects, the symbolical and typical, and the relation between these two. The same things were, looked at from one point of view, symbols, and, from another point of view, types. A symbol is in its religious significance something that profoundly portrays a certain fact or principle or relationship of a spiritual nature in a visible form. The things it pictures are of present existence and present application. They are in force at the time in which the symbol operates.
With the same thing, regarded as a type, it is different. A typical thing is prospective; it relates to what will become real or applicable in the future. In the New Testament the word 'type' occurs only once [Rom. 5:14] where Adam is said to have been a type of Christ. This is
the technical, theological meaning of the word, which, therefore, must have been in use before the time of Paul. The Jewish theologians doubtless had their system of typology. The word came to this technical meaning after a very natural fashion. Its primary, physical sense is that of a mark or impression made upon some soft substance by a thrust or blow (tupto, 'to strike'). This meaning occurs in John 20:25. Out of this developed the sense 'form', 'image', possibly from the fact that the impression struck on coins produced an image [Acts 7:43]. But the meaning 'image' easily passes over into that of 'model', 'example' [Acts 23:25; 2 Thess. 3:9]. To this third usage the technical use, observed in Rom. 5:14, attaches itself.
To 'type', the impression, corresponds 'antitype', the counterimpression. This also is used technically in the New Testament. Both Peter and the Epistle to the Hebrews employ it. It stands for the copy taken of the technical type. There is, however, a difference between these two writers. Peter finds the technical type in the history of the Old Testament. The water of baptism to him is the antitype of that of the deluge [1 Pet. 3:21]. The writer of Hebrews finds the type, the model, in the heavenly world. To him, therefore, the same Old Testament things that Peter would call types are already antitypes [Heb. 9:24]. The former is a more theological, the latter a more purely historical view of the relationship.
The main problem to understand is, how the same system of portrayals can have served at one and the same time in a symbolical and a typical capacity. Obviously this would have been impossible if the things portrayed had been in each case different or diverse, unrelated to each other. If something is an accurate picture of a certain reality, then it would seem disqualified by this very fact for pointing to another future reality of a quite different nature. The solution of the problem lies in this, that the things symbolized and the things typified are not different sets of things. They are in reality the same things, only different in this respect that they come first on a lower stage of development in redemption, and then again, in a later period, on a higher stage. Thus what is symbolical with regard
to the already existing edition of the fact or truth becomes typical, prophetic, of the later, final edition of that same fact or truth. From this it will be perceived that a type can never be a type independently of its being first a symbol. The gateway to the house of typology is at the farther end of the house of symbolism.
This is the fundamental rule to be observed in ascertaining what elements in the Old Testament are typical, and wherein the things corresponding to them as antitypes consist. Only after having discovered what a thing symbolizes, can we legitimately proceed to put the question what it typifies, for the latter can never be aught else than the former lifted to a higher plane. The bond that holds type and antitype together must be a bond of vital continuity in the progress of redemption. Where this is ignored, and in the place of this bond are put accidental resemblances, void of inherent spiritual significance, all sorts of absurdities will result, such as must bring the whole subject of typology into disrepute. Examples of this are: the scarlet cord of Rahab prefigures the blood of Christ; the four lepers at Samaria, the four Evangelists.
These extravagances have produced in better-trained minds a distaste for typology. In order to weed out the worst, it was proposed to deal only with such types as were recognized to be types in the New Testament. These were called typi innati, 'inborn types'. The others whose typical significance had to be discovered by research were called typi illati. Then the Rationalists went one step further, claiming that all instances of typology in the New Testament are but so many examples of Rabbinical allegorizing exegesis. This would discredit our Lord and His Apostles as fanciful exegetes. But even the distinction between typi innati and typi illati cannot be upheld. The mere fact that no writer in the New Testament refers to a certain trait as typical, affords no proof of its lacking typical significance. Types in this respect stand on a line with prophecies. The New Testament in numerous cases calls our attention to the fulfilment of certain prophecies, sometimes of such a nature that perhaps we might not have discerned them to be prophecies. And yet we are not restrained
by this from searching the field of prophecy and looking in the New Testament for other cases of fulfilment. The instances of typology vouched for by the New Testament writers have nothing peculiar to themselves. To recognize only them would lead to serious incompleteness and incoherency in the result. A system of types is something rational, the shaping of which we may expect from a God of wisdom, but the insertion here and there of a few isolated allusions would be out of harmony with the evidence of design in revelation.
We have, besides, the direct encouragement of the New Testament to heed the typical import of the Old Testament Scriptures. On the way to Emmaus, our Lord, beginning from Moses and from all the prophets, interpreted to the disciples in all the Scriptures the things concerning Himself. Since the law of Moses is included, some of these things must have been of a typical nature. He rebuked his companions, because they were slow of heart to understand and believe these prefigurations concerning His work and career. The author of Hebrews intimates that about the tabernacle there was much more of typical significance than he was able to work out [9:5]. After the same manner he speaks of Melchizedek as a typical figure whom his readers had failed to appreciate [5:11ff.]. Of course, it is inevitable that into this kind of interpretation of Old Testament figures an element of uncertainty must enter. But after all this is an element that enters into all exegesis.
Besides ritual types there are in the Old Testament historical types. With some of these we have already become acquainted from the foregoing narrative. There had been also ritual types previously. But all this had been more or less sporadic. The new thing is that now, in the time of Moses, a system of types is established, so that the whole organism of the world of redemption, as it were, finds a typical embodiment on earth. The types are shadows of a body which is Christ. If the body called Christ was an organism, then also the shadows of it, that came before, must have borne the same character. In Gal. 4:3; Col. 2:20 Paul speaks of the ritual institution as 'first
rudiments of the world'. He ascribes this rudiment-character to them because they were concerned with external, material things. In a certain sense (though not in point of formulation) Paul placed the ceremonies of the Old Testament on a line with similar customs of pagan religions. In paganism the religious rites possessed this character through their general dependence on the inclination towards symbolism. In the Mosaic institutions this natural symbolism also lay at the basis, but here there was a special divine control in the shaping of the materials. Because thus the truth found expression in physical forms, we say that it came on a lower plane. Under the New Testament this outward mode of expression has been retained in the two instances of Baptism and the Lord's Supper only, but the entire Old Testament still moves in this physical sphere. Hence, in Heb. 9:1, the tabernacle is called 'a worldly sanctuary', that is, a sanctuary belonging to this physical world. It was appropriate that after this fashion a sort of artificial substratum should be created for the truth of redemption to rest upon. The truth shuns suspension in the air. In the New Testament it has the accomplished facts to attach itself to. While these were yet in the making a provisional support was constructed for them in the ceremonial institutions.
From the foregoing it follows that the symbolic and the typical understanding of the ceremonies could not be expected to keep equal pace. Its symbolical function the law performed in virtue of its own inherent intelligible character. It was different with the types. Even though the defective provisional efficacy of the ceremonies might be to some extent perceived, it was far more difficult to tell what was intended to take their place in the future. Here the types needed the aid of prophecy for their interpretation [cp. Isa. 53]. We must not infer from our comparatively easy reading of the types that Israelites of old felt the same ease in interpreting them. It is unhistorical to carry back into the Old Testament mind our developed doctrinal consciousness of these matters. The failure to understand, however, does not detract from the objective significance these types had in the intent of God. But it is also possible to commit the opposite error,
that of perpetuating the Old Testament typical form of religion through importing it into the New Testament. This the Romish Church does on a large scale. And in doing so, instead of lifting the substance of the types to a higher plane, it simply reproduces and repeats. This is destructive of the whole typical relation.
THE TABERNACLE
The tabernacle affords a clear instance of the coexistence of the symbolical and the typical in one of the principal institutions of the Old Testament religion. It embodies the eminently religious idea of the dwelling of God with His people. This it expresses symbolically so far as the Old Testament state of religion is concerned, and typically as regards the final embodiment of salvation in the Christian state. The tabernacle is, as it were, a concentrated theocracy. That its main purpose is to realize the indwelling of Jehovah is affirmed in so many words [Ex. 25:8; 29:44, 45]. It derives its most general name from this, namely, mishkan, 'dwelling-place'. The English versions render this too specifically, in dependence on the Septuagint and the Vulgate, by 'tabernacle'. But 'tabernacle' signifies 'tent'; every tent is a mishkan, but not every mishkan a tent. For 'tent' there is another Hebrew word, 'ohel.
The dwelling of God in a house must not be, and was never, conceived, as Spencer would understand it, on the basis of the primitive idea that the Deity needs comfort and shelter. Even as regards the shrines of paganism this can hardly have been the original conception. A shrine is always and everywhere a place established or appointed for intercourse between a god and his worshippers. Had the Israelites associated with their mishkan so low an idea of the Deity, then they could hardly have failed to introduce into the mishkan some image of God, for a god thus physically conceived as needing shelter cannot have been conceived without a body. In the passages quoted it is most distinctly stated, that not a need which God has for Himself, but a need created by His relation to Israel is served by the establishment of the tabernacle. The
tabernacle does not symbolize what Jehovah is in His general Being and operations. Hence also it does not circumscribe or limit Him in any way. The sense in which it is to be understood becomes clear by having regard to the metaphorical sense which the verb 'to dwell' frequently has. It means intimate association [Gen. 30:20; Psa. 5:4; Prov. 8:12]. The dwelling with His people is to satisfy God's desire to have a mutual identification of lot between Himself and them. Thus understood, the concept helps us to feel somewhat of the inner warmth and God-centred affection, and on the part of God, the manseeking interest of Old Testament religion.
Because such identification of lot is the underlying idea, we can understand that the form chosen for the divine mishkan should be an 'ohel, a tent. For, since the Israelites lived in tents, the idea of God's identifying His lot with theirs could not be more strikingly expressed than by His sharing this mode of habitation. Further, the materials out of which the tent was constructed had to come from a free-will offering of the people, so as to symbolize that they desired their God to dwell among them. More precisely the religious intercourse is defined in still another name of the tent: 'ohel mo'ed, 'tent of meeting'. The meeting does not refer to the meeting of the people together, but to the meeting of Jehovah with the people. Here again, curiously, the Septuagint and the Vulgate, anticipating the next name, have rendered 'tent of the testimony', but in this case the English versions have not followed them. The word that is rendered 'meeting' does not designate an accidental encounter, but something previously arranged. It implies that Jehovah makes the provision and appoints the time for coming together with His people. The idea is of importance, because it is one of the indications of that conscious intercourse between God and man which characterizes the Biblical religion [Ex. 29:42, 43; Amos 3:3].
That the coming together is for the communication of thought, the third name, just mentioned, 'tent of the testimony', 'ohel ha'eduth, shows. Testimony is a name for the law. The law was present, and through it a perpetual testimony of Jehovah, in the Decalogue, put
within the ark of the testimony. It was likewise present in the book containing the law as a whole, which was put by the side of (not inside) the ark [Deut. 31:26]. But, while the 'testimony' is a synonym for the law it is also a synonym for the berith, and in harmony with this its purport will have to be determined. In part a testimony against Israel [Deut. 31:26, 27], it must be on the whole a testimony in their favour; it emphasizes in this connection the gracious, redemptive nature of God's revelation to Israel, Psalm 78:5; 119 (passim).
THE MAJESTY AND HOLINESS OF GOD
While all this emphasizes the condescending, friendly nature of Jehovah's approach to and abode with the people, and brings, as it were, an echo of the Abrahamic mercies, yet there is another side to it, which was only partially brought out in the patriarchal period. The tabernacle still bears another name. It is 'a holy place', 'a sanctuary', Mikdash. It is somewhat difficult to understand the bearing and full reach of this term, because in New Testament usage the conception of 'holiness' has been more or less narrowed, and monopolized by the ethical sense. The older application, out of which the ethical one has sprung, denotes the majesty, the aloofness of God, not, however, as something arbitrarily assumed or maintained, but as something inherent in and inseparable from the divine nature. One might almost say, God's holiness is His specific divinity, that which separates Him from every creature, as distinct in place and honour.
The state of mind in the creature answering to this is the feeling of profound reverence and fear. The effect may best be seen from such a context as Isa. 6. It is more in evidence in Old Testament revelation and religion than in the New Testament, although in the latter also it is sufficiently present to show that the tendency of modern religion toward an exclusive stress upon the love of God is unwarranted [cp. 1 John 4:18]. The awe or fear inspired by the holiness of Jehovah is not first due to the sense of sin. It is something deeper, lying behind that, although the consciousness of sin is profoundly stirred and
intensified by the feeling of this deeper fact. A comparison between the seraphim, who experience only the sense of the majesty of Jehovah, but have no sin, and the prophet, who has both, is very instructive [Isa. 6]. The sanctuary-character of the tabernacle is expressive of both elements in the idea. The people, though in favour with God, must yet remain at a distance, in fact are confined to the court, excluded from the tabernacle proper. Only the priests may enter, but this is due to the necessity of their ministering within, not to their being outside of the reach of the divine holiness in its exclusive effect. Even the expiation that continually takes place, and whereby the ethical disqualification is in a measure removed, cannot overrule this anterior principle that a proper distance must be maintained between God and man.
The coexistence of these two elements, that of trustful approach to God and that of reverence for the divine majesty, is characteristic of the Biblical religion throughout. Even the religious attitude exemplified by Jesus retains it, for if He teaches us to address God as Father, He immediately adds to this the qualification 'in heaven', lest the love and trust towards God should fall to the level of irreligious familiarity with God. Especially the presence of the cherubhim upon the ark in the most holy place gives a majestic expression to the majesty-side of the divine holiness. These cherubhim are throneattendants of God, not 'angels' in the specific sense of the word, for the angels go on errands and carry messages, whereas the cherubhim cannot leave the immediate neighbourhood of the throne, where they have to give expression to the royal majesty of Jehovah, both by their presence and their unceasing praise [Isa. 6:3; Rev. 4:8, 9]. The second, more ethically coloured aspect of the holiness idea is exhibited likewise in the tabernacle. It is, as already stated, in part responsible for the exclusiveness observed. Positively it finds expression in the demands of purity made of the priests and in the ceaseless expiation of which the tabernacle is the scene.
THE PLACE OF WORSHIP
Still another application of the idea of the presence of Jehovah in the tabernacle appears in this, that it is the place where the people offer their worship to God. It is the palace of the King in which the people render Him homage. This feature belongs more particularly to the 'holy place', where it is symbolized in the three pieces of furniture there placed, the altar of incense, the table of the bread of the Face (i.e., the Deity in revelation) and the lampholder. The incense stands for prayer. The symbolism lies partly in that the smoke is, as it were, the refined quintessence of the offering, partly in the ascending motion of the same. That the altar of incense has its place nearest to the curtain before the 'holy of holies' signifies the religious specificness of prayer as coming nearest to the heart of God. The offering was of a perpetual character. The notion of the grateful smell of the burning incense in the nostrils of Jehovah is somewhat removed from our own taste of religious imagery, but should not on that account be overlooked, since it is not in the slightest degree felt to be inappropriate by the Hebrew sense of religion. The table of the bread of the Face [Ex. 25:30; Lev. 24:5–8] represents a meatand drink-offering. As our study of the sacrificial law will show, this is the class of offering symbolizing the consecration of the activities of life to God. What the lampholder precisely represents is not so easy to determine. Its offering must be something on a line with the other two, that of prayer, and that of the good works of Israel, but the problem is to discover in what it differs from the last-named of these two. In connection with Zech. 4:2ff.; Rev. 1:20, it may be found in this, that here the reflex effect of the good works of the congregation upon those without, and thus resulting indirectly in the ascription of praise to God, may be intended [Matt. 5:14]. Light has perhaps more symbolical association in Scripture than any other natural element. It figures significantly in all of the three spheres of religious manifestation. It appears as the light of knowledge, as the light of holiness, as the light of joy.
These various things were symbolized in the tabernacle with close dependence upon Jehovah's dwelling there. The symbolic character, however, must not be understood as purely symbolic, excluding the
element of real efficacy. There was in all of them a sacramental use; they were real means of grace. For this reason the question becomes interesting, how the divine presence in the tabernacle is to be understood. Was this a symbolical thing, or at least a purely spiritual thing, or was it embodied in some realistic supernatural manifestation? This is the problem of the so-called Shekinah. From very ancient times a realistic view concerning this has prevailed both among Jewish and among Christian theologians. In 1683 Vitringa abandoned this venerable belief and substituted for it the belief in a purely spiritual, invisible presence. He did this on the basis of a modified exegesis of Lev. 16:2, which passage had served up to that time as the main support of the realistic interpretation. His opinion was that the 'cloud' spoken of in this verse was the cloud of incense, to be produced by the high priest, not a theophanic cloud of supernatural character. People at that time were sensitive on the point of supernaturalism, and this, on the surface innocent, exegetical innovation roused such a storm of protest that Vitringa retracted his proposal and returned to the old view. About the middle of the eighteenth century the controversy was renewed and this time the anti-realistic opinion prevailed. Since the first quarter of the nineteenth century the realistic view has found new defenders, but some of the objections previously raised against it weighed heavily enough in the somewhat rarified air of the 'supernaturalism' of those days to lead to a compromise. It was now thought that the divine glory was actually present by way of supernatural manifestation in the most holy place, but that it had not resided there continuously, being confined to the annual occasion of the high priest's entrance behind the curtain.
It is plain that opinions in this matter have been influenced more by theological predisposition than by exegetical evidence. Vitringa seems to have been almost the only one who approached the question with an unprejudiced exegetical mind. His exegesis of Lev. 16:2, is, however, untenable. It rests on the identification of the cloud in vs. 2 and in vs. 13. This equation is unfounded, for the mere occurrence of the identical phrase, 'lest he die', in both verses does
not, in view of the totally different connection, suffice to prove it. The meaning of vs. 2 is: Aaron must not come at all times within the veil; if he should come at any other than the one appointed time, he exposes himself to the danger of death, for there is within a manifestation of the presence of Jehovah embodied in a cloud. The caution 'lest he die' is occasioned by the presence of the cloud. In vs. 13 Aaron is warned that, when entering, he must not enter without veiling himself with a cloud of incense, because disregard of that will expose him to danger of death. The caution 'lest he die' here is directed to the production of an artificial cloud of incense. Moreover it will be observed, that in vs. 2 'the cloud', and in vs. 13 'a cloud' is spoken of. 'The cloud' must mean the well-known cloud spoken of previously in the history. This can only be the cloud which had accompanied the people on their journeys, namely, the supernatural, theophanic cloud. The cloud of incense had never before been mentioned in the narrative; therefore in vs. 13 'a cloud' was in place. Wherever in the Old Testament the terms 'cloud' and 'appearing' occur together the reference is always to the theophanic cloud. The construction of vs. 2 must be strained to the utmost to make it speak of a cloud of incense and the necessity of producing it. On the occasion of the inauguration of the tabernacle and of the temple it is distinctly stated that the divine glory entered into the sanctuary [Ex. 40:34, 35; 1 Ki. 8:10–12]. True, on both occasions the glory must subsequently have withdrawn, for the priests, who could not serve on account of its presence at first, afterwards served again. But that the glory entirely withdrew, and no part of it remained, is not stated either. After all, the latter assumption is a most natural one. Ezekiel relates that at the time of the captivity he saw the glory of Jehovah departing from the temple [10:18; 11:23]. Haggai implies that in the post-exilic temple something was lacking in comparison with the temple of Solomon [2:7]. The Psalmists speak of the sanctuary in terms implying that it and the glory belong together [63:2]. And to corroborate all this we have the testimony of Paul, who mentions among the great privileges distinguishing Israel the doxa, 'glory' [Rom. 9:4; cp. also Acts 7:2; Rev. 15:8; 21:11, 23].
The tabernacle, then, represented not merely symbolically the indwelling of God among Israel, but actually contained it. But we must enquire more particularly, whether it was Jehovah's house exclusively, or the joint house of Him and the people. The correct answer to this is that the tabernacle is in its entirety Jehovah's house. There are not in it two apartments, one for God and one for the people, for the holy place, no less than the holy of holies, is the place which Jehovah owns alone. At the same time it must be maintained that the people are received into God's house as His guests. That this under the Old Testament was not carried out literally, but only symbolically, cannot alter the fact. For reasons of emphasizing the sinfulness of the people and the provisional nature of their sanctification, this could as yet be only symbolically expressed, but the thought was there as an ideal none the less. As an ideal privilege this belonged to every Israelite [Psa. 15; 24; 27]. If the tabernacle symbolized the heavenly habitation of God, and the ideal destiny of God's people has always been to be received of Him to the most consummate fellowship there, then there must have been at least an ideal reflex and foreshadowing of this in the tabernacle. In accordance with this principle the names given to God's celestial palace and to the earthly sanctuary are identical. Ma'on, hekhal, zebhul are used indiscriminately of both. The point raised is not without theological importance. It touches the question of the nature of religion, and the part played in it by God and man respectively. In the ideal covenant-fellowship, here portrayed, the divine factor is the all-controlling one. Man appears as admitted into, adjusted to, subordinated to, the life of God. Biblical piety is God-centred.
CHRIST IS THE ANTI-TYPICAL TABERNACLE
The typical significance of the tabernacle should be sought in close dependence upon its symbolic significance. We must ask: where do these religious principles and realities, which the tabernacle served to teach and communicate, reappear in the subsequent history of redemption, lifted to their consummate stage? First we discover them in the glorified Christ. Of this speaks the Evangelist [John
1:14]. The Word become flesh is the One in whom God came to tabernacle among men, in order to reveal to them His grace and glory. In John 2:19–22 Jesus Himself predicts that the Old Testament temple, which His enemies by their attitude towards Him are virtually destroying, He will build up again in three days, i.e., through the resurrection. This affirms the continuity between the Old Testament sanctuary and His glorified Person. In Him will be for ever perpetuated all that tabernacle and temple stood for. The structure of stone may disappear; the essence proves itself eternal. In Col. 2:9, Paul teaches that in Him the fulness of the Godhead dwells bodily. With these passages should be compared the saying of Jesus to Nathanael [John 1:51] where He finds in Himself the fulfilment of what Jacob had called the house of God, the gate of heaven. In all these cases the indwelling of God in Christ serves the same ends which the Mosaic tabernacle provisionally served. He as the antitypical tabernacle is revelatory and sacramental in the highest degree.
THE TABERNACLE ALSO A TYPE OF THE CHURCH
But what is true of the Christ is likewise true of the Church. Of that also the tabernacle was a type. This could not be otherwise, because the Church is the body of the risen Christ. For this reason the Church is called 'the house of God' [Eph. 2:21, 22; 1 Tim. 3:15; Heb. 3:6; 10:21; 1 Pet. 2:5]. An individual turn is given to the thought where the Christian is called a temple of God [1 Cor. 6:19]. It ought to be noticed that 'house of God' is not in the New Testament a mere figure of the fellowship between God and the Church, but always refers specifically to the Old Testament dwelling of Jehovah. The highest realization of the tabernacle idea is ascribed to the eschatological stage of the history of redemption. This is depicted by the Apocalypse [21:3]. The peculiarity of the representation here is that, in dependence on Isa. 4:5, 6, the area of the tabernacle and temple are widened so as to become equally co-extensive with the entire New Jerusalem. The necessity of a tabernacle or a temple symbolic and typical, presupposes the imperfection of the present state of the
theocracy. When the theocracy will completely correspond to the divine ideal of it, then there will be no more need of symbol or type. Hence the statement 'I saw no temple therein', vs. 22. This does not, however, make it 'the city without a church'. Using Scriptural terminology, we should rather say that the place will be all church.
THE SACRIFICIAL SYSTEM OF THE LAW
The second main strand entering into the ceremonial law is that relating to sacrifice. The sacrificial ritual forms the centre of the rites of the tabernacle. The altar is in fact a house of God, a tabernacle in miniature. Hence it is described as the place where God records His 'Name', and meets with His people [Ex. 20:24]. The laws about the tabernacle in the closing chapters of the Book of Exodus are immediately followed by the sacrificial laws in the opening chapters of Leviticus.
Sacrifices as such did not, of course, begin with the Mosaic law. We read of Cain and Abel bringing their offerings, and of Noah offering sacrifices after the flood. Still it will be observed that these sacrifices belong to the state of sin. From this it may be inferred that the idea of sacrifice has an intimate connection with the fact of sin. In order to determine this connection accurately, we shall have to distinguish between the two main ends served by sacrifice, for the connection with sin is not entirely the same in each. These two main ends are expiation and consecration. It is plain that expiation cannot exist without there being sin to expiate. The expiatory element in sacrifice, therefore, takes its origin from sin. It is somewhat different with the element of consecration. Consecration is not first made necessary by sin. It is as old as religion itself, nay, constitutes the very essence of religion. But from this original existence of consecration in the exercise of sinless religion we may not infer that the specifically sacrificial form of consecration is as old as the practice of the idea itself.
The correct way of putting it is that the externalized form of consecration is a result of sin. In the sinless intercourse between God and man everything is direct and spiritual; no symbol intervenes between the worshipping creature and the Creator. This difference between the two aspects of sacrifice has its bearing upon the question of the purely human origination of sacrifice or its divine institution. For the expiatory use of sacrifice a positive divine institution was obviously required. Even if man could have conceived the idea of expiation of himself, there still would have been required explicit divine sanction to put it into practice. On the other hand, the idea of consecration was innate in man, and it is perhaps conceivable, that, after the fall, man of his own accord proceeded to give to this a new externalized embodiment, because he felt sin to have made such a separation between God and himself as to preclude the direct offering of himself to God.
It must be admitted, however, that the Pentateuch contains no record of the institution of sacrifice either as to its expiatory or as to its consecratory aspect. Some profess to find it in Gen. 3:21. The covering provided by God from the simple skins of animals would have carried the implication that animal life is necessary for covering sin. Agaicst this speaks the fact that the word used for this act of God is not the technical term used in the law for the covering of sin by sacrifice. It is a word signifying 'to clothe', a term never employed in the law for the expiation of sin.
While the law does not appoint a separate class of sacrifice for expiation alone, it does devote the vegetable, bloodless sacrifice to the purpose of consecration alone. In the animal, bloody sacrifice, the two ideas find joint expression, and the intimate union between the two is also brought out in the rule that no vegetable sacrifice shall be brought except on the basis of a preceding animal sacrifice. The unbloody sacrifice does not negate the idea of expiation; it presupposes it. Of course, the exclusive use of animal sacrifice for expiation is due to the presence of blood in it. Without blood there is no sacrificial expiation under the law.
OFFERINGS—GIFTS—SACRIFICES
The general category under which sacrifices are subsumed is that of qorban, 'offering' (literally, 'that which is brought near') or that of mattenoth qodesh, 'gifts of holiness'. This classification seems primarily to have been taken from the consecration element in them. That consecration is a gift seems natural, but that expiation should bear the same name is not so easy to understand, although there must be some meaning in this also, as we may discover later. This gift character is of the greatest importance for our understanding the nature of sacrifice. The point here to observe is that 'offerings' and 'holy gifts' are generic terms. They cover sacrifice, but they cover much more than sacrifice proper. All that is devoted in any way whatsoever to the service of Jehovah can be called by these names, but not everything of this nature can be called sacrifice. Every sacrifice is a holy gift, but not every holy gift is a sacrifice. It is unfortunate for our understanding of the matter that the law has no separate, single term for this specific subdivision of the holy gifts, so that in order to satisfy our desire for specification we must fall back on the Latin word 'sacrificium', which originally was also far more comprehensive than the use we now put to it. But, if we cannot name the 'sacrifice' in one Biblical word, we can at least by way of description single it out from the cognate, but by no means identical, things.
What distinguishes the sacrifice from all other things, however sacred these may be, is that part or the whole of its substance comes upon the altar. Without the altar there would be no sacrifice. This coming upon the altar is a most significant thing: it means the direct consumption of the sacrifice by Jehovah, for Jehovah dwells in the altar. In anthropomorphic language the law expresses the principle of assimilation of the sacrifice by Jehovah, when it speaks of it as 'food for Jehovah' or as yielding 'a firing for the savour of satisfaction for Jehovah'. Much later the prophets still had to protest against a naturalistic interpretation of this conception, as though Jehovah were by nature in need of food and the gratification of His sense of
smell. The meaning of the law is that in virtue of His relation to Israel, as the God of Israel, He cannot exist without this, since for this very purpose He has chosen Israel and instituted the ritual service, that there might be a never-ceasing supply of praise and consecration for Him. The whole tenor of the law is to that effect. Its spirit, especially in the system of sacrifice, is that of a God-centred religion. Since, in the Old Testament, the man-ward activities of religion were relatively restricted, the impression made by this is all the stronger. It belongs, however, to the entire Biblical religion under all circumstances. In it all activity is service, not according to the modern depleted, humanitarian sense of the word, but in the sense of its being in the last analysis directed toward God, a sacrifice in the profound Old Testament understanding of this term.
It is, however, a one-sided exaggeration of this thought, when some have endeavoured to define sacrifice as worship. There is worship in sacrifice, but worship by no means constitutes the whole of sacrifice. Worship covers only the one half of the act, that which extends from man to God. The other half, extending from God to man, is not prayer, but a sacramental transaction, something God does, and in regard to which man is purely receptive, passive. Instead of prayer, it is rather the divine answer to prayer. In this respect again the modern connotation of the word has become deceptive. It savours too much of the pagan etymology, for in sacrificium the notion of facere is too prominent, and that as a human, not a divine facere. Still the designation of sacrifice as worship may be turned to good use. It may help to explain how, even in the case of expiatory sacrifice, a giving on the part of man is involved. Man must put his aspiration and desire and trust into the proceeding; he gives in so far back to God what God has first given to him as a means of grace.
The regulation of the material for sacrifice will further make plain the sense in which it is regarded as a gift to Jehovah. The first requisite is, of course, that all things offered must be technically 'clean'. But not all that is clean is allowed for sacrifice. Within the animal kingdom the following species are allowed: oxen, sheep,
goats, pigeons. From the vegetable kingdom: corn, wine and oil can be brought. The principle expressed in this selection is two-fold. The sacrifice must be taken from what constitutes the sustenance of the life of the offerer, and from what forms the product of his life. To an agricultural people like the Israelites in Canaan (and to this the law looks forward) the things named naturally came under consideration from the two-fold point of view indicated. Reducing these two, however, to their unitary root, we have to say that they characterize sacrifice as the gift of life to God. Short of the impossibility under the Old Testament of human sacrifice, the principle in question could not have been better expressed than in the way it was. Both negatively and positively an important truth was thus enunciated. Negatively it was brought out that sacrifice is not transfer of value to Jehovah, not a present, in the pagan sense of the word. Jehovah protests against such a perverted notion with the reminder that all the contents of the world are antecedently His property. There is no possibility of enriching Him. And positively it emphasizes that God is not satisfied in the religious converse between Himself and man with anything short of the consecration of life itself.
THE RELATION BETWEEN THE OFFERER AND HIS SACRIFICE
The next point to discuss is the relation assumed by the law to exist between the offerer and his sacrifice. There are varying theories about this, not so much because the law itself is equivocal on this point, but because the argumentation from the ritual law in favour of or against certain theories of the atonement has influenced opinion on this question. This is made possible through the absence from the law of any outspoken philosophy of sacrifice. Here as in other points the law is left to speak for itself. Abuse is made of this, when interpreters, as it were, interrupt the law or even silence it, presuming to speak for it. No preconceived theory of atonement should be allowed to colour our understanding of the law, but the reverse should happen. There is only one qualification of this: the New Testament in certain points speaks so plainly in regard to the fulfilment of certain traits of the ritual in the atonement, as to render
it impossible for us to disregard this. For the rest, however, we must gather our philosophy of sacrifice from careful observation of the manner in which the ritual proceeds. This we shall do presently. By way of preface it may be explained here, that there are three general opinions in regard to the inner meaning of the ritual and the relation it establishes between offering and offerer.
The first may be designated the purely symbolical theory. According to it the sacrificial process exhibits in a picture certain things that must be done to the offerer, and that can and will be done to him with the proper effect. The picture, as a mere picture, must needs remain within the sphere of subjectivity; it exhibits in no way what must take place outside of man for him, but only what takes place within him; we, therefore, call this the purely symbolical theory. Speaking in dogmatic language we might say, that on this view of the matter sacrifice is a pictorial representation of such things as sanctification and return to the favour of God. The utmost that this theory could possibly concede would be, that the ritual perhaps depicts some objective obligation, that might have been imposed upon man, of which by way of a lesson he is reminded in the sacrifice, but which is not further carried out or exacted from man, not even symbolically, in the further process. This interpretation of the sacrificial procedure lies on the line of the moral and governmental theories of the atonement.
The second theory may be designated as the symbolico-vicarious theory of sacrifice. It has in common with the other the assumption of subjectively-turned symbolism at the opening. According to it the ritual begins with portraying the subjective state of man, chiefly as to his obligation. But right there it parts way with the purely symbolical view. If the latter assumes that the further steps continue to portray what will be done within man to modify this, the symbolico-vicarious theory presupposes the recognition by ritual itself that nothing can be done in man himself with the proper effect, and that, therefore, a substitute must take his place. All the successive acts of the ritual apply to this substitute, not to the offerer. Consequently the entire
transaction assumes an objective character. It becomes something done, to be sure, for the benefit of the offerer, but done outside of him. It will thus be seen, that the objectivity and the vicariousness of the process go together. On the same principle adoption of the purely symbolical theory carries with itself exclusion of the vicarious element and of the objectivity.
To be distinguished from these two theories is a third attitude towards the law of sacrifice. This, however, can by no means be coordinated with the two preceding views, for it denies that in the law, or the Old Testament in general, any coherent, consistent theory of sacrifice is to be found. This is the opinion, on the whole, of the Wellhausen school of critics. The sacrificial laws are said to be the precipitate of a long development. They contain, loosely conglomerated, customs dating from widely distant times, and based on discordant principles. It belongs, therefore, to the very essence of this hypothesis to deny that the law itself has any intelligent view of the meaning of sacrifice. All that these writers presume to offer is a history, not a theory of sacrifice. During the most ancient, nomadic period, sacrifices were nothing else but means for establishing or strengthening the blood-communion supposed to exist between the deity and its worshippers. This was effected by making both partake of a common blood, the blood of the sacrificial animal. The act did not mean expiation; it meant a sacrament. In a later stage of religious development a considerable change took place in the conception of sacrifice. This change was connected with the settlement of the Hebrew tribes in Canaan. Previously their religion had been a nomadic religion, now it became an agricultural one. The sacrifices were presents bestowed upon Jehovah, the richness and frequency of which assumed great importance. The cult became complicated and luxuriant. Underlying it was the naïve popular belief that God could be influenced by the presentation of such gifts, irrespective of the spirit in which they were brought.
This view of sacrifice was essentially of Canaanitish origin. The prophets protested against this popular delusion, and from the
ethical conception of the nature of Jehovah attained by them, drew the inference that sacrifices were not only an unnecessary but even a dangerous form of religious service, something disapproved of by Jehovah. At first this remained a purely theoretical preaching, which never gained any acceptance with the people. The prophets soon saw that in order to make any headway against the popular cult they would have to stoop to some form of compromise. This consisted in pruning, purifying, and elevating as much as possible the practised religion. The results of this compromise are embodied in the various law-codes now found in the several Pentateuchal documents. Especially in the later codes the grosser conceptions of the earlier period were made to the largest possible extent vehicles of ethical, spiritual truth.
THE STAGES OF THE SACRIFICIAL RITUAL
Now, coming to the various acts or stages making up the ritual process, we first consider the selection of the particular animal from within the limits of allowance above specified. The animal must be a perfect specimen of its kind. Both as to age and as to condition it must be free of anything that would detract from its value. This is conceivable from the naïve popular conception of sacrifice as a gift to Jehovah, for to one's God one gives of the best only. But it is not easily explainable from the standpoint of the purely symbolical theory. According to this the sacrifice must be viewed as a picture, a replica of the offerer. Now the offerer is at the same time supposed to come with an offering, because he feels himself abnormal and imperfect. How then can the perfectly normal and flawless animal figure as his double? At this point, certainly, the symbolico-vicarious view has the advantage; it substitutes for the imperfect offerer the perfect animal-substitute, in order that through its perfection something may be accomplished that would be otherwise impossible. To be sure, the animal exhibits ethical perfection after a very negative fashion only; in that it is not subject to moral distinctions it is incapable also of symbolizing moral defects. It is innocent simply because it cannot be good or bad. But this is inseparable from a
process in which an animal takes the place of a man. And in part it is symbolically obviated by the positive stress laid upon the physical normality and perfection of the animal. Isaiah in chapter 53 speaks of the sacrificial lamb, as though it had semi-ethical qualities, but even these are negative, innocence and meekness, and besides, the description is modelled after the character of the Servant of Jehovah. Still this suggests how the negative could serve as a symbol of the sinlessness of the antitype. And Peter declares that believers are redeemed with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot. And this blameless and spotless character the Apostle does not represent as merely in general enhancing the value of the offering, but as enhancing its efficacy for redemption [1 Pet. 1:19].
The next step in the ritual, after the animal had been brought to the sanctuary, was the so-called laying on of hands by the offerer. The Hebrew phrase is stronger than the English rendering suggests; it literally means 'the leaning on' of the hand or the hands [Lev. 16:21]. This ceremony took place in every ordinary animal sacrifice, and in animal sacrifice only. This points to a close connection between what was peculiar to animal sacrifice and the act in question. Peculiar to animal sacrifice is the use of the blood for expiation. With this, therefore, the laying on of hands must have something to do. The significance of the act is indicated by the analogy of the other occasions on which it was performed [Gen. 48:13, 14; Lev. 24:14; Num. 8:10; 27:18; Deut. 34:9]. From these instances it appears that laying on of hands always symbolized a transfer from one person to another. What the thing transferred was depended on the occasion, but the one to whom something was transferred appears everywhere as a second person, distinct from the one whose hands are laid on. This decidedly favours the vicarious interpretation of sacrifice. It means that the animal cannot have been considered the mere double of the offerer; it must have been a second person different from the offerer.
In answering what was transferred to the animal-substitute we cannot, of course, be guided by the above analogies. There is independent evidence to show that the transferred thing was nothing else but the sin, i.e., the liability to death-punishment on the part of the offerer. In the ritual of the Day of Atonement, which we may consider the culminating occasion of the whole ritual system, Aaron is told to lay his hands on the head of the second goat, and confess over him all the iniquities of the people. This second goat was not a sacrifice to be slain after the ordinary manner; it was sent away into the wilderness for the purpose of symbolically removing the sin. Yet it formed with the other goat in reality one sacrificial object; the distribution of suffering death and of dismissal into a remote place simply serving the purpose of clearer expression, in visible form, of the removal of sin after expiation had been made, something which the ordinary sacrificial animal could not well express, since it died in the process of expiation. We are certainly warranted, when here the hands convey sin, and where the same ceremony occurs in ordinary sacrifice, in drawing the conclusion that on every such occasion sins are transferred.
The interpretation followed is of such great importance, because it virtually determines the construction to be placed upon the next following step in the ritual, the slaying of the animal by the hands of the offerer. The act has thus given the altar its name mizbeach, 'place of slaughter'. The importance is attested also by the careful injunction that the slaying must take place at the altar and particularly at the north side. The symbolical meaning of this may not be clear, but, unless weight was attributed to the act, the place would have been treated as indifferent. Both these features tell strongly against a theory defended by even such safe interpreters as Keil and Delitzsch, to the effect that the slaying of the animal forms no significant part of the ritual, but is simply the inevitable means for obtaining the blood and the fat, the use of which is truly significant, ritually considered.
In connection with the laying on of hands transmitting sin the slaying of the sin-bearing animal could scarcely have any other purpose than to signify that death is the penalty of sin, vicariously inflicted in sacrifice. And that this point of view is not foreign to the law appears from such cases as that related in Deut. 21:9 (where there is expiation and yet no shedding of blood, but death by the neck being broken), and the offer of himself by Moses to die in the place of Israel [Ex. 32:30–34].
The error of Keil and Delitzsch is due to the fact that the law does not name the slaying, but everywhere the blood, as the means of expiation. This is a correct observation, but the inference drawn from it is wrong. The blood is the most eloquent symbol of death, so that the antithesis, not death but blood, is fundamentally wrong. To be sure, blood can likewise be the symbol of life. But it does not so appear in the ritual. Nor is it fit to appear in such a capacity, because it figures as blood flowed out, and this stands everywhere for the life departing, i.e., for death. Blood in its normal state, blood in the integral animal does not expiate. It expiates as blood that has passed through the crisis of death, and is therefore fit to be the exponent of death. The rule, there is no expiation without blood, cannot be reversed, so as to make it say, there is no blood without expiation. If it still be urged that blood conceived as the exponent of expiating death ought to have had its effect when flowing out of the animal slain, at the moment of its direct conjunction with death, the answer lies in a correct appreciation of what the Old Testament term designating 'to expiate' stands for.