Chapter 21
Christus Victor — Christ's Victory Over Sin, Death, and the Powers

Introduction: A Battle Bigger Than We Imagine

There is a moment in every great story when everything seems lost. The villain appears to have won. The hero lies defeated. Darkness covers the land. And then — against all odds — the hero rises, the enemy is overthrown, and everything changes. We love stories like that because something deep inside us knows they are telling us the truth about reality. The Christian gospel claims that the greatest story of triumph ever told is not fiction. It actually happened. On a Friday afternoon outside the walls of Jerusalem, it looked as though evil had won its final victory. The Son of God hung dead on a Roman cross. But by Sunday morning, the tomb was empty. Death itself had been defeated. The ancient serpent's head had been crushed. Christ was the Victor.

This chapter explores what theologians call the Christus Victor model of the atonement — the understanding of Christ's death and resurrection as a cosmic victory over sin, death, the devil, and all the hostile spiritual powers that hold humanity in bondage. This is a rich and deeply biblical theme, one that has captured the Christian imagination from the very beginning. The earliest Christians did not simply say, "Jesus forgave our sins." They said, "Jesus defeated our enemies." He conquered the tyrants that had enslaved the human race.

My thesis in this chapter is straightforward: the Christus Victor model captures a genuine and essential dimension of what Christ accomplished on the cross and through His resurrection. It is thoroughly biblical, deeply rooted in the Church Fathers, and indispensable for any complete understanding of the atonement. However — and this is crucial — the Christus Victor model is insufficient by itself as a standalone theory of the atonement. When we examine the biblical evidence carefully, we discover that victory and substitution are not rival explanations of the cross but complementary dimensions of a single, multi-faceted reality. Christ won the victory precisely by bearing our sins as our substitute. The two belong together, and pulling them apart impoverishes both.

We will proceed in several steps. First, we will examine Gustaf Aulén's influential presentation of the Christus Victor model. Then we will dig into the biblical evidence, looking at the key texts that present Christ's work as a cosmic victory. After that, we will engage with Fleming Rutledge's powerful treatment of the theme within an apocalyptic framework and interact with William Hess's argument that Christus Victor should be the primary framework for understanding the cross. Finally — and most importantly — we will show how victory and substitution fit together as two sides of the same coin.

Gustaf Aulén and the Recovery of the "Classic" View

No discussion of Christus Victor can begin without engaging the work of Gustaf Aulén (1879–1977), the Swedish Lutheran bishop and theologian whose 1930 book Christus Victor almost single-handedly revived scholarly interest in the victory model of the atonement. Aulén's work has shaped virtually every subsequent conversation on this topic, and understanding his argument — along with its strengths and weaknesses — is essential for thinking clearly about the atonement.

Aulén argued that the standard textbook account of atonement history was badly mistaken. The conventional story went something like this: there were basically two main theories — the "objective" view (Anselm's satisfaction theory, later refined into penal substitution) and the "subjective" view (Abelard's moral influence theory). But Aulén insisted there was a third view that had been overlooked, and it was the oldest and most important of the three. He called it the "classic" or "dramatic" view.¹

What did the "classic" view look like? Aulén described it this way: its central theme is the atonement as a divine conflict and victory. Christ — Christus Victor — fights against and triumphs over the evil powers of the world, the "tyrants" under which humanity suffers in bondage, and through this victory God reconciles the world to Himself.² The atonement, on this view, is a cosmic drama. It is not primarily a legal transaction between God and humanity (the "Latin" or satisfaction view), nor is it primarily a moral example that inspires us to live better (the "subjective" view). It is a battle — God in Christ invading enemy-occupied territory, confronting the powers of sin, death, and the devil, and winning a decisive victory that changes everything.

Aulén further argued that this dramatic understanding was the dominant view of the first thousand years of Christian history. He traced it from the New Testament through Irenaeus, the Greek Fathers, the Latin Fathers (including Ambrose, Augustine, and Pope Leo the Great), and into the Eastern Orthodox tradition. He claimed that it was lost when Anselm introduced his satisfaction theory in the eleventh century, recovered briefly by Martin Luther, and then lost again under the weight of Protestant scholasticism.³

Central to Aulén's historical argument was his reading of Irenaeus of Lyon (c. 130–202 AD), whom he regarded as the earliest and clearest representative of the classic view. According to Aulén, Irenaeus understood the purpose of the incarnation as God's mission to deliver humanity from the enemies that hold it in bondage — sin, death, and the devil. The redemptive work is carried out through the incarnation, the obedience of Christ's human life, His death and resurrection, and the coming of the Spirit. In Irenaeus's thought, sin and death are closely connected: salvation means being rescued from the grip of death, which itself is the consequence of sin and separation from God. The devil is portrayed as a usurper, and redemption is the restoration of God's original creation.⁴¹ Aulén argued that this dramatic framework — God acting through Christ to liberate creation from hostile powers — was the thread running through virtually all patristic theology, from Irenaeus in the second century through John of Damascus in the eighth.

Aulén also highlighted the patristic tradition of the "dealings with the devil" — the various ways the Fathers described Christ's conflict with Satan. Some Fathers, like Gregory of Nyssa, developed the imagery of Christ as a "bait" or "fishhook," where the devil was deceived into attacking Christ, not realizing that behind the humanity lay the power of divinity. Others described the cross as a kind of ambush: the devil overreached by attacking the sinless Son of God, and in doing so lost his legitimate authority over fallen humanity. These images can seem crude or even bizarre to modern readers, and Aulén acknowledged that the grotesque imagery sometimes obscured the deeper theological point. But he insisted that beneath the colorful language lay a profound truth: the atonement is a cosmic drama in which God Himself, through Christ, wins a decisive victory over the forces arrayed against His creation.⁴²

One of Aulén's most important insights was his observation about the direction of the atoning work. In the "classic" view, he argued, the work of atonement is from first to last a work of God Himself — a continuous divine work. God is both the Reconciler and the Reconciled. By contrast, in the "Latin" view of Anselm, the act of atonement has its origin in God's will but is carried out as an offering made to God by Christ as man — a discontinuous divine work, something accomplished "from below."⁴ This distinction mattered deeply to Aulén. He wanted to insist that the atonement was God's own initiative from start to finish — not a human achievement offered upward to God.

Evaluating Aulén's Thesis

Aulén's book was a landmark. He was absolutely right that the victory theme had been neglected in much Western theology, and he performed a genuine service by reminding the church of its importance. As John Stott noted, Aulén rightly drew attention to the fact that Christ's death saved us not only from sin and guilt but from death and the devil — indeed, from all evil powers.⁵ The note of triumph that rings through the teaching of the early church had indeed grown faint in certain streams of Western Protestantism, and Aulén helped us hear it again.

That said, Aulén's thesis has significant problems. Let me highlight three of the most important ones.

First, Aulén drew far too sharp a line between his three "types," as if they were mutually exclusive alternatives. He treated the "classic" and "Latin" views as fundamentally opposed. But the New Testament does not force us to choose between victory and satisfaction. As we will see shortly, texts like Colossians 2:13–15 weave both themes together in a single breath. The forensic cancellation of the debt against us and the triumphal disarming of hostile powers occur in the same event — the cross. Stott put it well: the cross was a work "at once of price and of power — of expiation and of conquest."⁶

Second, Aulén was unfair to Anselm. He characterized Anselm's satisfaction theory as a merely human offering made to God "from below," but as we explored in Chapter 16, Anselm explicitly insisted that only the God-man could make satisfaction for sin — it was precisely because the debt was too great for any mere human to pay that God Himself had to act. Anselm's framework may have limitations, but Aulén misrepresented its essential logic.⁷

Third — and most consequentially for our purposes — Aulén systematically minimized the substitutionary language that is genuinely present in the Church Fathers. As we documented in Chapter 15, patristic writers like Athanasius, Eusebius of Caesarea, Gregory of Nazianzus, Hilary of Poitiers, and many others used explicit substitutionary language to describe what Christ accomplished on the cross. They said things like, "He suffered in our place," "He bore the penalty due to us," and "He died the death we deserved." Aulén tended to fold all of this language into his "classic" framework without acknowledging that it constituted a real substitutionary strand in patristic thought. David Allen rightly points out that most patristic theologians held to some form of satisfaction or substitutionary atonement alongside the Christus Victor theme, not instead of it.⁸

In short, Aulén was right that the victory theme is genuinely biblical and genuinely patristic. He was wrong to treat it as the only legitimate lens through which to view the atonement, and he was wrong to pit it against the substitutionary theme. The Fathers did not see these as alternatives. Neither should we.

The Biblical Basis for Christus Victor

Whatever criticisms we may offer of Aulén's historical reconstruction, the biblical evidence for the victory theme is overwhelming. Scripture consistently portrays Christ's death and resurrection as a decisive triumph over the forces that enslave humanity. Let us examine the key texts.

Genesis 3:15 — The Protoevangelium

The victory theme begins on the very first pages of the Bible. After the serpent deceives Adam and Eve, God pronounces a judgment that contains a remarkable promise:

"I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel." (Genesis 3:15, ESV)

Theologians have long called this verse the protoevangelium — the "first gospel." It is the earliest hint in Scripture that God intends to defeat the serpent through a descendant of the woman. The imagery is vivid: the serpent will strike the heel of the woman's offspring (a painful but not fatal wound), while the offspring will crush the serpent's head (a decisive, lethal blow). The Christian tradition has identified the woman's "offspring" as Jesus Christ, the one who delivers the final crushing blow to the ancient enemy.

What is striking about this text is that the victory motif is embedded in the very beginning of the biblical story. Before there is any developed sacrificial system, before any explicit teaching on substitution or satisfaction, there is this — a promise of battle and triumph. The narrative arc of the Bible, from Genesis to Revelation, follows the trajectory of this promise: God will defeat the serpent. Evil will not have the last word. Christ will win.

Stott rightly traced the unfolding of this promise through the Old Testament, noting that every text declaring God's present rule or His future rule through the Messiah can be understood as a further prophecy of the ultimate crushing of Satan.⁹ The entire Old Testament builds toward the moment when the woman's offspring delivers the decisive blow.

What we should notice is that this foundational promise already contains the seeds of both victory and suffering. The serpent's head is crushed — that is victory. But the woman's offspring has his heel struck — that is suffering. The conqueror wins, but He does not escape unscathed. The earliest glimpse of the gospel in Scripture already hints at what the cross will reveal: the way to triumph lies through pain. The Victor will also be the sufferer. The one who crushes the serpent will Himself be wounded in the process. This is the paradox that runs like a golden thread from Genesis 3 all the way to Revelation 12, and it is the paradox that makes the integration of Christus Victor and substitutionary atonement not just possible but necessary.

Philippe de la Trinité, writing from the Catholic Thomistic tradition, similarly recognized the importance of the victory motif within a framework of divine love. In his discussion of "The Plan of the Redemptive Incarnation," he affirmed that Christ's work included genuine victory over sin and the devil, while insisting that this victory was accomplished through vicarious satisfaction rooted in mercy and love rather than through a raw display of divine power that bypassed the problem of sin.²⁸ The Thomistic tradition, no less than the patristic, holds together the themes of victory and satisfaction — a point that is often overlooked in contemporary debates.

Colossians 2:13–15 — The Cross as Victory and Legal Settlement

Of all the biblical texts relevant to the Christus Victor theme, Colossians 2:13–15 may be the single most important — and it is also the text that most clearly demonstrates the integration of the victory and substitutionary themes. Let us read it carefully:

"And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him." (Colossians 2:13–15, ESV)

I want us to notice how remarkably compressed and rich this passage is. Paul packs together multiple atonement dimensions in just three verses. Let's trace the flow.

In verse 13, Paul reminds the Colossian believers of their former condition: they were spiritually dead because of their trespasses — their sins. God made them alive together with Christ and forgave all their trespasses. This is the language of salvation and forgiveness, rooted in what Christ accomplished.

In verse 14, Paul explains how this forgiveness was achieved. God canceled "the record of debt" (Greek: cheirographon, χειρόγραφον) — a term that refers to a handwritten certificate of debt, a legal document listing what is owed. This record stood against us "with its legal demands" (literally, "in decrees" or "in ordinances"). God set it aside by nailing it to the cross. The image is vivid and unmistakable: the bill of charges against humanity — the entire legal indictment arising from our violation of God's righteous requirements — was taken by God and affixed to the cross of Christ. The debt was paid. The legal case was settled.

This is plainly forensic, legal, penal language. The "record of debt with its legal demands" is the accumulated guilt that humanity owes because of sin. When Paul says God "canceled" it and "nailed it to the cross," he is describing a judicial transaction. The penalty of our sin was borne at the cross. This is language fully consistent with — indeed, foundational to — a substitutionary understanding of the atonement.

But then, without pausing for breath, Paul shifts to victory language in verse 15. Having canceled the debt, God "disarmed the rulers and authorities" (the hostile spiritual powers arrayed against God and humanity), "put them to open shame" (exposed them publicly as defeated foes), and "triumphed over them in him" (celebrated a decisive victory through the cross). The imagery in verse 15 is often understood against the background of a Roman triumpus — a triumphal procession in which a victorious general paraded his captives through the streets of Rome. Christ's cross is His victory parade, and the conquered enemies are the spiritual powers that once held humanity in bondage.

Now here is what I find absolutely crucial for the argument of this book: Paul does not present the legal dimension (v. 14) and the victory dimension (v. 15) as separate or competing models. He presents them as two facets of the same event. The cancellation of the debt is the means by which the powers are disarmed. Think about it: if the hostile powers held humanity captive through sin, guilt, and the just penalty of death (as Romans 6:23 says, "the wages of sin is death"), then the removal of that guilt and penalty — the nailing of the indictment to the cross — strips those powers of their weapon. Satan's authority over fallen humanity rested on the reality of human sin and its just consequences. When Christ bore those consequences at the cross, the legal basis for Satan's claim was destroyed. The record of debt was wiped clean, and the powers that exploited that debt were left with nothing. They were disarmed.

Jeremy Treat has articulated this integration with clarity. He argues that penal substitution has a kind of explanatory priority because it directly addresses the root problem between God and humanity — guilt and wrath — while the Christus Victor theme addresses the derivative problem of human bondage to Satan.¹⁰ Allen concurs: "The cross is a victory (Christus Victor) by means of penal substitution."¹¹ I find this framing persuasive. Victory is real, but it happens through substitution. The two are not alternatives; they are causally linked.

Hebrews 2:14–15 — Destroying the One Who Has the Power of Death

The book of Hebrews, which we examined in depth in Chapter 10 for its treatment of Christ as the definitive sacrifice, also contains one of the clearest statements of the Christus Victor theme in the entire New Testament:

"Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong bondage." (Hebrews 2:14–15, ESV)

This passage is extraordinary. Notice the logic: the Son of God took on human nature ("partook of the same things" — flesh and blood) in order to accomplish something through His death. And what was that purpose? To "destroy" (Greek: katargeō, καταργέω — to render powerless, to make ineffective, to abolish) the one who holds the power of death — the devil. Christ entered the devil's own domain (death), submitted to the devil's most potent weapon (the grave), and then annihilated that weapon from within by rising again. His death was not defeat. It was an invasion.

The result of this victory is liberation: those who were enslaved by the fear of death their entire lives are now set free. This is the language of rescue, of deliverance from captivity. The human race is pictured not merely as guilty before a Judge (though that is true) but as held hostage by a tyrant. Christ storms the stronghold and sets the captives free.

Fleming Rutledge draws our attention to the way this Hebrews passage blends the Christus Victor theme with priestly and sacrificial language. Just two verses later, the author of Hebrews says Christ had to be made like His brothers "in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people" (Hebrews 2:17). The victory over the devil (vv. 14–15) and the priestly propitiation for sin (v. 17) are presented side by side, as two facets of the same work.¹² Once again, the New Testament refuses to let us separate what we too often pull apart.

1 John 3:8 — Destroying the Works of the Devil

The apostle John states the purpose of the incarnation with breathtaking simplicity:

"The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the works of the devil." (1 John 3:8b, ESV)

This is one of the most concise purpose statements for the incarnation anywhere in Scripture. The word "destroy" here is again lyō (λύω) — to loose, to dissolve, to undo. The Son of God entered the world to undo everything the devil has done. Every act of corruption, every instance of death, every work of deception and destruction that flows from the enemy's rebellion against God — all of it falls within the scope of what Christ came to dismantle.

Notice that John does not say the Son of God appeared merely to forgive sins (though He does that), or merely to teach us how to live (though He does that too). He says the Son appeared to destroy the works of the devil. The mission is fundamentally combative. It is a work of demolition against the strongholds of evil. This aligns perfectly with the Christus Victor theme: the cross and resurrection constitute God's decisive assault on the kingdom of darkness.

1 Corinthians 15:54–57 — Death Swallowed Up in Victory

In Paul's great resurrection chapter, after arguing at length for the reality of Christ's bodily resurrection and the future resurrection of believers, Paul reaches a crescendo of triumph:

"When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: 'Death is swallowed up in victory.' 'O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?' The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." (1 Corinthians 15:54–57, ESV)

Paul's language here is exultant. He mocks death: "Where is your victory? Where is your sting?" Death, that most fearsome of all human enemies, has been stripped of its power. It has been "swallowed up" — consumed, overwhelmed, engulfed — in victory. And this victory is given to us "through our Lord Jesus Christ."

But even in this passage that rings with Christus Victor triumph, Paul cannot help connecting the victory to the underlying problem of sin and law. He says, "The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law" (v. 56). In other words, what gives death its deadly "sting" — its ability to harm us — is sin. And what gives sin its "power" — its ability to condemn us — is the law. Death threatens us because we are sinners, and sin condemns us because we have violated God's righteous law. So even here, the legal/forensic problem lurks behind the victory language. Christ's triumph over death is not merely a raw display of power. It works because the legal basis for death's claim on us — our sin and guilt before God's law — has been dealt with at the cross.

This is why I keep insisting that substitution and victory cannot be separated. The victory is real, but it is a victory won by dealing with sin. Christus Victor needs substitutionary atonement to explain how the victory was achieved.

It is worth noting that Paul frames this entire discussion in 1 Corinthians 15 within the context of the resurrection — the ultimate vindication of Christ's victory. Paul's argument runs from the fact of Christ's bodily resurrection (vv. 1–11), through its implications for the future resurrection of believers (vv. 12–34), to the nature of the resurrection body (vv. 35–49), and finally to the great triumphant conclusion we have just read (vv. 50–58). The resurrection is not incidental to the victory; it is the victory made visible. And yet even the resurrection presupposes that sin and death have been dealt with — which is why Paul circles back to the cross even in his most triumphant passage. You cannot have the resurrection without the cross. You cannot have the victory without the sacrifice.

Revelation 12:10–11 — Conquering by the Blood of the Lamb

The book of Revelation presents the most dramatic apocalyptic vision of Christ's victory anywhere in Scripture. In Revelation 12, we read of a great cosmic conflict between the dragon (identified as "that ancient serpent, who is called the devil and Satan," 12:9) and the people of God. The decisive victory is announced:

"And I heard a loud voice in heaven, saying, 'Now the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God and the authority of his Christ have come, for the accuser of our brothers has been thrown down, who accuses them day and night before our God. And they have conquered him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they loved not their lives even unto death.'" (Revelation 12:10–11, ESV)

This passage tells us something remarkable about how the great dragon is defeated. The saints conquer him "by the blood of the Lamb." The instrument of victory is not military force, not raw divine power on display, not angelic warfare in the usual sense. It is blood — the sacrificial, atoning blood of the slaughtered Lamb. The victory language of Christus Victor and the sacrificial language of atonement are fused together. The Lamb wins by being slain. The sacrifice is the victory.

This is precisely the paradox at the heart of the Christian gospel. The image of a victorious Lamb that conquers by being slaughtered pervades the book of Revelation (see especially 5:5–6, where the "Lion of the tribe of Judah" who has "conquered" is revealed to be "a Lamb standing, as though it had been slain"). We explored this imagery in Chapter 12's treatment of the Johannine witness. The point for our present discussion is clear: in the theology of Revelation, you cannot have the victory without the sacrifice. The blood of the Lamb is not incidental to the triumph. It is the triumph.

Rutledge's Apocalyptic Framework

One of the most powerful recent treatments of the Christus Victor theme comes from Fleming Rutledge in Chapter 9 of her magisterial work The Crucifixion, titled "The Apocalyptic War: Christus Victor." Rutledge approaches the cross through the lens of apocalyptic theology — a framework drawn from the Jewish and early Christian understanding of history as a cosmic battleground between God and the forces of evil. Her treatment deserves careful engagement.

Rutledge begins by acknowledging the difficulty of military language for modern Christians. The history of Christian militarism has been deeply troubling. But she insists that biblical battle imagery is fundamentally different from human warfare: it is metaphorical language that evokes a warfare taking place in the unseen realm, a contest between the Lord God of Sabaoth (Hebrew for "armies") and the enemy who deploys the principalities and powers.¹³

At the heart of Rutledge's argument is the recovery of apocalyptic theology for understanding the cross. The word apokalypsis (ἀποκάλυψις) means "disclosure" or "unveiling" — a revelation of hidden reality. Apocalyptic theology sees history through a particular lens: the world is occupied territory, ruled by hostile forces (Sin, Death, the Law as a condemning instrument, the devil and his agents), and God must invade from the outside to set things right. Human beings cannot liberate themselves. The situation is too desperate, the enemies too powerful. Deliverance must come from another sphere of power entirely.¹⁴

For Rutledge, the cross is precisely this invasion. It is God's definitive apocalyptic act — His irresistible entry into enemy-occupied territory to defeat the powers that enslave His creation. She draws on the work of J. Louis Martyn and J. Christiaan Beker, two of the most important interpreters of Pauline apocalyptic theology, to argue that Paul saw the cross-and-resurrection event as a genuine novum — something radically new, a first-order reversal of all previous arrangements.¹⁵

Rutledge's discussion of "the Powers" is particularly illuminating. She points out that the New Testament presents not two but three main players in the cosmic drama: God, humanity, and the hostile Powers (principalities, authorities, cosmic forces — the language of Ephesians 6:10–12 and Romans 8:38). Most modern biblical interpretation has been done as though only God and humanity were on the stage. But Paul's theology requires a third actor — the enemy who holds humanity captive and who must be defeated if liberation is to occur.¹⁶

The Croatian-born theologian Miroslav Volf, whom Rutledge quotes, captures this perspective well. The creation is occupied territory, and Christ's ministry was always an act of trespass into spaces occupied by hostile forces.¹⁷ The cross was not simply a quiet transaction between God and humanity. It was an assault on the kingdom of darkness — and the Powers did not go quietly.

I find Rutledge's treatment deeply compelling. She helps us feel the drama and the danger of the cross in ways that purely legal or transactional language sometimes fails to capture. The world really is in bondage. The powers of evil really are at work — not just as vague metaphors for bad social structures but as genuine spiritual realities that oppress, deceive, and destroy. And the cross really is God's invasion of the darkness.

Where I part company with some interpreters of the apocalyptic approach (though not necessarily with Rutledge herself, who is more nuanced) is in the temptation to make the apocalyptic/victory framework the only valid lens for reading the cross. It is a vitally important lens. But as Rutledge herself shows, the very same passage (Colossians 2:13–15) that provides some of the strongest Christus Victor language in the New Testament also contains the forensic cancellation of the record of debt. Even within the apocalyptic framework, the legal problem of sin must be addressed. You cannot have liberation without dealing with guilt.

Engaging Hess: Christus Victor as the Primary Framework?

William Hess, in his book Crushing the Great Serpent: Did God Punish Jesus?, makes a strong case for the Christus Victor model as the primary framework for understanding what happened at the cross. In his final chapter, which gives the book its title, Hess presents a compelling narrative: Satan had corrupted God's creation through sin, and all those corrupted by sin fell under his dominion. Sin brought death, and through sin and death, the devil held humanity captive. Into this situation, God the Son became incarnate, lived among us, demonstrated His love through His ministry, and then gave up His life on the cross — where He poured out His blood to cleanse the stain of sin, descended into death, and then rose again to destroy death's hold over humanity. In Hess's telling, it is Christ's life and resurrection that receive the primary emphasis, with the cross understood more as Christ bearing the burden of responsibility for fallen humanity than as bearing the penal wrath of the Father.¹⁸

Hess raises an important challenge to penal substitutionary atonement by asking: if Christ died primarily to satisfy divine wrath, what role does the resurrection play? In a purely penal framework, Hess argues, the resurrection seems like an afterthought rather than the heart of the story. If the penalty was fully paid at the cross, what theological work does the empty tomb do? By contrast, in the Christus Victor framework, the resurrection is absolutely essential — it is the moment when death itself is defeated and the enemy's power is broken.¹⁹

Hess also challenges the coherence of combining PSA with Christus Victor. He argues that the two models give opposing explanations to key elements of the atonement: Did Jesus need to die to satisfy God's wrath, or to defeat the tyrant of sin via resurrection? Was God seeking to defeat Satan, or to appease His own offended justice? Does Jesus's blood cleanse sin by purification, or by punishment?²⁰

These are fair questions that deserve thoughtful answers. Let me engage them directly.

First, I think Hess is absolutely right that the resurrection is essential and that any atonement theology that treats it as an afterthought is impoverished. The resurrection really is the moment of triumph. Without it, the cross is just another Roman execution. Paul himself says, "If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins" (1 Corinthians 15:17). A healthy substitutionary theology does not marginalize the resurrection but sees the cross and resurrection as two phases of a single saving event. The cross is where sin is dealt with; the resurrection is where death is conquered. Both are necessary. Both are central.

Second, I respectfully disagree with Hess that Christus Victor and substitution create incoherence when combined. On the contrary, as we have seen in Colossians 2:13–15, the New Testament itself combines them — seamlessly, naturally, in a single passage. The forensic cancellation of the record of debt (v. 14) is the basis for the triumphal disarming of the powers (v. 15). Sin is both a legal problem (guilt requiring judicial settlement) and a cosmic problem (bondage requiring liberation), and the cross addresses both simultaneously. There is no incoherence here — only richness.

Third, while Hess is right to push back against crude portrayals of PSA that depict an angry Father punishing an unwilling Son, this is a caricature that I have already rejected (see Chapter 20). The substitutionary model I am defending in this book does not pit Father against Son. It sees the entire Trinity acting in unified love. The Father does not pour out wrath on the Son in some vindictive sense. Rather, the Son voluntarily takes upon Himself the judicial consequences of human sin — consequences that are real and serious — and the Father is present with Him in love throughout. The "cosmic child abuse" accusation misses the mark because it fundamentally misunderstands the Trinitarian character of the atonement.

Fourth, Hess's question about whether God is "thirsty for the blood of man" versus "desiring fellowship" presents a false dichotomy. Of course God desires fellowship with humanity — that is precisely why the atonement was necessary. Sin created a real barrier, a genuine rupture in the divine-human relationship. God's holiness and justice are not arbitrary demands He could simply waive; they are expressions of His very nature. The cross is the place where God's love and God's justice meet — not in tension but in harmony (Psalm 85:10). God desires fellowship and God's holiness requires that sin be dealt with. The cross accomplishes both.

Where I wholeheartedly agree with Hess is in his emphasis on the genuine reality of Christ's victory over the powers of evil. He is right that the Bible consistently portrays the cross and resurrection as a triumph over Satan, sin, and death. He is right that this theme is central, not peripheral. He is right that the early church understood the atonement in dramatic and combative terms. Where I differ is in his claim that this must come at the expense of the substitutionary dimension. I believe the evidence shows both dimensions working together — and that we lose something essential if we abandon either one.

It is also worth noting that Hess's characterization of PSA, while it may accurately describe certain popular-level presentations, does not reflect the more nuanced substitutionary theology I am defending in this book. When Hess describes PSA as teaching that "God kills Jesus, transfers mankind's sin to Him, pours His wrath out on His Son, and forsakes Him on the cross," he is describing a version of penal substitution that I have already rejected in Chapter 20. The substitutionary model I advocate does not pit Father against Son, does not describe the Father as "killing" Jesus in some vindictive sense, and does not envision the atonement as divine child abuse. It sees the entire Trinity acting in unified, self-giving love. The Son voluntarily accepts the judicial consequences of human sin. The Father does not pour out rage on His beloved Son but is present with Him in agonized love. The Spirit sustains the Son through His ordeal. This Trinitarian substitutionary model is quite different from the caricature that Hess and other critics understandably find objectionable.

The question, then, is not whether crude PSA is compatible with Christus Victor (it probably is not). The question is whether Trinitarian substitutionary atonement — the kind defended throughout this book — is compatible with Christus Victor. And the answer, I believe, is clearly yes. In fact, they are more than compatible; they are mutually illuminating. The Christus Victor model shows us what was achieved: liberation from the powers of evil. The substitutionary model shows us how it was achieved: through the bearing of sin's consequences by the incarnate Son. Together, they give us a fuller, richer, more biblically faithful picture of the cross than either one provides alone.

The Powers: What Are We Talking About?

Before we move to our integration of Christus Victor and substitution, it is worth pausing to ask: what exactly are the "powers" that Christ defeated? This question matters because it shapes how we understand the practical significance of the victory.

The New Testament uses a variety of terms for the hostile spiritual forces: "principalities and powers" (archai kai exousiai, ἀρχαὶ καὶ ἐξουσίαι — Colossians 2:15; Ephesians 6:12), "rulers of this age" (1 Corinthians 2:6–8), "the prince of the power of the air" (Ephesians 2:2), "thrones" and "dominions" (Colossians 1:16), and of course "the devil" and "Satan" throughout. Paul also personifies certain realities as hostile powers: Sin (with a capital S, as a ruling force, not just individual sins — see Romans 5–7), Death (as a tyrant to be defeated — 1 Corinthians 15:26, "the last enemy"), and even the Law insofar as it becomes an instrument of condemnation rather than life (Galatians 3:13; Romans 7:7–12).

There has been significant debate among scholars about how to understand these "powers." Some interpreters, influenced by the work of Walter Wink and others, have proposed that the "principalities and powers" should be understood as the inner spiritual dimension of earthly political and social structures — corrupt institutions, oppressive systems, and dehumanizing ideologies. On this reading, Christ's victory is primarily about the unmasking and defeating of structural evil.

Others insist that the New Testament language refers to personal, spiritual beings — demons, fallen angels, and Satan himself — who are genuinely at work in the world to oppose God and enslave humanity. This more traditional reading takes the personal nature of the enemy seriously: we are not fighting against abstractions but against real spiritual agents who deceive, oppress, and destroy.

I believe both dimensions are present in the New Testament. The "powers" certainly include personal spiritual beings — Scripture is too clear about the reality of Satan and demons to dismiss this dimension. But the powers also manifest through human structures, systems, and ideologies that take on a life of their own and work against human flourishing and God's purposes. Racism, tyranny, exploitative economic systems, ideological deception — these are all manifestations of the "powers" at work. Christ's victory encompasses them all. He defeats both the personal spiritual forces behind evil and the structural manifestations of evil in human society.

What unites all of these "powers" is their dependence on sin and death. Satan's authority over humanity rests ultimately on the reality of human sin and the sentence of death that sin carries. Remove the sin and its penalty, and you remove the ground on which the powers stand. This is why Colossians 2:14–15 connects the cancellation of the debt with the disarming of the powers. The substitutionary dealing with sin is the mechanism by which the victory is achieved.

The Integration: How Victory and Substitution Work Together

We have now seen the biblical evidence from multiple angles. Let me draw together the threads and make the case for how Christus Victor and substitutionary atonement work together as complementary dimensions of a single, unified atoning work.

Sin as Both a Legal Problem and a Cosmic Problem

The first thing to see is that the biblical understanding of sin is multidimensional. Sin is simultaneously a legal problem and a cosmic problem — and both dimensions must be addressed for the atonement to be complete.

On the legal side, sin creates guilt before God. When we violate God's righteous standards — His holy law — we become guilty. We stand under judgment. The penalty of sin is death (Romans 6:23; Genesis 2:17). This is the dimension that substitutionary atonement addresses: Christ takes our place, bears the penalty we deserve, and satisfies the just requirements of God's law on our behalf. As argued in Chapter 19, this substitutionary dimension is the heart of the atonement.

On the cosmic side, sin enslaves us. It places us under the dominion of hostile powers. Paul describes the human condition before Christ as being "dead in... trespasses and sins" and following "the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience" (Ephesians 2:1–2). Sin is not just a legal transgression; it is a state of captivity. We are prisoners of war in a conflict we cannot win by ourselves. This is the dimension that Christus Victor addresses: Christ defeats the tyrants, breaks the chains, and sets the captives free.

But here is the crucial insight: these two dimensions are not separate problems requiring separate solutions. They are two aspects of a single predicament that is addressed by a single saving act. The reason the powers have authority over humanity is our sin and guilt. Remove the guilt, and you remove their leverage. Deal with the legal problem, and the cosmic problem collapses. This is why Colossians 2:14 and 2:15 follow in sequence: the cancellation of the debt (substitution) leads to the disarming of the powers (victory). The substitutionary work is the mechanism by which the victory is won.

The Cross as Both Price and Power

Stott quoted the nineteenth-century Scottish commentator John Eadie to make this point memorably: "Our redemption is a work at once of price and of power — of expiation and of conquest. On the cross was the purchase made, and on the cross was the victory gained. The blood which wipes out the sentence against us was there shed, and the death which was the death-blow of Satan's kingdom was there endured."²¹ I find this formulation beautiful in its simplicity. The cross is simultaneously an act of payment (the price of our redemption) and an act of power (the defeat of our enemies). You do not need to choose between these. They are the same event seen from two different perspectives.

Stott further observed that the three major atonement models — satisfaction, moral influence, and Christus Victor — are not mutually exclusive alternatives but complementary truths, because in each one God's work in Christ is directed toward a different party. In the satisfaction view, God satisfies Himself (His own justice is honored). In the moral influence view, God inspires and transforms us (our hearts are changed). In the Christus Victor view, God overcomes the devil (our enemy is defeated). Christ is the Savior, the Teacher, and the Victor — because we are guilty, apathetic, and in bondage. All three dimensions are real. All three are biblical.²²

What I want to press further, however, is that among these three dimensions, substitution has a kind of logical and theological priority. Here is why: victory requires substitution, but substitution does not require victory in the same way. Christ could not have defeated the powers without dealing with sin, because sin was the powers' weapon and sin's penalty was the powers' authority. But Christ's bearing of our sin — His substitutionary death — would have accomplished salvation even if there were no personal spiritual enemies to defeat. Forgiveness of sin and justification before God are complete on the basis of Christ's substitutionary work alone. The victory over the powers is an additional consequence of that work — a glorious and essential consequence, to be sure, but one that depends on the substitutionary foundation.

Consider an analogy. Imagine a country occupied by a foreign army. The citizens are not only under foreign occupation (the cosmic problem — they need liberation) but also deeply in debt to the occupying power, having signed crushing treaties and agreements that give the occupier legal standing to remain (the legal problem — they need their debts cancelled). If a liberator comes and simply defeats the occupying army by force, the legal claims remain — and the occupation could resume on the basis of those claims. But if the liberator first pays off every debt the citizens owe and renders the treaties null and void, the occupying power has no legal basis to remain. The liberation is then complete and permanent, because the legal foundation for the occupation has been destroyed. This is roughly what happens at the cross. Christ cancels the record of debt (Colossians 2:14), and on that basis the occupying powers are permanently disarmed (Colossians 2:15). The substitutionary dealing with sin removes the legal ground on which the powers stood.

Henri Blocher captured this integration brilliantly in an essay titled "Agnus Victor" — the victorious Lamb. As his title suggests, the Lamb (Agnus) conquers precisely through His vicarious suffering and death. The sacrifice is the weapon. The blood is the means of triumph. In the strange economy of the cross, weakness is power, death is the doorway to life, and the slaughtered Lamb is the conquering Lion.³²

This is why I believe substitution stands at the center of the atonement, with Christus Victor as one of several essential and complementary dimensions arranged around it. We explored this conviction in Chapter 19 and will draw it together more fully in Chapter 24's integration chapter. But the Christus Victor theme illustrates the point beautifully: when we ask how the victory was won, the answer leads us back to substitution.

The Resurrection as Victory's Vindication

As we noted in our engagement with Hess, one of the real strengths of the Christus Victor model is the central role it gives to the resurrection. In certain popular presentations of penal substitution, the resurrection can seem like a postscript — Christ paid the penalty on Good Friday, and Easter Sunday is merely God's receipt confirming the payment went through. This is deeply inadequate. The resurrection is not a footnote to the cross; it is the moment of cosmic triumph.

But we need not surrender the substitutionary framework to give the resurrection its proper place. Consider this: at the cross, Christ bore the full weight of sin's consequences — He died, the just for the unjust (1 Peter 3:18). The penalty was paid. The debt was settled. But the resurrection is God the Father's public vindication that the payment has been accepted, the penalty fully borne, and death itself defeated. If Christ had remained in the grave, it would mean that death still held power over Him — and by extension, over us. The resurrection demonstrates that sin's penalty has been exhausted. Death has done its worst, and it was not enough. Christ has passed through death and come out the other side, alive forevermore.

On this reading, the cross and resurrection form an inseparable unity. The cross is where the penalty is borne (substitution); the resurrection is where the victory is manifested (triumph). The cross is the battle; the resurrection is the announcement of victory. Good Friday and Easter Sunday are not competing emphases but two moments in a single divine drama.

Paul captures this dual significance in Romans 4:25: "He was delivered up for our trespasses and raised for our justification." Christ's death deals with our trespasses (substitution); Christ's resurrection secures our justification (vindication and victory). Both are essential. Both are central.

The Ongoing Victory: Living in the Already and Not Yet

One final dimension of the Christus Victor theme deserves our attention: the already but not yet character of Christ's victory. The New Testament teaches that the decisive battle has been won at the cross and resurrection, but the full effects of that victory have not yet been realized. We live between D-Day and V-Day, as it were — the turning point of the war has occurred, but the final surrender of the enemy lies in the future.

Paul makes this clear in 1 Corinthians 15:25–26: "For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death." Christ is reigning now, at the Father's right hand, systematically subduing His enemies. But the final destruction of death lies ahead — at the resurrection of believers, when death itself is "swallowed up in victory" (15:54).

This "already but not yet" framework explains the tension every Christian feels. We know Christ has won the decisive victory. We know the powers have been disarmed. And yet we still see evil, suffering, and death all around us. How can the enemy be defeated and yet still active? The answer is that the victory is real but its full implementation is progressive. The powers have been stripped of their ultimate authority — they cannot separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:38–39) — but they continue to operate in a diminished capacity until Christ returns to complete the work.

Oscar Cullmann famously compared this to the relationship between D-Day and V-Day in World War II. The Allied landing at Normandy on June 6, 1944, was the decisive turning point of the war — from that moment, the eventual outcome was certain. But the fighting continued for nearly another year before Germany's final surrender. Terrible battles still lay ahead. People still suffered and died. Yet the outcome was never again in doubt. In the same way, the cross and resurrection constitute the D-Day of God's war against evil. The decisive blow has been struck. The enemy is fatally wounded. But V-Day — the final, complete victory — lies ahead at Christ's return.³⁰

This has enormous practical implications for the Christian life. Because Christ has won the victory, believers live in genuine hope. We do not fight for victory but from victory. The outcome is not in doubt. The war has already been decided at the cross and empty tomb. But we still engage in real spiritual conflict (Ephesians 6:10–18), standing firm in the armor of God against the remnants of a defeated but still dangerous enemy. The Christus Victor theme sustains Christian hope and courage in a world that still groans under the weight of evil (Romans 8:22–23).

This "already but not yet" character of the victory also has important implications for how we think about suffering. If Christ has already won the decisive battle, why do His followers still suffer? The answer is that we are living in the overlap of the ages — the old creation groaning in its final death throes while the new creation is already breaking in through the Spirit. Suffering in this age is real, but it is not meaningless. It is the labor pains of a world being born anew (Romans 8:22). The Christus Victor theme gives us a framework for understanding suffering not as evidence that God has lost control, but as the temporary continuation of a conflict whose outcome has already been sealed. Christ has triumphed. We are called to participate in His triumph by faithfully enduring the remnants of the battle until He returns to make all things new.

It is worth observing how the Christus Victor theme enriches our worship and prayer. When the church gathers for worship, it is an act of defiance against the defeated powers. When believers pray, "Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven" (Matthew 6:10), they are invoking the reality of Christ's victory and asking for its full implementation. When the church celebrates the Lord's Supper, it proclaims "the Lord's death until he comes" (1 Corinthians 11:26) — an announcement that the Lamb who was slain is the King who reigns and the Victor who will return. The Christus Victor theme fills Christian worship with a note of defiant, joyful hope that no amount of present suffering can silence.

Answering Objections to the Integration

Before we conclude, let me briefly address two common objections to the kind of integration I am proposing.

Objection 1: "The victory and substitution models are fundamentally incompatible because they address different problems with different solutions."

I have already argued at length against this objection, but let me add one further point. The claim of incompatibility usually rests on oversimplified descriptions of both models. If substitution is reduced to "God punishing an innocent victim to satisfy His anger" and victory is reduced to "God fighting cosmic monsters," then yes, they look like different stories. But these are caricatures. Rightly understood, substitution is about the Triune God bearing the consequences of sin in unified love, and victory is about the same Triune God liberating humanity from the powers that sin empowered. They are not different stories. They are the same story told from different vantage points.

Objection 2: "The early church held the Christus Victor view and did not teach substitutionary atonement, so the two developed independently and should be kept separate."

This objection rests on a historical claim that is simply inaccurate, as we demonstrated in Chapter 15. The Church Fathers held substitutionary and Christus Victor themes together, not separately. Writers like Athanasius, who are often cited as exemplars of the "classic" view, explicitly used substitutionary language (Christ died "in the stead of all," as Athanasius put it). The idea that substitution was invented by Anselm in the eleventh century is a persistent myth. The Fathers integrated victory and substitution centuries before the Reformation. The separation of these themes is a modern scholarly construct, not an ancient reality.²³

Conclusion: The Victor Who Is Also the Substitute

Let me pull together the threads of this chapter.

The Christus Victor model of the atonement is biblical, ancient, powerful, and indispensable. It captures something essential about what Christ accomplished — a genuine cosmic victory over sin, death, the devil, and all the hostile spiritual powers that enslave humanity. Gustaf Aulén was right to remind the church of this neglected theme, and Fleming Rutledge has enriched our understanding of it by placing it within the apocalyptic framework of God's decisive invasion of enemy-occupied territory.

At the same time, Christus Victor is insufficient as a standalone theory. It tells us that Christ won the victory but does not fully explain how the victory was achieved. When we probe the biblical texts, we consistently discover that the victory is grounded in substitution. The record of debt is canceled (substitution), and therefore the powers are disarmed (victory). The blood of the Lamb is shed (sacrifice), and therefore the accuser is overthrown (triumph). Christ dies the death we deserved (penalty-bearing), and therefore death itself is destroyed (liberation). The how of the victory leads us inexorably back to the cross as a substitutionary act.

I have argued that Hess is wrong to treat Christus Victor and substitutionary atonement as incompatible, just as Aulén was wrong to set the "classic" and "Latin" types in fundamental opposition. The New Testament integrates these themes organically, most clearly in Colossians 2:13–15 but also across the entire canon. The cross is both price and power, both expiation and conquest, both the settlement of a debt and the defeat of a tyrant. It is precisely because Christ bore our sin in our place that the chains of the enemy were broken.

The Christus Victor theme also reminds us that the atonement has cosmic scope. It is not only about the forgiveness of individual sins (though it is that). It is about the liberation of the entire created order from the powers that have corrupted it. It is about the defeat of death itself. It is about the establishment of God's kingdom over every rival authority. This cosmic dimension enriches and expands our understanding of what Christ accomplished, and it grounds the Christian hope that one day every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord (Philippians 2:10–11).

In the chapters that follow, we will examine the remaining atonement models — ransom, satisfaction, moral influence, and governmental theories (Chapter 22), and the Eastern Orthodox contributions of recapitulation and theosis (Chapter 23) — before bringing everything together in Chapter 24, where we will argue for a multi-faceted integration with substitution at the center. The Christus Victor model, properly understood and properly integrated, is one of the most beautiful and powerful facets of the diamond that is the atoning work of Christ. It is the shout of triumph that echoes through the New Testament: the Lamb has conquered. The serpent's head is crushed. Christ is Victor.

Bibliography

Allen, David L. The Atonement: A Biblical, Theological, and Historical Study of the Cross of Christ. Nashville: B&H Academic, 2019.

Arnold, Clinton E. Powers of Darkness: Principalities and Powers in Paul's Letters. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1992.

Aulén, Gustaf. Christus Victor: An Historical Study of the Three Main Types of the Idea of Atonement. Translated by A. G. Hebert. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2003.

Barth, Karl. Church Dogmatics IV/1. Translated by G. W. Bromiley. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1956.

Blocher, Henri. "Agnus Victor: The Atonement as Victory and Vicarious Punishment." In What Does It Mean to Be Saved? Broadening Evangelical Horizons of Salvation, edited by John G. Stackhouse Jr., 67–91. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2002.

Craig, William Lane. Atonement and the Death of Christ: An Exegetical, Historical, and Philosophical Exploration. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2020.

Cullmann, Oscar. Christ and Time: The Primitive Christian Conception of Time and History. Rev. ed. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1964.

Eadie, John. A Commentary on the Greek Text of the Epistle of Paul to the Colossians. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1856.

Gaffin, Richard B., Jr. Resurrection and Redemption: A Study in Paul's Soteriology. 2nd ed. Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R, 1987.

Gathercole, Simon. Defending Substitution: An Essay on Atonement in Paul. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2015.

Hess, William L. Crushing the Great Serpent: Did God Punish Jesus? 2024.

Ladd, George Eldon. A Theology of the New Testament. Rev. ed. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993.

Lane, William L. Hebrews 1–8. Word Biblical Commentary 47A. Dallas: Word, 1991.

Marshall, I. Howard. Aspects of the Atonement: Cross and Resurrection in the Reconciling of God and Humanity. Colorado Springs: Paternoster, 2007.

McNall, Joshua M. The Mosaic of Atonement: An Integrated Approach to Christ's Work. Grand Rapids: Zondervan Academic, 2019.

Morris, Leon. The Apostolic Preaching of the Cross. 3rd ed. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1965.

O'Brien, Peter T. Colossians, Philemon. Word Biblical Commentary 44. Waco, TX: Word, 1982.

Philippe de la Trinité. What Is Redemption? How Christ's Suffering Saves Us. Steubenville, OH: Emmaus Road, 2021.

Rutledge, Fleming. The Crucifixion: Understanding the Death of Jesus Christ. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015.

Schreiner, Thomas. "Penal Substitution View." In The Nature of the Atonement: Four Views, edited by James Beilby and Paul R. Eddy, 67–98. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2006.

Stott, John R. W. The Cross of Christ. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2006.

Treat, Jeremy. The Crucified King: Atonement and Kingdom in Biblical and Systematic Theology. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2014.

Volf, Miroslav. Exclusion and Embrace: A Theological Exploration of Identity, Otherness, and Reconciliation. Nashville: Abingdon, 1996.

Wink, Walter. Naming the Powers: The Language of Power in the New Testament. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984.

Wright, N. T. The Day the Revolution Began: Reconsidering the Meaning of Jesus's Crucifixion. San Francisco: HarperOne, 2016.