Book Review: Calvin and CS Lewis

Yet if he should encounter one

Of the hive’s enquiry squad

Whose work it is to find out God

And the nature of time and space,

He would put him on to the case. -Frost: “Departmental”

I just finished reading Jordan Ferrier's Calvin and CS Lewis: Solving the Riddle of the Reformation, an attempt to save Protestant theology from what the author perceives as the coercive views of John Calvin and his Reformed descendants, by a solid dose of what he calls “classical theism,” based heavily on the thought of CS Lewis.

This is an eye-opening book title for any Christian my age who cut his teeth on Lewis and the Inklings in the 1960’s and 70’s, and discovered Luther and Calvin in the throes of a later mid-life crisis. Many such Christians have by now amalgamated the two into an older man’s version of the teenager’s “whatever...,” having found more imminent concerns than predestination, such as prevailing sin and diverticulitis.

I was put off by a couple of things when I began to read Calvin and CS Lewis. One was that I have not been able to find out anything about the author. This may be owing to the fact that I read it on Kindle, and did not have access to the blurbs and biographical data that are found on the back page of most books. I also reacted to the claim to “solve the riddle of the Reformation.” Protestants have been wrinkling their foreheads and debating with some heat the mysteries of God’s sovereignty and goodness for the last 500 years, and I would personally grieve the loss of fuel for endless late night dorm room sessions over pizza (or in the 19th Century, good cigars).

Ferrier rightly avers that Calvinism is a tight theological system that will collapse if its presuppositions can be disproved. Calvin’s major premise, according to Ferrier, is that God’s sovereignty must be defended at all costs, and that God’s other attributes are in submission to it. God must be free to be sovereign, and any other sovereign, including the free will of man, is a threat to God’s freedom to be God. Lewis’ response is his classic insistence that God does good because it is good (God is “bound” to the good). This position (according to Ferrier) is anathema to Calvin, because it makes God subject to something (goodness) that is outside himself. Lewis’ response is that all goodness comes from God, and man can know good through the creation and through natural revelation, and therefore there is no real conflict between God’s goodness and his sovereignty.

Another of Calvin’s basic presuppositions is the “T” in TULIP, total depravity. I’ve always taken that term in a quantitative, not a qualitative, sense. We are not as bad as we possibly can be, but every facet of our humanity is marred and warped by “badness.” That does not mean that we are incapable on knowing or practicing the good. We simply cannot think or act perfectly. That is total depravity according to Doughty. Total depravity according to Calvin via Ferrier takes a whole new twist. According to Ferrier’s interpretation, Calvin taught that (1) whatever God does is good. (2) To deny God’s sovereignty is to deny the good. (3) Man in his denial of God’s sovereignty is incapable of knowing good or evil, because he denies good’s source (sovereignty). So therefore, (4) to disagree with Calvin’s doctrine of God’s sovereignty is proof of one’s total depravity. I find it hard to believe that Calvin in his most vitriolic mood could be that egotistical. (Pizza, anyone?) Disclaimer to Ferrier: This is my perception solely. Chalk it up to reading late at night in weak light.

Lewis, according to Ferrier (and I agree with his representation of Lewis), tried to avoid Arminianism and synergism on one hand, and what he viewed as the “coercive” (irresistible) grace taught by Calvin. Lewis came as close to Calvin as he could without relinquishing the human freedom to choose. He preferred to use the term “persuasive grace.” Lewis described his own conversion as being pursued by God, to the point that he was afraid to be alone because the Presence would come upon him. He knew with perfect certainty what he would choose before the moment of choice came, and yet knew he was poised on the razor edge of two futures. He stated that for a few moments he knew there was no real distinction between necessity and freedom. Anybody recognize how close that is to John Calvin, by a hair’s breadth? (Pizza anyone, and a good cigar?)

Theologians have often made a distinction between the essential and economic attributes of God: those that are essential belong to the Trinity as it exists in itself, and those that are economic are attributes of God in relation to the creation. Love, for instance, is an essential attribute, while mercy is an economic extension of love to creatures. Ferrier does make an interesting observation at this point. Goodness is an essential attribute of God, while sovereignty only exists if there is something over which to exercise it (and therefore is an economic attribute). Ferrier hints that goodness may be the essential cause that expresses itself through sovereignty. That is a reversal of Calvin’s (supposed) position. I can’t take that any further, but it’s worth some future contemplation. Here endeth the review. * * * * * * * * * * *

Here beginneth some personal comments. I like John Calvin. Most of his readers will insist that he gets bad press. The man suffered from physical ailments, and still preached and wrote voluminously. There is deep humility and brokenness in him when he speaks of the grace and mercy of God in Christ. I will admit that he gets a little riled about the Roman hierarchy, whom he affectionately refers to as “swine who spew venom from swollen cheeks,” or the mass, in which the “priest chirps and mutters, while the people look on in dumb amazement.” One must remind himself that the man was a product of his age. His Institutes are divided into sections that are easily read in one sitting, and can be read devotionally, if you dare. I remember reading an old Puritan who said he never went to bed without consuming “a morsel of Calvin.” He is worth it. Remember you have to wade through some brush to get to a picnic.

And who of my generation can deny the influence of CS Lewis? I studied English Literature under Clyde Kilby, who knew Lewis personally. I always felt one removed from him, sort of like having a cousin who once touched Elvis’ elbow. What Calvin did for me theologically, Lewis did aesthetically. He brought the world of pagan myth under Christ’s dominion and helped me to understand that truth is truth wherever it appears. He also taught me the importance of story as a means of comprehending life and reality. I can’t imagine a generation of Christians who haven’t fed at his table.

Whatever their differences, I have internalized both these men, contradictions and all, and so far I have not imploded. They are pieces of my life. Lastly, as to the whole free will-election issue, who on earth even wants to try and resolve it? I would like to suggest another starting point than our usual fascination with what God can and cannot do. Most debate on the subject ends up with questions like, “Can God make something so powerful that even he cannot move it?” Lewis’ response to the question would be, “Nonsense is always nonsense.” I am not sure that beginning with abstractions about the attributes of God is helpful. Somehow the debate carries us further away from God than drawing us closer to him. At some point the discussion morphs from a pursuit of truth to the need to be right (a manifestation of depravity, by the way).

Someone I read, I think Luther, said that instead of beginning a discussion of these things with what we barely know (God, and the nature of time and space), we should begin with what we do know, which is Christ. He is the clearest revelation of the nature of God that we have. (One might say that deep questions about God have their beginning in soteriology.) And not only with Christ, but a personal, even subjective, understanding of Christ. The first question is not about the essential and economic attributes of God; the first question is, “What has Christ done for me?” Let’s look at that for a moment.

Christ became incarnate. He became incarnate for me. What does it say about my predicament that God went to all the trouble of taking on human flesh? This is going far beyond sending me a message telling me to change my behavior. Believe me, I know the difference between an e-mail from my manager and a personal visit to my office. The visit means serious business. So the incarnation says something to me about depravity that is far deeper than a need for simple reform.

Christ left us his teachings in the Gospels. But he is not merely a new Moses, with a new set of precepts for living. The teachings of Jesus are, in fact, alarming. Lust equals adultery. Anger equals murder. Unless you do it to one of the least of these, my brethren.... The teachings of Jesus offer little comfort. They tear away human pride and leave us exposed. Again, what does that

tell me about myself?

Christ suffered and died, and rose again, on my behalf. What does that say about me? My need must at least be commensurate with the solution. That means that I must die (or am already dead), and must be resurrected. There is nothing in me that can produce either. With that in mind, at the point of conversion, who takes the initiative? Confronted with my need, do I long to be coerced? (Oh, yes!) Or am I under the influence of a persistent persuasion that waits til I am at the point of no return? Ultimately, like Lewis, I can find no distinction in my own experience between coercion and persuasion, between necessity and freedom.

I will leave the topic here on this fine edge, where all the theology ever written is condensed into inapproachable light.

Blessing, y’all.