Introduction: The Persistence of a Troubling Metaphor

Few critiques of Penal Substitutionary Atonement (PSA) have been as rhetorically charged as the accusation that it amounts to “cosmic child abuse.” Popularized in contemporary theological discourse, the critique is often rejected as reductionistic, emotionally manipulative, and inattentive to Trinitarian theology.¹ Yet its persistence suggests that it is not sustained merely by caricature. Rather, it functions as a theological pressure point, exposing a deeper unease regarding the coherence of PSA with the character of God revealed in Scripture.

The task, therefore, is not to accept the critique uncritically, nor to dismiss it reflexively, but to ask whether the conceptual framework of PSA, particularly its emphasis on divine wrath, penal satisfaction, and substitutionary punishment, arises from the biblical text itself or is imposed upon it. This study argues that while substitutionary language is present in Scripture as a simple metaphor, the penal structuring of that substitution is not exegetically grounded in the way often claimed (as doctrine). When elevated to a controlling paradigm, PSA not only reduces the biblical witness but risks introducing tensions that give rise to the very critique it seeks to refute.

It is also important to acknowledge that for some, this is not merely a theoretical tension. There are many who have not simply questioned the cross, but have walked away from the Christian faith altogether because they found themselves unable to reconcile a strongly penal vision of the cross with the character of a loving and merciful God. This dynamic, and the pastoral weight it carries, will be explored more fully in an appendix.

Atonement in Its Native Context: ANE Sacrifice and Israel’s Radical Departure

Any serious engagement with atonement must begin within the Ancient Near Eastern (ANE) context in which Israel’s sacrificial system emerged. In surrounding cultures, sacrifice often functioned within a framework of appeasement, where divine anger was placated through offerings, including, at times, child sacrifice.² Texts from Ugarit and Phoenicia attest to rituals in which the death of a child was understood as a means of satisfying divine demands.³ Against this backdrop, the Hebrew Scriptures present a striking polemic. The prohibition of child sacrifice is unequivocal (Lev 18:21; Deut 12:31), and prophetic literature repeatedly condemns the practice as something that “never entered the mind” of God (Jer 7:31).⁴ The implication is not merely ethical but theological: Israel’s God is fundamentally unlike the gods of the nations. This distinction is critical. If Israel’s sacrificial system is to inform our understanding of the cross, it must be interpreted within its own conceptual world, not retrofitted into ANE patterns of appeasement. The central concern of Levitical sacrifice is not the satisfaction of divine anger through punishment, but the purification of sacred space and the restoration of covenantal relationship.⁵ The term כִּפֶּר (kipper) reflects this orientation. As Milgrom demonstrates, its primary function is to purge or cleanse, particularly in relation to the sanctuary.⁶ Blood is applied to objects, not persons, indicating that the problem addressed is not primarily legal guilt but cultic defilement.⁷

Thus, the sacrificial system does not operate on penal logic. It operates on purificatory and relational logic.

Isaiah 53 and the Misinterpretation of the Servant

Isaiah 52:13–53:12 is frequently cited as the clearest Old Testament support for PSA. Yet a close reading reveals a more complex picture. The Servant is said to “bear” (נָשָׂא) and “carry” (סָבַל) the sins of many (Isa 53:4, 11–12). These terms, however, do not inherently denote penal substitution. They often signify bearing the consequences of sin within a communal or relational framework.⁸ The Servant enters into the condition of Israel’s suffering rather than stepping into a juridical exchange.

More significantly, Isaiah 53:4 introduces a hermeneutical correction: “We considered (חָשַׁב) him stricken, smitten by God…”

The assumption that the Servant is being punished by God is explicitly attributed to the observers.⁹ The text then reframes this perception, revealing that the Servant’s suffering is not the result of divine retribution but the means of healing (“by his wounds we are healed,” 53:5). The verb דָּכָא (“to crush”) in 53:10 further complicates penal readings. While it denotes severe suffering, it does not necessarily imply judicial punishment.¹⁰ Within Isaiah’s broader narrative, such language is often associated with oppression and exile rather than retributive justice. The designation of the Servant as an אָשָׁם (ʾāšām, “guilt offering”) likewise resists penal interpretation. The guilt offering functions to restore covenantal order and address breaches in relationship, not to transfer punishment.¹¹ Thus, Isaiah 53 presents a model of vicarious suffering and restorative purpose, but it does not clearly articulate penal substitution.

Paul, Wrath, and the Reconfiguration of Justice

Was God torturing Jesus? The concept of divine wrath (ὀργή or torture) plays a central role in PSA. Yet Paul’s use of the term complicates its interpretation. In Romans 1:18–32, wrath is not depicted as an active outpouring of punishment but as God “giving over” humanity to the consequences of their actions.¹² The repeated use of παρέδωκεν (“he gave them over”) suggests a form of judicial abandonment rather than retributive infliction. This pattern continues throughout Paul’s letters. Wrath is eschatological, revealing the destructive trajectory of sin rather than a mechanism requiring satisfaction.¹³

Romans 3:21–26, often cited as the cornerstone of PSA, must be read within this framework. The term ἱλαστήριον, traditionally translated “propitiation,” is better understood as a reference to the mercy seat (כַּפֹּרֶת).¹⁴ This shifts the focus from appeasement to presence: Christ is the place where God meets humanity in mercy. The phrase δικαιοσύνη θεοῦ (“righteousness of God”) further supports this reading. Rather than denoting a standard of retributive justice, it reflects God’s covenant faithfulness—His commitment to set the world right.¹⁵

Paul’s declaration that God “passed over” former sins (πάρεσις) indicates that forgiveness was already operative prior to the cross.¹⁶ The cross, therefore, is not the precondition for forgiveness but its public demonstration.

Substitution Reconsidered: Representation Rather Than Punishment

Substitutionary language in the New Testament is used as a light metaphor. Scripture is filled with metaphors that illuminate truth without exhausting it. Jesus calls Himself “the door” (John 10:9), yet no one imagines that Christ is literally a plank of wood or that salvation is a matter of passing through a physical threshold. The image communicates access, not architecture. It would be theologically careless to take that metaphor and construct a literal doctrine from it. And yet, this is often what happens with atonement language. A single metaphor—legal, sacrificial, or economic—is elevated beyond its intended function and made to carry the full weight of the cross. The problem is not the metaphor, but the moment we forget that it is one voice among many.

It is also worth noting, as will be explored in a later endnote in the appendix, that the specifically penal form of substitution is a relatively late development in the history of Christian theology, which at minimum invites careful reflection before treating it as the controlling lens of Scripture.

In this way, the nature of that substitution is often misunderstood. The preposition ὑπέρ (“for/on behalf of”) dominates Pauline usage. While it can imply substitution, its primary sense is representative.¹⁷ Christ acts on behalf of humanity, not as a third party absorbing punishment, but as the true human who embodies and restores the human vocation. This is evident in 2 Corinthians 5:21, where Christ is said to be “made sin” (ἁμαρτία). The term likely carries sacrificial connotations, referring to a sin offering rather than a literal transfer of guilt.¹⁸ The result is participatory: “that we might become the righteousness of God.”

Similarly, Galatians 3:13 speaks of Christ becoming a “curse” (κατάρα). The curse, drawn from Deuteronomy, refers to covenantal exile and death, not a metaphysical transfer of punishment.¹⁹ Christ enters into Israel’s cursed condition in order to redeem it from within.

Theological Implications: Divine Character and Trinitarian Unity

The cumulative effect of these exegetical observations raises significant theological questions. First, the insistence that God must punish in order to forgive risks subordinating divine freedom to an external principle of justice. Scripture consistently portrays God as free to forgive (Exod 34:6–7; Mic 7:18), suggesting that forgiveness is an expression of divine character rather than a response to satisfied demands.²⁰ Second, PSA introduces tension within Trinitarian theology. While defenders affirm the unity of will between Father and Son, the logic of punishment can suggest a division that must be carefully managed.²¹ Third, the ethical implications are difficult to ignore. The punishment of an innocent person is consistently condemned in Scripture (Deut 24:16; Ezek 18:20). To frame the cross in such terms requires a significant reconfiguration of biblical justice.

Revisiting the “Cosmic Child Abuse” Critique

The charge that Penal Substitutionary Atonement amounts to “cosmic child abuse” did not arise in a vacuum. It is not merely the product of rhetorical excess or theological immaturity, as it is often dismissed, but rather the convergence of modern moral intuition and perceived theological inconsistency.²² At its most basic level, the critique argues that if the Father inflicts punishment upon the Son in order to satisfy divine wrath, then the cross begins to mirror patterns of abusive violence rather than reveal divine love.

In its most vulgar form, the argument is intentionally provocative. God is imagined as directing anger toward His Son, punishing Him in place of others. That picture is clearly distorted. It fails to account for the unity of the Trinity, the voluntary obedience of the Son (Phil 2:6–8), and the New Testament’s insistence that “God was in Christ” (2 Cor 5:19).²³ But dismissing the critique at that level is too easy, because it avoids the deeper question—why does this description feel intuitively plausible to so many who encounter PSA?

The plausibility is not accidental. It emerges from the internal logic of certain PSA formulations themselves. If divine justice is defined as the necessary punishment of sin, and if Christ is said to bear that punishment in the place of humanity, then the cross is structurally framed as punitive action directed toward an innocent substitute.²⁴ Even when carefully qualified within Trinitarian theology, this structure creates tension. Scripture consistently resists the punishment of the innocent as a violation of justice (Deut 24:16; Ezek 18:20), and yet PSA appears to affirm precisely that dynamic at the center of the gospel.²⁵

That tension becomes even more pronounced when read against the broader biblical narrative, especially the prophetic critique of sacrificial violence. The Hebrew Scriptures repeatedly reject the idea that God desires or is appeased by destructive offerings—particularly those involving human life. “They built the high places of Baal…to burn their sons and daughters in the fire—which I did not command, nor did it enter my mind” (Jer 7:31).²⁶ This is not simply a prohibition; it is a revelation of God’s character. The God of Israel does not operate according to the sacrificial logic of the surrounding nations.

When this prophetic witness is placed alongside certain PSA articulations, the dissonance becomes difficult to ignore. In the Ancient Near Eastern world, sacrifice often functioned as a means of appeasing divine anger, sometimes even through the offering of human life.²⁷ Israel’s sacrificial system, however, was structured to resist that pattern, emphasizing purification, covenant restoration, and the preservation of life.²⁸ To reintroduce a framework in which divine wrath is satisfied through the death of a representative figure risks collapsing the very distinction Scripture works so hard to maintain between Israel’s God and the gods of the nations.

This helps explain why the “cosmic child abuse” critique resonates so strongly in a modern context. In a culture deeply sensitive to the dynamics of power, violence, and abuse, any theological model that appears to legitimize the punishment of the innocent will immediately raise suspicion.²⁹ And while cultural sensitivity alone cannot determine theological truth, it is worth noting that these ethical instincts often echo the moral trajectory already present within Scripture itself.

At the same time, the critique must be carefully qualified. It becomes theologically inaccurate when it isolates the Father as the agent of violence and the Son as its passive recipient. The New Testament presents the cross as a unified divine act: the Son gives Himself (Gal 2:20), the Father sends the Son in love (Rom 5:8), and the Spirit participates in the offering (Heb 9:14).³⁰ The cross is not an event in which God acts against God, but one in which God acts through Himself for the sake of the world.

Even so, that clarification does not fully resolve the tension. The deeper question remains whether the category of penal satisfaction itself (even when framed within Trinitarian unity) accurately reflects the biblical portrayal of God’s justice. If the structure of the model requires that punishment be inflicted in order for forgiveness to occur, then the underlying logic remains vulnerable to the critique.

This is where the issue becomes decisively exegetical. Nowhere does Scripture explicitly state that God must punish sin in order to forgive it. On the contrary, the biblical narrative consistently presents forgiveness as an expression of divine freedom and mercy (Exod 34:6–7; Mic 7:18–19).³¹ Jesus forgives sins without reference to satisfaction (Mark 2:5), and the apostolic proclamation centers on reconciliation initiated by God, not secured through the prior appeasement of divine wrath (2 Cor 5:18–19).³²

The issue, then, is not whether the “cosmic child abuse” critique is rhetorically excessive (it often is) but whether it exposes a genuine tension within the conceptual framework of PSA. When stripped of exaggeration, the critique presses a necessary question: does the logic of penal substitution truly align with the character of God revealed in Christ, or does it impose a structure upon the text that generates unintended theological consequences?

If the cross is the definitive revelation of God’s nature, then any model of atonement must not only explain what happens there, but also cohere with the God who is revealed there. Where that coherence begins to strain, the problem may not lie with the critique, but with the framework itself.

Conclusion

Penal Substitutionary Atonement, while containing elements of biblical truth, cannot be sustained as the controlling framework for understanding the cross (or perhaps even be understood within any viable manner theologically). Its reliance on retributive categories, its tension with the sacrificial logic of the Hebrew Scriptures, and its implications for the character of God all suggest that it represents a theological development rather than a conclusion that arises organically from the text itself. When pressed exegetically, the model repeatedly depends upon importing categories that Scripture does not clearly prioritize and, at times, appears to resist.

This becomes most evident when viewed through the lens of the “cosmic child abuse” critique. While that language is often exaggerated and at points theologically imprecise, it persists because it names a real tension. When the cross is framed primarily as the moment in which divine wrath is satisfied through the punishment of an innocent substitute, the resulting picture of God risks drifting toward the very sacrificial logic the prophets rejected and the biblical narrative works to overturn. The critique gains traction not because it is entirely correct, but because it exposes a dissonance between certain articulations of PSA and the moral and theological contours of Scripture itself.

At the same time, the solution is not to abandon sacrifice, or the seriousness of sin. Scripture does not permit such a move. The cross remains the decisive act through which God deals with sin, death, and the fractured condition of creation.

What emerges from a sustained exegetical reading is not the elimination of metaphorical substitution, but its reconfiguration. The language of “for us” (ὑπέρ) consistently carries the weight of representation, participation, and covenantal solidarity rather than strictly penal exchange. Christ does not stand over against humanity as a third party absorbing punishment, but as the true human who enters fully into our condition—into our sin, our exile, our death—in order to heal it from within. In this sense, the cross is not the site where God’s disposition toward humanity is changed, but where God, in Christ, acts decisively to overcome everything that has stood in the way of communion.

This reframing also allows the biblical witness concerning sacrifice to stand on its own terms. The Levitical system is not primarily concerned with the transfer of punishment, but with purification, restoration, and the maintenance of sacred space. The Servant of Isaiah does not simply endure divine retribution, but bears the weight of human violence and suffering in a way that exposes, absorbs, and ultimately transforms it. Paul’s language of righteousness, reconciliation, and participation similarly resists reduction to a purely forensic framework, pointing instead to a vision of salvation that is relational, transformative, and cosmic in scope.

Within this broader vision, divine justice is not diminished but clarified. Justice is not revealed as a necessity that binds God to a system of retribution, but as the faithful expression of God’s own character—His commitment to set the world right, to heal what has been corrupted, and to restore what has been lost. The cross, therefore, is not the moment where justice is satisfied through violence, but where justice is enacted through self-giving love.

It is here that the pastoral significance of this discussion comes into view. How we understand the cross inevitably shapes how we understand God. If the cross is interpreted primarily through the lens of retributive necessity, it can subtly form a vision of God marked by distance, tension, or even fear. But when the cross is read within the full narrative of Scripture—as the act in which God Himself enters into human brokenness in order to redeem it—the result is not fear, but trust; not distance, but communion.

PSA tends to compress the richness of the biblical witness and, in doing so, risks obscuring the very character of God it intends to defend.

The task before the church, then, is not to discard the cross, but to see it more clearly. This requires returning to Scripture with fresh attentiveness, allowing its language, categories, and narrative to shape our theology rather than forcing them into predetermined frameworks. It calls for a recovery of the multifaceted witness of the early church, where the cross was proclaimed not as a singular mechanism, but as the decisive act of God’s victory, reconciliation, and restoration.

In the end, the cross is not less than what has often been proclaimed—it is far more. It is the place where sin is truly dealt with, where death is defeated, where the powers are disarmed, and where humanity is brought back into communion with God. But it is all of this not because God required violence in order to forgive, but because God, in Christ, was willing to go to the furthest depths of human brokenness to heal it.

And that is a vision of the cross that not only withstands critique, but more faithfully reflects the God revealed in Jesus Christ.

References

1. Steve Chalke and Alan Mann, The Lost Message of Jesus (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2003), 182–84.
2. John Day, Molech: A God of Human Sacrifice in the Old Testament (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 45–52.
3. Mark S. Smith, The Early History of God: Yahweh and the Other Deities in Ancient Israel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 135–138.
4. Christopher J. H. Wright, Old Testament Ethics for the People of God (Downers Grove: IVP, 2004), 198–200.
5. Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991), 253–255.
6. Ibid., 1029–1035.
7. Baruch A. Levine, Leviticus (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 113–115.
8. John Goldingay, The Theology of the Book of Isaiah (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2014), 104–106.
9. Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 412–414.
10. Ludwig Koehler and Walter Baumgartner, The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, rev. ed. (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 223–224.
11. Gordon J. Wenham, The Book of Leviticus (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979), 107–109.
12. Douglas J. Moo, The Epistle to the Romans (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 103–105.
13. N. T. Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013), 799–802.
14. C. E. B. Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, Vol. 1 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1975), 209–211.
15. N. T. Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 801.
16. Douglas J. Moo, Romans, 232–235.
17. Richard B. Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 156–160.
18. David M. Moffitt, Atonement and the Logic of Resurrection in the Epistle to the Hebrews (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 87–92.
19. James D. G. Dunn, The Epistle to the Galatians (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1993), 180–183.
20. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, Vol. IV/1 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1956), 253–255.
21. Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), 242–244.
22. Steve Chalke and Alan Mann, The Lost Message of Jesus, 182–84.
23. Thomas F. Torrance, The Mediation of Christ (Colorado Springs: Helmers & Howard, 1992), 83–85.
24. John Stott, The Cross of Christ (Downers Grove: IVP, 1986), 159–161.
25. Christopher J. H. Wright, Old Testament Ethics for the People of God, 312–315.
26. Walter Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997), 704–706.
27. Mark S. Smith, The Early History of God, 135–138.
28. Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 253–255.
29. Miroslav Volf, Exclusion and Embrace (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996), 265–267.
30. Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God, 242–244.
31. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics IV/1, 253–255.
32. Murray J. Harris, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 442–444.

APPENDIX

NOTE ON THE HISTORY OF PSA

Penal Substitutionary Atonement is often treated in modern evangelical discourse as though it were the historic Christian explanation of the cross. The historical record is more complicated. The earliest centuries of the church tended to emphasize themes such as Christ’s victory over death and the powers, recapitulation, liberation, and participation in restored life rather than a fully developed doctrine of penal satisfaction.¹ A significant shift occurs with Anselm, whose satisfaction model reframed the problem in terms of divine honor and debt, though not yet in the stricter penal sense later associated with Protestant orthodoxy.² The specifically penal and juridical form of substitution (where Christ bears the punishment due to sinners under divine judgment) comes into much sharper focus in the Reformation, especially in Calvin and in later Reformed development.³ This does not, by itself, make PSA false. Doctrine can develop over time, and lateness alone is not a refutation. But it should at least raise a legitimate caution when a comparatively later formulation is treated as though it were the obvious, universal, or controlling lens of Scripture and the church.⁴ At minimum, the relative historical newness of PSA in its mature form invites humility, careful exegetical testing, and a renewed willingness to let the wider biblical and patristic witness speak with its full range rather than being collapsed into a single model.⁵

Citations

1. Gustaf Aulén, Christus Victor: An Historical Study of the Three Main Types of the Idea of Atonement (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2003), 4–5, 16–20.
2. Anselm of Canterbury, Cur Deus Homo, 1.11–15.
3. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, 2.16.5–10.
4. N. T. Wright, The Day the Revolution Began (New York: HarperOne, 2016), 275–80.
5. Oliver D. Crisp, Participation and Atonement: An Analytic and Constructive Account (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2022), 10–12, 130–42.

On Pastoral Experience, Deconversion, and the Perception of God in PSA Frameworks

In both pastoral conversations and what we’re seeing more broadly, a pattern keeps showing up that we can’t ignore. Many people aren’t walking away from the idea of God altogether—they’re walking away from a version of God they’ve been given that they simply cannot reconcile with love, mercy, and goodness.¹ And more often than we might want to admit, that version of God has been shaped—at least in part—by strongly penal ways of talking about the cross, especially when those ideas are paired with doctrines like eternal conscious torment.² (I personally can’t reconcile that doctrine to the character and nature of God either and find conditionalism to be a more exegetical framework.)

For many, the issue isn’t whether God judges sin. Most people instinctively understand that justice matters. The struggle comes when God’s justice is framed primarily in terms of punishing an innocent substitute or expressed through forms of judgment that feel excessive, unending, or disconnected from the character of Jesus.³ At that point, the tension becomes more than intellectual—it becomes deeply personal, and for some, it becomes irreconcilable.

Some have tried to resolve this tension by holding on to Jesus while distancing themselves from God, embracing Christ as loving while rejecting the Father as wrathful – but such a move ultimately collapses under the weight of Scripture’s unified witness, where the fullness of God’s character is revealed in Christ, not set against Him. PSA struggles to reconcile this tension.

This doesn’t mean PSA is the only reason people walk away, and it doesn’t settle the doctrine on sociological grounds alone. But it should at least give us pause. When PSA is presented as the only faithful or truly biblical way to understand the cross, it can create a real stumbling block for those trying to hold together the goodness of God with the story of Scripture as a whole.⁴ In many cases, what people end up rejecting isn’t the gospel itself, but a particular lens through which the gospel was taught to them.⁵

That’s not something to weaponize or use as a cheap critique. But it is something to take seriously. If the way we are framing the cross consistently produces confusion, moral dissonance, or even distance from God, then we have to be willing to ask hard questions—not about whether God is just, but whether our way of describing that justice actually reflects the God we see revealed in Christ.

Citations

1. James K. A. Smith, How (Not) to Be Secular: Reading Charles Taylor (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2014), 109–112.
2. David Bentley Hart, That All Shall Be Saved: Heaven, Hell, and Universal Salvation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019), 1–5, 43–48.
3. Bradley Jersak, A More Christlike God: A More Beautiful Gospel (Pasadena: Plain Truth Ministries, 2015), 13–18.
4. Joshua Ryan Butler, The Skeletons in God’s Closet: The Mercy of Hell, the Surprise of Judgment, the Hope of Holy War (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2014), 52–56.
5. Sarah E. Lane, Theological Worlds: Understanding the Alternative Spiritual Lives of Americans (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 87–92.