Chapter 32
Exegetical Objections to Substitutionary Atonement

Introduction

Throughout this book, we have been building a case that substitutionary atonement stands at the heart of what happened at the cross. We have examined the Old Testament sacrificial system (Chapters 4–5), traced the Suffering Servant prophecy in Isaiah 53 (Chapter 6), studied Jesus' own understanding of His death (Chapter 7), and walked carefully through the major New Testament passages—Romans 3:21–26 (Chapter 8), the broader Pauline witness (Chapter 9), Hebrews (Chapter 10), 1 Peter and the cry of dereliction (Chapter 11), and the Johannine writings (Chapter 12). We have followed the historical development of atonement theology through the patristic, medieval, Reformation, and modern eras (Chapters 13–18), and we have presented the positive biblical and theological case for substitution (Chapter 19). We have also integrated the other atonement models—Christus Victor, ransom, moral influence, recapitulation—into a multi-faceted picture with substitution at the center (Chapter 24).

Now we turn to a different kind of task. Critics of substitutionary atonement have raised a number of serious exegetical objections—arguments based on the interpretation of specific biblical texts. These are scholars who look at the same Bible we look at and come to different conclusions about what it teaches. They argue that we have misread the Old Testament sacrifices, misunderstood key Greek words, imposed later theological categories onto Paul, and distorted the meaning of Isaiah 53. If they are right, then the biblical foundation for substitutionary atonement crumbles. We need to take these objections seriously.

And I do take them seriously. Some of these objections have done us a genuine service. They have forced defenders of substitution to sharpen their exegesis, to distinguish between what the text actually says and what later tradition has assumed it says, and to recognize dimensions of the biblical witness that a narrowly penal reading might miss. Good scholarship always benefits from rigorous criticism, and the debate over substitutionary atonement is no exception.

But after careful examination, I am convinced that every one of the major exegetical objections can be answered—and that the case for substitution actually emerges stronger from the encounter. That is the thesis of this chapter: the major exegetical objections to substitutionary atonement—that the Old Testament sacrificial system does not support it, that the New Testament atonement texts have been misread, and that the key terms do not carry substitutionary meaning—can be answered through careful, contextual exegesis.

We will examine five major exegetical objections, presenting each one as fairly as we can before offering a detailed response. Along the way, we will engage extensively with William Hess's Crushing the Great Serpent and Joel Green and Mark Baker's Recovering the Scandal of the Cross, two of the most influential recent critiques, as well as with the sophisticated academic proposals of the Tübingen school, Morna Hooker's "interchange" model, and the apocalyptic school of Pauline interpretation. We will also draw on the positive exegetical work of Simon Gathercole, David Allen, Leon Morris, John Stott, Fleming Rutledge, and others to show that the substitutionary reading of the biblical data is not only defensible but compelling.

Objection 1: The Old Testament Sacrifices Were Not Penal

The Objection Stated

The first major exegetical objection targets the Old Testament foundation. Critics argue that the Levitical sacrificial system was about purification and cleansing—what scholars call expiation—and not about bearing penalty or appeasing divine wrath. The sacrifices removed the stain of sin from holy places and holy objects. They did not transfer punishment from a guilty person to an innocent animal.

This objection focuses on several specific claims. First, critics point out that the Hebrew word kipper (כִּפֶּר), usually translated "to make atonement," most likely means "to purge" or "to cleanse" rather than "to propitiate" or "to appease." When the priest makes atonement, he is cleaning up the mess that sin has created—wiping the slate clean, so to speak—not satisfying God's wrath or paying a penalty on the sinner's behalf. Second, critics argue that the laying on of hands in the sacrificial ritual was a gesture of identification, not sin-transfer. The worshiper identified with the animal; he did not dump his sins onto it. Third, critics maintain that the blood ritual was about purification and consecration—bringing the worshiper into contact with God—rather than about paying the price for sin. The blood cleansed; it did not pay a penalty.

This line of argument has been developed in a sophisticated way by the Tübingen school in Germany, particularly by Hartmut Gese and Otfried Hofius. As Simon Gathercole explains in detail, Gese argued that the mechanics of the sin offering in Leviticus 16 followed a specific logic: the priest lays hands on the animal to establish identification (not sin-transfer), the animal is slaughtered (symbolically taking the person through the judgment of death), and the blood is sprinkled in the Holy of Holies (symbolically bringing the person into contact with God). The result is what Gese called "inclusive place-taking"—the sacrificial animal does not substitute for the offerer but carries the offerer symbolically through the judgment of death and into the presence of God.¹ Hofius applied this paradigm to Paul, arguing that Christ's death on the cross follows this same pattern: Christ did not die instead of sinners (exclusive place-taking, or substitution) but included sinners in His death so that they might pass through judgment and come out the other side into new creation (inclusive place-taking).²

William Hess draws on similar reasoning when he argues that the burnt offerings in Israel were primarily "occasions of joy and thankfulness, not sorrow or remorse," and that the sacrificial system was about "cultivating a relationship with God through participatory worship" rather than about paying a penalty for sin. Hess contends that the relational reality is what the sacrificial system was all about, not a forensic one.³ Joel Green and Mark Baker have similarly argued that reading penal substitution back into Leviticus is anachronistic—it imports Reformation-era theology into an ancient Israelite context that knew nothing of it.⁴

Response

There is a genuine insight here that we should acknowledge before responding. The Old Testament sacrifices were indeed about more than penal substitution. They had dimensions of purification, consecration, communion, and worship that go beyond the narrowly penal. The grain offering, for instance, was a voluntary act of devotion that involved no blood and no sin at all. The fellowship offering was essentially a shared meal in God's presence—a celebration of relationship. Even the sin and guilt offerings had dimensions of cleansing and restoration that cannot be reduced to mere penalty-bearing. Any account of the sacrificial system that reduces it entirely to penal substitution has flattened something rich and complex. To that extent, the critics have done us a favor.

But acknowledging the richness of the sacrificial system is a very different thing from denying that it contains substitutionary and penal dimensions. And here I believe the critics have overreached considerably. Several lines of evidence point strongly toward substitution within the sacrificial system.

First, Leviticus 17:11 grounds atonement in the giving of life—which implies substitutionary death. This foundational verse reads:

"For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it for you on the altar to make atonement for your souls, for it is the blood that makes atonement by the life." (Leviticus 17:11, ESV)

Notice what this verse says. God has given the blood—that is, the life of the animal—"for you" and "for your souls." The preposition "for" here carries substitutionary overtones. The animal's life is given in place of the worshiper's life. As David Allen observes, this verse "serves as the foundation for the entire Levitical system of sacrifices," and its language connects atonement to the giving of life—a substitutionary concept at its core.⁵ The life of the animal is given so that the worshiper does not have to give his own. This is the fundamental logic of substitution, and it runs through the entire sacrificial system like a golden thread.

Second, the scapegoat ritual in Leviticus 16 explicitly involves the transfer of sins to the goat. This is perhaps the single strongest piece of evidence for substitution in the Old Testament sacrificial system. On the Day of Atonement, the high priest performed a remarkable ritual with two goats. One was slaughtered as a sin offering. The other—the scapegoat—was the focus of a separate rite:

"And Aaron shall lay both his hands on the head of the live goat, and confess over it all the iniquities of the people of Israel, and all their transgressions, all their sins. And he shall put them on the head of the goat and send it away into the wilderness by the hand of a man who is in readiness. The goat shall bear all their iniquities on itself to a remote area, and he shall let the goat go free in the wilderness." (Leviticus 16:21–22, ESV)

It is very difficult to read this text and come away thinking that no transfer of sin is taking place. The priest confesses the people's sins over the goat, puts them on its head, and the goat bears them away into the wilderness. The language of transfer is explicit and unmistakable. Allen rightly notes that the scapegoat bears not only the guilt of the people but also the sin of the people, "and it does so via substitution, bearing the guilt and sin in place of the people."⁶

Even Gathercole, who is quite cautious and fair-minded in his handling of the Old Testament evidence, acknowledges that the scapegoat is very difficult to explain on a non-substitutionary reading. He notes that Gese himself admits the meaning of the laying on of hands in the scapegoat ritual is "unequivocal"—it clearly involves the transfer of sins.⁷ This is a telling admission. If the architect of the non-substitutionary reading of Leviticus concedes that the scapegoat involves unequivocal sin-transfer, then the claim that the entire sacrificial system is free of substitutionary elements cannot stand.

We should also notice something that Gathercole points out: the scapegoat is as much a sin offering as the goat that is slaughtered (Leviticus 16:5). The two goats are presented together "as a sin offering." This means that the substitutionary dimension embodied in the scapegoat is not some minor footnote to the sacrificial system—it is woven into the very fabric of the Day of Atonement, the most solemn and important ritual in the entire Levitical calendar.⁸

Critics who argue that the laying on of hands was merely an act of identification have a harder time explaining the scapegoat ritual, where the text explicitly states that the sins are placed on the animal's head. As James Dunn, who is no friend of crude penal substitutionary formulations, nevertheless acknowledges, the meaning of the laying on of hands in Leviticus 16 is actually explained in the text itself—and it involves the transfer of sins to the goat.⁹

Third, the asham (guilt offering) involves reparation for specific offenses, which implies a penal dimension. The guilt offering described in Leviticus 5–7 was offered for particular transgressions—specific sins that demanded specific compensation. This is not merely a general purification; it is an offering that addresses concrete guilt and provides a remedy for it. The offerer had to make restitution plus an additional twenty percent (Leviticus 6:5), and then bring a ram as a guilt offering. The combination of financial restitution and animal sacrifice for specific transgressions carries strong penal overtones—it addresses guilt, imposes a cost, and provides a means of atonement for the offense. As we explored in detail in Chapter 6, Isaiah 53:10 describes the Suffering Servant's death as an asham—a guilt offering. The prophet deliberately chose this particular sacrificial category to describe what the Servant would accomplish, and it carries unmistakable connotations of bearing the consequences of specific sins.¹⁰

Fourth, the Hebrew word kipper itself carries multiple meanings—including propitiation. Allen summarizes four possible meanings for kipper, none of which necessarily excludes the others: (1) "forgive," when God is the subject; (2) "cleanse" or "purify"; (3) "ransom," as its cognate kopher suggests (Exodus 30:12); and (4) the averting of God's wrath.¹¹ The word is semantically rich enough to include both purification (expiation) and the turning away of wrath (propitiation). To insist that it means only purification and not propitiation is to impose a false dichotomy on the Hebrew terminology. The cognate noun kopher means "ransom price"—a payment given in place of a life that is forfeit (see Exodus 21:30; Numbers 35:31–33). This ransom meaning suggests that at least part of what kipper does is provide a substitute that bears the cost so the offerer does not have to. Allen concludes that kipper "includes the notions of propitiation, expiation, purification, and reconciliation."¹²

Fifth, a decisive text sometimes overlooked is Numbers 25:11–13. After Phinehas kills an Israelite man and his Midianite lover who were flagrantly sinning against the Lord, God says: "Phinehas the son of Eleazar, son of Aaron the priest, has turned back my wrath from the people of Israel, in that he was jealous with my jealousy among them, so that I did not consume the people of Israel in my jealousy" (Numbers 25:11, ESV). The text then says that Phinehas "made atonement [kipper] for the people of Israel" (Numbers 25:13). Here, atonement is explicitly connected to the turning away of divine wrath. The verb kipper is used, and its meaning is unmistakable: Phinehas's action averted God's wrath against the people. This is propitiation—the averting of wrath through an intervening action—and the text uses the standard Hebrew atonement vocabulary to describe it.¹³

In summary, the Day of Atonement ritual as a whole illustrates both the substitutionary and the propitiatory nature of the atonement. Two animals were involved: the first was slain sacrificially, with its blood providing the means of atonement; the scapegoat pictured the effect of the atonement—the removal of guilt and forgiveness.¹⁴ The critics are right that the sacrificial system included dimensions of purification, communion, and worship. But they are wrong to deny that it also included substitution and propitiation. Both dimensions are present, and both are important. The sacrificial system is richer than either a purely purificatory or a purely penal reading can capture—but that richness includes the substitutionary dimension rather than excluding it. For the full exegetical treatment of the Old Testament sacrificial system, see Chapters 4–5.

Objection 2: Hilastērion Means "Expiation," Not "Propitiation"

The Objection Stated

Perhaps the most famous exegetical debate in the history of atonement theology concerns a single Greek word: hilastērion (ἱλαστήριον). This word appears in Romans 3:25, one of the most important atonement texts in the entire New Testament, where Paul writes that God put Christ forward "as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith" (ESV). The question is: what does hilastērion actually mean?

In 1931, the great British scholar C. H. Dodd published an influential article arguing that the hilask- word group in the Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Old Testament) does not carry the idea of propitiation—that is, turning away divine wrath—but rather the idea of expiation—that is, cleansing or purging sin.¹⁵ Dodd's argument was enormously influential. It shaped a generation of English Bible translations (the RSV, for example, rendered hilastērion as "expiation" rather than "propitiation") and became a standard reference point for scholars who wanted to remove the idea of divine wrath from the atonement.

The logic behind this objection runs as follows. In pagan Greek religion, propitiation meant appeasing an angry deity through gifts or sacrifices—humans trying to calm down an irritable god. If hilastērion carries this meaning, then the atonement starts to look uncomfortably pagan: God is angry, and Jesus' blood calms Him down. But if the word means "expiation" instead, then the focus shifts from God's wrath to sin's defilement. Christ's death cleanses the stain of sin without any need for the problematic idea that God's wrath needed to be satisfied. The word, on Dodd's reading, points to what is done to sin (it is wiped away), not to what is done to God (His wrath is turned aside).

Hess picks up this line of argument as well, contending that the Hebraic understanding of propitiation was fundamentally about purification, not about wrath-appeasement. He argues that "the primary idea of purification, purgation, or expiation of corruption" is what the biblical writers intended when they used propitiation language.¹⁶ On his reading, the Greek understanding of propitiation as wrath-appeasement stands "in juxtaposition to the Hebraic understanding" and should be kept out of Christian theology.¹⁷

Response

The response to Dodd's argument was provided decisively by Leon Morris in a series of meticulous studies published in the 1950s and 1960s, particularly in his landmark work The Apostolic Preaching of the Cross. Morris demonstrated that while Dodd was right that the Septuagint sometimes uses the hilask- word group in contexts of purification, the broader evidence from both the Septuagint and extra-biblical Greek consistently includes propitiatory connotations—contexts where divine wrath or anger is in view and needs to be averted.¹⁸ Dodd had been selective in his evidence, highlighting passages that supported his thesis while downplaying those that did not. Morris's more thorough and careful examination of the data overturned Dodd's conclusions and has been widely accepted by subsequent scholarship—even by many scholars who are otherwise critical of penal substitutionary formulations.

But the strongest argument for propitiation in Romans 3:25 comes not from lexical studies alone but from Paul's own argument—the literary context in which the word appears. As we explored in detail in Chapter 8, Romans 3:21–26 does not appear out of nowhere. It comes after one of the most sustained and devastating expositions of divine wrath in the entire New Testament. From Romans 1:18 onward, Paul has been building an airtight case that all of humanity—every single person, Jew and Gentile alike—stands under God's righteous judgment:

"For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth." (Romans 1:18, ESV)

God's wrath is not mentioned once in passing; it is a sustained theme. Romans 2:5 speaks of "storing up wrath" for the day of judgment. Romans 2:8 speaks of "wrath and fury" for those who are self-seeking and disobey the truth. Romans 3:5–6 discusses God's wrath in the context of His justice. The entire section from Romans 1:18 to 3:20 is designed to establish one devastating conclusion: every human being is guilty before God and subject to His just wrath.

Then, at Romans 3:21, the argument turns with one of the most dramatic "but now" transitions in all of Scripture: "But now the righteousness of God has been manifested apart from the law." And the centerpiece of that solution is the hilastērion—Christ set forth as a propitiation by His blood. In this context, the word simply must carry propitiatory overtones. Paul has just spent nearly three chapters establishing that humanity is under God's wrath. Now he is explaining how that wrath is dealt with. To read hilastērion here as merely "expiation"—the cleansing of sin's stain—without any reference to the wrath that Paul has been hammering home for three chapters would be to miss the entire flow of the argument. As Allen observes, the context of Romans 1:18–3:20 "makes this clear. God's wrath is the result of human sin (1:18), and the judgment of God against sin involves His wrath (2:5; 3:5–6)."¹⁹

Furthermore, the purpose of the hilastērion in Romans 3:25–26 is to demonstrate God's justice—His dikaiosynē (δικαιοσύνη). Paul says that God set forth Christ as a propitiation "to show his righteousness, because in his divine forbearance he had passed over former sins. It was to show his righteousness at the present time, so that he might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus" (Romans 3:25b–26, ESV). The problem Paul is solving here is emphatically not merely that sinners are dirty and need cleaning. The problem is that God is just and must deal with sin justly. How can a righteous God forgive guilty sinners without compromising His own justice? That is the question. And Paul's answer is: through the hilastērion—through Christ's atoning death, which satisfies the demands of divine justice while simultaneously expressing God's mercy. As Thomas Schreiner has noted, the question Paul is answering is not "How can God justly punish people?" but rather "How can God justly forgive anyone?"²⁰ The hilastērion answers that question by showing that God has not simply swept sin under the rug. He has dealt with it—fully, finally, and at infinite cost.

We should also note that the word hilastērion is capable of three possible meanings, and we do not need to choose just one: (1) "mercy seat," alluding to the golden lid atop the Ark of the Covenant in the Holy of Holies—the place where the high priest sprinkled sacrificial blood on the Day of Atonement; (2) "expiation," the cleansing of sin; and (3) "propitiation," the turning away of wrath. Allen wisely concludes that "no doubt all three meanings inhere in Paul's usage (we do not need to succumb to the false dichotomy of whether Paul intends 'propitiation' or 'expiation'), but 'propitiation' is the best translation for the Greek word."²¹ The false dichotomy between expiation and propitiation has plagued this discussion for decades, as Henri Blocher has noted.²² The biblical picture includes both: Christ's death both cleanses the stain of sin (expiation) and satisfies the demands of God's justice (propitiation). We do not have to choose one over the other. Indeed, the two are inseparable—it is precisely because sin has been dealt with (expiation) that God's just wrath is averted (propitiation).

One more point is worth making. Hess rightly notes that the biblical concept of propitiation is fundamentally different from the pagan version.²³ On this, we agree completely. In pagan religion, humans try to appease angry gods through their own efforts. In the Bible, God Himself provides the propitiation. The initiative comes entirely from God's love. As John writes: "In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins" (1 John 4:10, ESV). And Paul: "God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8, ESV). The difference is enormous and must never be overlooked. Biblical propitiation is not humans bribing an angry God; it is a loving God providing—at infinite cost to Himself—the means by which His own justice is satisfied and sinners can be forgiven. As Stott memorably puts it, "God himself gave himself to save us from himself."²⁴ The distinction between pagan propitiation and biblical propitiation is not a reason to abandon the word "propitiation"—it is a reason to understand it rightly. For the full exegetical treatment of Romans 3:21–26, see Chapter 8.

Objection 3: Paul's Atonement Language Is Participatory, Not Forensic

The Objection Stated

The third major exegetical objection argues that Paul's understanding of salvation is fundamentally about participation in Christ rather than forensic transaction. Scholars associated with the "New Perspective on Paul"—particularly N. T. Wright and James D. G. Dunn—as well as scholars in the "apocalyptic" school of Pauline interpretation, have argued that Paul's soteriology (his theology of salvation) is primarily about covenant membership, incorporation into Christ, and deliverance from the enslaving powers of sin and death. It is not primarily about forensic imputation—the legal transfer of guilt from sinners to Christ and righteousness from Christ to sinners.²⁵

This objection takes several forms. Wright argues that justification in Paul is not about how individuals "get saved" but about how God identifies the true members of His covenant people. Dunn emphasizes that Paul's debates about "works of the law" are about ethnic boundary markers (circumcision, food laws, Sabbath) rather than about human effort to earn salvation. The apocalyptic school (represented by scholars like J. Louis Martyn and Beverly Gaventa) argues that Paul's primary categories are cosmic and liberative—God's invasion of the world to defeat the powers of sin and death—rather than courtroom-based and forensic.²⁶

Morna Hooker has developed a particularly influential version of this objection through what she calls the "interchange" model. In Hooker's reading of Paul, Christ does not swap places with sinners (substitution) but rather enters into the human condition in order to bring humans out of it into a new condition. She summarizes her theory in the words of Irenaeus: "Christ became what we are, in order that we might become what he is."²⁷ On this reading, 2 Corinthians 5:21 ("For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God") is not about the imputation of sin to Christ but about Christ entering into the sphere of human sinfulness so that humans, in Him, might be brought into the sphere of God's righteousness. The key phrase is "in him"—it points to incorporation, not transaction. Similarly, 2 Corinthians 8:9 ("though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich") describes Christ entering into human poverty, not swapping his wealth for our poverty in a forensic exchange.²⁸

Gathercole notes that the Tübingen school, Hooker's interchange model, and the apocalyptic school all share a common tendency: they emphasize Christ's identification with us rather than His dying instead of us. They prefer "inclusive place-taking" (Christ taking us through death with Him) over "exclusive place-taking" (Christ dying in our place so we do not have to).²⁹

Response

Once again, there is a genuine insight here that we should affirm before pushing back. Paul's theology does include a robust participatory dimension. The phrase "in Christ" (en Christō, ἐν Χριστῷ) appears scores of times in Paul's letters and is clearly central to his soteriology. Believers are baptized into Christ (Romans 6:3), they have died with Christ (Romans 6:8), they are raised with Christ (Colossians 3:1), and they are seated with Christ in the heavenly places (Ephesians 2:6). This participatory, incorporative dimension is real and important. Any account of Paul's soteriology that ignores it is badly incomplete. We should be grateful to the New Perspective and the apocalyptic school for reminding us of dimensions of Paul that the Reformation tradition sometimes neglected.

But—and this is the crucial point—the participatory and forensic dimensions in Paul are not mutually exclusive. They work together. They are complementary aspects of a single, rich, multidimensional soteriology. And the evidence that Paul also employs forensic, substitutionary categories is overwhelming.

Consider the evidence. Paul explicitly uses the language of justification (dikaiosynē, δικαιοσύνη)—a term drawn from the law court. He speaks of believers being "justified by his blood" (Romans 5:9) and "justified by faith" (Romans 5:1). He speaks of imputation—God "counting" or "reckoning" (logizomai, λογίζομαι) righteousness to Abraham apart from works (Romans 4:3–8). He speaks of Christ being "made to be sin" on our behalf (2 Corinthians 5:21) and becoming "a curse for us" (Galatians 3:13)—language that describes Christ bearing something that properly belonged to others. He speaks of Christ as a "propitiation" (hilastērion) in Romans 3:25. He says that Christ was "delivered up for our trespasses" (Romans 4:25). These are forensic categories—they involve guilt, acquittal, penalty, legal standing, and the transfer of consequences from one party to another.

Gathercole is particularly helpful here. He argues that substitution is genuinely present in Paul alongside participation—it is not a case of either/or but of both/and. Gathercole defines substitution carefully: Christ died "in our place, instead of us," meaning that "when Christ died bearing our sins or guilt or punishment, he did so in our place and instead of us."³⁰ He is careful to note what "instead of us" means: it "clarifies the point that 'in our place' does not, in substitution at least, mean 'in our place with us.'" That is, Christ's substitutionary death is something He did that we do not have to do—He bore the consequences so that we are spared from them. This does not deny the participatory dimension; it affirms it alongside the substitutionary one. Believers participate in Christ, but the ground of their participation is His prior substitutionary work on their behalf.³¹

I. Howard Marshall provides a balanced treatment showing that both the forensic and participatory dimensions are present in Paul's letters and that attempts to eliminate either one do violence to the texts.³² The simplest and most adequate reading of Paul is that his soteriology includes both participatory and forensic dimensions: believers are incorporated into Christ (participatory) and thereby receive the benefits of His substitutionary death (forensic). The "in Christ" language does not replace substitution; it explains how the benefits of Christ's substitutionary death are applied to believers. We die with Christ because He first died for us. We are justified because He bore the judicial consequences of our sins. These two dimensions need each other.

Gathercole also identifies a common weakness in the three major non-substitutionary approaches—the Tübingen school, Hooker's interchange model, and the apocalyptic school: all three tend to downplay the importance of sins (plural)—individual transgressions—in favor of focusing on sin (singular) as a power or condition.³³ They focus on the cosmic bondage of humanity under the power of sin and death, but they struggle to account for Paul's explicit statements that "Christ died for our sins" (1 Corinthians 15:3) and was "delivered up for our trespasses" (Romans 4:25). Notice the plurals. Paul is not talking only about liberation from a cosmic power; he is talking about the forgiveness of specific transgressions. A view of the atonement that accounts only for cosmic liberation from the power of sin but not for the forgiveness of individual sins has not done justice to Paul's full picture. As argued in detail in Chapter 9, the broader Pauline witness supports this integrated reading.

Objection 4: The Gospels Present Jesus' Death as Martyrdom, Not Substitution

The Objection Stated

A fourth exegetical objection focuses on the Gospels rather than on Paul. Some scholars argue that Jesus did not understand His own death in substitutionary or atoning terms. Rather, Jesus saw Himself as a prophet and martyr—like the prophets before Him who were rejected and killed by their own people. His death was a consequence of His faithfulness to God's message, not a sacrifice bearing the penalty of sin. On this reading, it was Paul (or the later church) who turned a tragic martyrdom into a theological atonement doctrine.

This objection draws support from the Jewish tradition of noble martyrdom, particularly as found in the literature of the Maccabean period (second century BC). In 2 Maccabees and 4 Maccabees, faithful Jews who died rather than abandon the law were celebrated as martyrs whose deaths had redemptive significance for the nation. The mother and her seven sons in 2 Maccabees 7 are perhaps the most famous examples. Some scholars have argued that Jesus should be understood in this same tradition—a righteous man who died for his convictions, whose death inspired his followers, but who did not intend His death to be a substitutionary sacrifice in the theological sense.

Green and Baker develop a version of this argument, suggesting that the evangelists present Jesus' death primarily in terms of God's faithfulness to His covenant promises, the vindication of the righteous sufferer, and the establishment of God's kingdom—not in terms of penal substitution. They worry that reading PSA into the Gospels distorts the narrative the evangelists were actually trying to tell and flattens the rich diversity of the Gospel accounts into a single theological formula.³⁴

Response

This objection requires us to look carefully at what Jesus actually said about His own death. And when we do, the martyrdom interpretation proves seriously inadequate. The Gospel evidence shows Jesus interpreting His death in categories that go far beyond mere martyrdom—categories that are explicitly substitutionary and atoning.

First, consider Mark 10:45. Jesus says:

"For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." (Mark 10:45, ESV)

The word "ransom" (lytron, λύτρον) is a price paid to set someone free—it is transactional language, not martyrdom language. And the phrase "for many" (anti pollōn, ἀντὶ πολλῶν) uses the Greek preposition anti, which carries the clear meaning of "in the place of" or "instead of." As Allen notes, Mark 10:45 is "the key atonement text in Jesus's public ministry," and it shows Jesus understanding His death not as a martyr's noble end but as a substitutionary payment that would liberate others.³⁵ A martyr dies for a cause. Jesus said He was giving His life as a ransom—a price paid to set captives free. These are fundamentally different categories. The ransom saying cannot be explained as martyrdom language; it is sacrificial and substitutionary to its core.

Second, consider the Last Supper words. At the Last Supper, Jesus took the cup and said:

"This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins." (Matthew 26:28, ESV)

Notice the key elements: "my blood" (sacrificial language, echoing the blood of the covenant in Exodus 24:8), "poured out" (language of sacrificial death—blood poured out at the base of the altar), "for many" (substitutionary—on behalf of others), and "for the forgiveness of sins" (the explicit purpose of His death). Jesus is connecting His death to the sacrificial system and to the inauguration of a new covenant. He is not describing a martyrdom but a sacrificial, substitutionary death whose stated purpose is the forgiveness of sins. As Allen observes, "Jesus's death will be redemptive. At the Last Supper, Jesus clearly" expressed the sacrificial nature of what He was about to undergo.³⁶

Third, Jesus deliberately connected His death to Isaiah 53. In Luke 22:37, Jesus quotes Isaiah 53:12: "For I tell you that this Scripture must be fulfilled in me: 'And he was numbered with the transgressors'" (ESV). Jesus is identifying Himself with the Suffering Servant of Isaiah 53—a figure who, as we have seen and will explore further in Objection 5, suffers not merely as a martyr but as a substitute who bears the sins of others. This self-identification is not incidental or casual. It shows that Jesus understood His death in the categories of Isaiah 53: bearing sin, making intercession for transgressors, and offering Himself as a guilt offering (asham). No martyr in Jewish tradition ever claimed to be fulfilling Isaiah 53. Jesus did.

Fourth, the Maccabean martyrdom tradition, while providing some background, is insufficient to explain Jesus' self-understanding. The Maccabean martyrs died hoping that their faithfulness would move God to deliver Israel. But Jesus did not merely hope that His death would accomplish something. He declared in advance and with complete certainty that His death would be a ransom (Mark 10:45), that His blood would establish a new covenant (Matthew 26:28), and that His death would bring about the forgiveness of sins (Matthew 26:28). He enacted this meaning through the bread and cup of the Last Supper, giving His disciples a ritual by which they would remember and participate in the benefits of His death. This goes far beyond anything in the martyrdom tradition. The martyrs inspire; Jesus atones. The martyrs die as examples of faithfulness; Jesus dies as a substitute who bears what others deserve. Stott helpfully explores these differences in detail.³⁷

We should also note that even the broader narrative structure of the Gospels supports a substitutionary reading. The Gospels are not merely biographies of a great teacher. They are passion narratives with extended introductions—that is, the story of Jesus' death occupies a disproportionate amount of space in all four Gospels, and the entire narrative builds toward the cross as its climax and purpose. As Rutledge emphasizes, the crucifixion is not just the sad ending of a noble life; it is the event to which everything else in the Gospels points.³⁸ The evangelists clearly understood Jesus' death as something more than a martyrdom. As we discussed in detail in Chapter 7, Jesus' self-understanding of His death was substitutionary, and the Gospel writers faithfully preserved that self-understanding.

Objection 5: Isaiah 53 Does Not Teach Penal Substitution

The Objection Stated

The fifth major exegetical objection targets what many consider the single most important Old Testament passage for substitutionary atonement: Isaiah 52:13–53:12, the fourth Servant Song. Critics acknowledge that the Servant of Isaiah 53 suffers—and suffers in some connection with the sins of others—but they deny that his suffering is penal substitution. They propose alternative readings.

One common alternative is what we might call the "consequential suffering" interpretation. On this reading, the Servant does not bear the penalty for others' sins (substitutionary punishment); rather, he suffers as a consequence of or in the midst of others' sins (consequential suffering). That is, the Servant is caught up in the suffering that human sinfulness produces, and he suffers because of what others have done—but he is not bearing a divinely imposed penalty on their behalf. He is a victim of human sin, not a substitute absorbing divine judgment.

Another version of this objection focuses on the corporate or representative nature of the Servant's suffering. On this reading, the Servant represents Israel and suffers with the people rather than instead of them. He is a representative figure who shares in the nation's affliction, not a substitute who takes their punishment so they can go free.

Hess develops elements of both these readings in his discussion of Isaiah 53 and the broader Servant Songs. He argues that the overall context points toward a figure who suffers at the hands of evil—who is victimized by human wickedness—rather than one who is punished by God in the place of sinners.³⁹ On his reading, the language of "bearing" sin and being "wounded" for transgressions describes the Servant's experience of the consequences of human evil, not his reception of divine punishment. Hess is concerned that reading penal substitution into Isaiah 53 makes God the author of the Servant's suffering in a way that is morally problematic.

Response

I understand why some scholars are attracted to these alternative readings. Isaiah 53 is a complex, deeply poetic text, and its language is capable of multiple nuances. The desire to protect God from the charge of inflicting suffering on an innocent person is an understandable theological instinct. But when we look closely at the actual Hebrew terminology, the structure of the passage, and its connections to the broader sacrificial system, the evidence for substitutionary—and specifically penal—dimensions is very strong. Let me walk through the key evidence.

First, the language of "chastisement" (musar, מוּסָר) carries penal connotations. Isaiah 53:5 reads:

"But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed." (Isaiah 53:5, ESV)

The Hebrew word musar frequently connotes punishment in the Old Testament—it is used of disciplinary correction that involves real consequences (see Proverbs 22:15; Jeremiah 30:14). As Allen notes, the phrase "chastisement for our peace" is rendered literally by Motyer as "our peace—punishment," conveying the meaning "the punishment necessary to secure or restore our peace with God."⁴⁰ This is not merely consequential suffering—suffering that happens to occur because of others' sins. This is punishment that achieves a specific result: peace with God. The text attributes a penal function to the Servant's suffering. The chastisement falls on Him, and the peace comes to us. That is the logic of substitution.

Second, the language of "bearing iniquity" (nasa avon, נָשָׂא עָוֹן) is explicitly substitutionary. Isaiah 53:6 says: "The LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all" (ESV). And Isaiah 53:11 says the Servant "shall bear their iniquities." The Hebrew phrase nasa avon (to bear iniquity) is a well-established expression in the Old Testament that means to bear the guilt and consequences of sin. When used of a person bearing their own iniquity, it means they suffer the consequences of their own sin (e.g., Leviticus 5:1, 17; Numbers 14:34; Ezekiel 18:20). When used of one person bearing another's iniquity, it means they take on the consequences that belong to someone else—which is precisely the concept of substitution. The parallel with the scapegoat of Leviticus 16:22, which "shall bear all their iniquities" (nasa... et kol avonotam), is unmistakable.

The critical point in Isaiah 53:6 is that God Himself is the agent: "The LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all." This is not merely human violence against an innocent man. It is a divine act—God laying sin upon His Servant. Allen observes that this language is "heavily reminiscent of sacrificial terminology and practice in the Mosaic covenant," particularly the Day of Atonement ritual where the priest transferred the sins of the people to the scapegoat.⁴¹ The Servant is described as "the provision and plan of God, who himself superintends the priestly task (Lev 16:21) of transferring the guilt of the guilty to the head of the Servant."⁴² Furthermore, the universal scope—"us all" (kullanu)—emphasizes the comprehensive nature of the Servant's substitutionary bearing of sin.⁴³

Third, the Servant's death is described as an asham—a guilt offering. Isaiah 53:10 says:

"Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him; he has put him to grief; when his soul makes an offering for guilt, he shall see his offspring; he shall prolong his days; the will of the LORD shall prosper in his hand." (Isaiah 53:10, ESV)

The asham (אָשָׁם) was a specific type of Levitical sacrifice—the guilt or trespass offering—used to make reparation for concrete offenses against God and neighbor (Leviticus 5–7). By describing the Servant's death as an asham, Isaiah is placing it squarely within the framework of the sacrificial system and specifically within the category that dealt with guilt for specific transgressions. Allen notes that both the sin and guilt offerings "are widely regarded as the primary expiatory offerings in the Levitical system."⁴⁴ The prophet is telling us that the Servant's death functions as a sacrifice that addresses guilt—not just suffering that happens to result from others' sins. This sacrificial identification is deliberate and theologically loaded.

Fourth, notice the repeated emphasis that God Himself is behind the Servant's suffering. Isaiah 53:4 says "the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all." Isaiah 53:10 says "it was the will of the LORD to crush him." The "consequential suffering" reading has great difficulty with these statements, because they attribute the Servant's suffering not merely to human wickedness but to the deliberate, purposeful action of God. If the Servant is simply a victim of human sin, why does the text insist that God is the one who laid the iniquity on him and God is the one who willed to crush him? The text is clear: the Servant's suffering is not accidental or merely consequential. It is divinely ordained and divinely directed—a planned act of God that accomplishes God's purposes. This is entirely consistent with substitutionary atonement and very difficult to explain on any alternative reading.⁴⁵

Fifth, the structure of Isaiah 53 itself supports substitution. The passage repeatedly contrasts the Servant ("He") with the people ("we/our"): "He was pierced for our transgressions"; "He was crushed for our iniquities"; "upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace"; "with His wounds we are healed"; "the LORD has laid on Him the iniquity of us all" (Isaiah 53:5–6). As Allen observes, "Not only does the Servant substitute Himself for the people, but also the Servant's actions bring positive benefits to the people: 'by His stripes we are healed.'"⁴⁶ The benefits flow in one direction: from the Servant to the people. The suffering flows in the other direction: from the people to the Servant. This is the logic of substitution—the exchange of places between the Servant and those on whose behalf he acts.

The "consequential suffering" reading cannot explain this structure. If the Servant is merely caught up in the suffering that others' sins have caused, why does the text say that his suffering brings them peace and healing? Victims of collateral damage do not typically heal those who caused their suffering. But substitutes do—that is exactly what a substitute does. He bears what belongs to others, and they receive what he has purchased for them. The logic of Isaiah 53 is the logic of exchange, and exchange is the heart of substitution. For the full exegetical treatment of Isaiah 53, see Chapter 6.

Engaging Hess and Green/Baker: A Broader Response

Having addressed the five major exegetical objections individually, I want to step back and engage more broadly with two influential critical works whose arguments run through many of the objections we have discussed: William Hess's Crushing the Great Serpent and Joel Green and Mark Baker's Recovering the Scandal of the Cross.

Engaging Hess

Hess makes several important exegetical arguments that deserve direct engagement beyond what we have already said. Let me address three of them.

First, Hess argues that the Old Testament sacrificial system was fundamentally relational, not forensic. The offerings were about "cultivating a relationship with God through participatory worship" rather than paying penalties.⁴⁷ I have already responded to this in Objection 1, but let me add an important point. Hess presents a false dichotomy between relational and forensic. The sacrifices were indeed relational—they restored the relationship between God and His people. But how did they restore that relationship? In part, through the substitutionary death of an animal and the transfer of sin to a scapegoat. Relationship and substitution are not opposed; substitution is one of the primary means by which the broken relationship is restored. Think of it this way: if someone wrongs you deeply, the relationship cannot simply be restored by pretending nothing happened. Something must be done about the offense. In the sacrificial system, what was done was the provision of a substitute that bore the consequences of the offense. The relational and the forensic work together—the forensic act of atonement is what makes the relational restoration possible.

Second, Hess argues that the concept of propitiation in the Hebraic tradition was fundamentally about purification rather than wrath-appeasement, and that importing Greek concepts of propitiation into Christian theology distorts the biblical picture.⁴⁸ There is a kernel of truth here: the biblical concept of propitiation is indeed different from the pagan version, as I emphasized in the response to Objection 2. But Hess goes too far when he eliminates the wrath dimension entirely. The Old Testament is quite clear that God's wrath against sin is real (Psalm 7:11; Nahum 1:2; Deuteronomy 32:22), and that the sacrificial system included the dimension of averting that wrath. We saw above that Numbers 25:11–13 explicitly connects the verb kipper (make atonement) with the turning away of divine wrath. The solution is not to eliminate wrath from the picture but to understand it rightly—as an expression of God's holy love that is consistent with, not opposed to, His mercy. Philippe de la Trinité is helpful here: the problem is not with divine justice as such but with distorted portrayals that make God into a wrathful tyrant. The true picture, Philippe argues, is of "vicarious satisfaction" rooted in love and mercy—the Son acting as a "victim of love" in union with the Father, not as the target of the Father's rage.⁴⁹ That is the position this book has been arguing throughout.

Third, Hess raises the question of pagan parallels—arguing that penal substitutionary atonement bears uncomfortable similarities to pagan sacrificial practices in which angry deities are appeased by human or animal sacrifice.⁵⁰ This is a serious concern that deserves a thoughtful answer. The key difference, as we have already noted, is the direction of initiative. In pagan religion, humans attempt to appease the gods through their own efforts and offerings. In the Bible, God Himself provides the sacrifice. The initiative comes entirely from divine love—from within God Himself. Romans 5:8 and 1 John 4:10 are decisive on this point. The presence of superficial structural parallels between pagan sacrifice and biblical atonement does not mean they are the same thing any more than the existence of pagan flood stories means the Genesis flood narrative is pagan, or the existence of pagan creation myths means Genesis 1 is pagan. Surface similarities can mask deep, fundamental differences. C. S. Lewis made this point powerfully: if the Christian story echoes certain patterns found in pagan myth, that may be because the Christian story is the true myth—the reality that the pagan myths dimly foreshadowed.⁵¹

Engaging Green and Baker

Green and Baker's Recovering the Scandal of the Cross raises several important concerns that require careful engagement. Their central argument is that penal substitutionary atonement has been treated as the only legitimate explanation of the cross in much of evangelical theology, crowding out other equally biblical metaphors and models. They call for a recovery of the full range of biblical atonement imagery—a "kaleidoscope" of images rather than a single dominant model.⁵²

I have a good deal of sympathy with this concern, and I suspect that many readers of this book will as well. As I have argued throughout, the atonement is genuinely multi-faceted, and no single model captures the full reality of what Christ accomplished. Green and Baker are right that popular evangelicalism has sometimes reduced the atonement to a single transaction—"Jesus paid the penalty for your sins, the end"—without appreciating the richer, multi-dimensional picture the Bible paints. When the cross is reduced to a bare legal exchange with no attention to Christus Victor, recapitulation, moral influence, or the cosmic dimensions of Christ's work, something important has been lost. On this point, Green and Baker and I are in strong agreement.

Where I part company with them is in their apparent unwillingness to grant substitution a central or organizing role among the atonement metaphors. They seem to treat all the models as roughly equal partners in a "kaleidoscope" where no single image takes priority. I believe the biblical evidence points to substitution as the heart of the atonement—the central facet around which the other facets are arranged. Christus Victor, moral influence, recapitulation, and other models are genuine and important, but they are most fully understood when connected to the substitutionary core. Christ's victory over the powers (Christus Victor) is accomplished through His substitutionary death. His moral influence inspires us precisely because He was our substitute, not merely our example. His recapitulation of human life reaches its climax in His substitutionary death and resurrection. As argued in Chapter 24, the multi-faceted integration of atonement models works best when substitution stands at the center, not as one image among many but as the organizing principle that gives coherence to the whole.

Green and Baker also raise the concern that penal substitution has been used to justify violence and oppression—a concern I take very seriously, and which receives full treatment in Chapter 35 when we examine contemporary objections from feminist and liberationist perspectives. For now, let me simply note that the misuse of a doctrine does not invalidate the doctrine itself. The cross has been misused throughout history—used to justify crusades, colonialism, passive acceptance of abuse, and all manner of evil. But that tragic fact does not change what the cross means. It calls us to better teaching and more faithful practice, not to abandoning the truth.

Common Threads and a Recurring Problem

As we step back and look at all five objections together, a clear pattern emerges. In each case, the critics identify a genuine dimension of the biblical text—purification, mercy-seat imagery, participation in Christ, prophetic faithfulness, representative suffering—and then argue that this dimension excludes the substitutionary dimension. The sacrifices are about purification, therefore not about substitution. Paul's language is participatory, therefore not forensic. Jesus is a faithful prophet, therefore not a penal substitute. Isaiah 53 describes consequential suffering, therefore not substitutionary punishment.

But in every case, the "therefore not" is where the argument goes wrong. The biblical text is richer than any single interpretive lens can capture. The sacrifices are about purification and substitution. Paul's language is participatory and forensic. Jesus is a faithful prophet and a substitutionary sacrifice. Isaiah 53 describes suffering that results from human sin and a divinely appointed substitute who bears the penalty that belongs to others. The false dichotomies that drive these objections collapse when we allow the biblical text its full range of meaning.

This pattern of false dichotomies is not accidental. It arises from a deeper methodological tendency—what we might call "reductionism by exclusion." The critic observes that the text contains Element A (say, purification), correctly notes that Element A has sometimes been neglected in favor of Element B (say, substitution), and then concludes that Element A replaces Element B—that the discovery of the neglected element means the traditionally emphasized element was never there. But this does not follow logically. The discovery that the sacrifices had purificatory dimensions does not prove they lacked substitutionary dimensions. The discovery that Paul uses participatory language does not prove he lacked forensic language. Good exegesis attends to all the evidence, not just the evidence that supports a preferred conclusion.

Gathercole makes a particularly astute observation in this regard. He notes that all three of the major non-substitutionary approaches he examines share a common weakness: they all tend to downplay sins (plural), the specific transgressions of individuals.⁵³ They focus on sin as a cosmic power, or the human condition as a whole, or the plight of Adamic humanity, but they struggle to account for Paul's explicit statements that "Christ died for our sins" (1 Corinthians 15:3) and was "delivered up for our trespasses" (Romans 4:25). Substitutionary atonement takes individual sins seriously—it says that Christ bore the specific consequences of specific transgressions committed by specific people—and any model that cannot account for this language has not done full justice to the biblical data. The plural sins and trespasses in these texts simply will not go away, no matter how much one prefers to talk about sin as a power or a condition.

Conclusion

We have now examined the five major exegetical objections to substitutionary atonement: (1) that the Old Testament sacrifices were not penal; (2) that hilastērion means "expiation" rather than "propitiation"; (3) that Paul's atonement language is participatory rather than forensic; (4) that the Gospels present Jesus' death as martyrdom rather than substitution; and (5) that Isaiah 53 does not teach penal substitution. In each case, we have found that the objection identifies a genuine dimension of the biblical text but then overreaches by denying the substitutionary dimension.

Let me summarize the key findings. The Old Testament sacrificial system includes both purification and substitution—most clearly in the scapegoat ritual of Leviticus 16, where sins are explicitly transferred to the goat, and in Leviticus 17:11, which grounds atonement in the substitutionary giving of life. The Hebrew word kipper is broad enough to include both expiation and propitiation, and specific texts like Numbers 25:11–13 demonstrate the propitiatory dimension beyond reasonable doubt. The word hilastērion carries both expiatory and propitiatory meaning, and the context of Romans 3:21–26—coming after three chapters of sustained exposition of divine wrath—demands the propitiatory sense. Paul's soteriology is both participatory ("in Christ") and forensic (justification, imputation, propitiation)—these are complementary, not competing dimensions, as Gathercole and Marshall have demonstrated. The Gospels present Jesus' death as far more than a martyrdom: His ransom saying (Mark 10:45), His Last Supper words (Matthew 26:28), and His identification with the Suffering Servant of Isaiah 53 (Luke 22:37) all point to a substitutionary self-understanding that goes decisively beyond the martyrdom tradition. And Isaiah 53 itself, with its language of musar (chastisement/punishment), nasa avon (bearing iniquity), and asham (guilt offering), provides one of the clearest and most powerful expressions of substitutionary atonement in all of Scripture.

The critics have sharpened our exegesis, and we are genuinely grateful for that. They have reminded us that the atonement is richer and more multi-dimensional than any single theory can capture. They have rightly challenged caricatures—crude portrayals of an angry Father punishing an unwilling Son, reductive accounts that flatten the cross into a bare legal transaction. We need those corrections, and we have tried to incorporate their legitimate insights throughout this book.

But when the dust settles, the biblical text still speaks with remarkable clarity: Christ died for our sins, in our place, instead of us. He bore what we deserved so that we might receive what He deserved. He was our substitute, and that substitution—understood within a Trinitarian framework of divine love, integrated with the other genuine facets of the atonement, and purged of the caricatures that have sometimes attached themselves to it—is the beating heart of the gospel.

In the next chapter, we will turn from exegetical objections to theological and moral objections—the arguments that substitutionary atonement is unjust, that it divides the Trinity, that it glorifies violence, and that it makes forgiveness impossible. As we will see, these objections—like the exegetical ones examined here—arise largely from misunderstandings and caricatures of the doctrine rather than from the doctrine rightly understood.

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