For a fellow who has been dead since 1564 and for a movement
that, socially considered, is little more than a demographic blip (about
500,000 people in North America) Calvin and Calvinism continue to receive a
remarkable amount of attention in the mass media. Typically, however, this
attention draws upon a familiar “meme” (an idea or concept spread widely
throughout a culture) that has its roots in Calvin’s earlist critic, Jerome
Bolsec (d. 1584), a former Carmelite monk who opposed Calvin’s soteriology
(from 1551).
The meme is that Calvin’s God was a tyrant and the corollary
to that divine tyranny is Calvin’s allegedy tyranny over the civil life on
Geneva. Most recently, a version of this theme appears in a
Salon.com article
by Chris Lehmann on Joel Osteen. Lehmann writes:
Osteen’s serene
depictions of God’s eternally uptending designs for the fates of individual
believers are a sort of inverted Calvinism. Where the Puritan forebears of
today’s Protestant scene beheld a terrible, impersonal Creator whose rigid
system of eternal reward and punishment dispatched many an infant and solemn
believer to the pit of damnation….
This invocation of Calvin(ism) also appears in Molly
Worthen’s 2009 essay on
Mark Driscoll and Mars Hill. For our purposes, what is
most interesting is the way Calvin appears and the function that story plays in
her narrative about the nature of the Young, Restless, and Reformed movement.
The Reformed
tradition’s resistance to compromise and emphasis on the purity of the worshipping
community has always contained the seeds of authoritarianism: John Calvin had
heretics burned at the stake and made a man who casually criticized him at a
dinner party march through the streets of Geneva, kneeling at every
intersection to beg forgiveness. [Benedict cites the Calvini Opera 21:21, 367,
370-77 and several secondary texts as evidence for this episode].
This compressed account of Calvin’s authority in Geneva
reinforces the old and false stereotypes about Calvin, Calvinism, and the Reformed
Churches as inherently authoritarian and tyrannical. It feeds what P. E. Hughes
called “the popular fantasy” of Calvin as tyrant of Geneva. Calvin was more
refugee than tyrant. At any rate, church-state relations in Geneva were fluid
and complex.
The Servetus Episode
By “heretics” Worthen presumably refers the capital
punishment of Miguel (Michael) Servetus (1509/11–53) for heresy in Geneva.
Sadly, one thing that every educated person thinks she knows about Calvin, to
quote the novelist
Anne Rice, is “Calvin was a “true Christian” when he burned
Michael Servetus alive in Geneva.” Even those who should know better sometimes
position Servetus as if he were issuing a “prophetic challenge” to Calvin’s
“overbearing dominance” in Geneva (Roger Olson,
The Story of Christian Theology: Twenty Centuries of Tradition and Reform (Downers Grove: Intervarsity
Press, 1999), 21).
Of course, the actually history is much more complicated.
Servetus was a well-educated Spanish humanist, physician, and amateur theologian.
Servetus published an attack on the doctrine of the Trinity in 1530. He and
Calvin corresponded and in 1546 Calvin wrote to William Farel that, should
Servetus visit Geneva, he would do his best to see that the heretic did not
leave alive and he warned Servetus that, should he come to Geneva, his life
would be in danger. Servetus was arrested in Lyons in 1552 for having published
heresy against the catholic faith. He was tried and sentenced to death but
escaped the prison and strangely made his way to Geneva in July of 1552.
Servetus was spotted in church, arrested, and examined twice regarding his
teaching on the Trinity. Calvin served as theological prosecutor on behalf of
the city council. Servetus was convicted by a unanimous vote of the city council
and a majority of the council of 200. Servetus was burned at the stake in
October, 1553.
As a matter of history it is inescapable that Calvin played
a central role in the arrest and prosecution of Servetus but it is simply not
true that Calvin killed Servetus. The city council is responsible for Servetus’
death. Had Calvin objected to the death penalty it is unlikely that the city
council would have listened or could have listened. The House of Savoy was
poised to invade Geneva without much provocation. Servetus was a condemned
heretic. Had a protestant city failed to death a notorious heretic it would
have confirmed the suspicion of Roman critics that the Protestants were nothing
but crypto-fanatics, hiding their true colors under a false profession of Trinitarian
orthodoxy.
In fact, the killing of heretics at the stake was not
uncommon under Christendom. Rome put her share of Protestants to death
(including no fewer than 42,000 Reformed Christians in the period) and both
Roman and Protestant magistrates killed about 3,000 Anabaptists (according to
Claus Peter Clausen).
The Reformed ministers in Heidelberg insisted on capital
punishment of anti-Trinitarians in 1572 about which very little has been
written in English. Arguably, that act was twice as heinous as the action of
the Genevan civil authorities. Why then the focus on Servetus’ death? This
episode is singled out because it is a convenient way to vilify Calvin and to
reinforce the stereotype of Calvin the predestinarian monster of Geneva and, as
Worthen’s article illustrates, the image of repressive Reformed churches.
The Ameaux Episode
The 1546 Amaeaux episode to which Worthen refers is fairly
obscure. Philip Benedict’s Christ’s Churches Purely Reformed (p. 103) says that
Pierre Ameaux, a member of the Petit Conseil, at dinner party one evening,
anticipating the modern critique of Calvin, complained that Calvin taught false
doctrine and exerted too much influence over the council.
When Ameaux’s
words found their way to Calvin, he demanded action from the council. It
decided to have Ameaux apologize on bended knee to Calvin before the assembly
of the Two Hundred, but this was not a public penance enough to suit the
minister. He refused to present himself for the ceremony and was not satisfied
until the council condemned Ameaux to process through the city, kneeling at
every major square or intersection to proclaim his regret at having dishonored
the Word of God, the magistrates, and the ministers.
On the surface this seems to be another example of Calvin’s
alleged tyranny but there was more happening beneath the surface. Certainly
Ameaux was humiliated because Calvin insisted, but technically it was the city
council who effected the sentence and, more importantly, it was part of a
metaphorically bloody political fight, dating to the mid-40s, over the
direction of the city and the church. This was less about Calvin’s person than
it was about the authority of the church to make ecclesiastical policy. Those
interested in a balanced account will notice that Ameaux was made to apologize
for criticizing the city’s pastors (an office), not for insulting Calvin’s
person. T. H. L. Parker, John Calvin: A Biography, 99. says that what was at
stake was the authority of the Word.
Calvin had only been back in Geneva since Easter, 1541 and
Ameaux was a member of the powerful libertine party contesting the Consistory’s
authority and especially Calvin’s. Further, this episode followed a legal and
an ecclesiastical case (Register of the Company of Pastors, 1.309–10)
concerning Ameaux’s wife, so there was some history. Further, Ameaux was not an
ordinary layman. He was a successful businessman, who manufactured playing
cards, and a member of the Petit Conseiland a leading member of the “Libertine”
party seeking to discredit Calvin and the Reformation in Geneva. According to
Bernard Cottret, Calvin, 187, “he was sentenced to make a circuit of the city,
his head bare, a lighted torch in his hand.” This is a translation of CO
21.377, Registres du Conseil 41, fol. 68.
Surely it strikes us as severe today—It wasn’t for nothing
that Calvin was called “The Accusative Case” by his fellow students—but
remember the times and the context. Was it a confusion of the civil and
ecclesiastical spheres for Calvin to demand civil penalties for being
identified with the sufferings of Christ? Absolutely. From the perspective of a
distinction between the ecclesiastical and common spheres, Calvin might have
had a case before the Consistory but not before the Civil Authorities.
The true moral of this story, however, is of the danger of
the Constantinian church-state alliance wherein civil authorities have the
power to punish heresy. Nowhere in the New Testament or in the moral law is
theological heresy a ground for civil punishment. The only sphere authorized by
God to correct theological error is the visible church (see Matthew 18) and
their means are purely spiritual: Word, sacrament, and discipline (e.g.,
rebuke, censure, excommunication).
As to authoritarianism and Calvinism generally, there’s a
serious argument, that Bruce Gordon, I, and others have advanced that Calvinism
in the period was a religion of refugees not tyrants (E.g., See R. Scott Clark,
Caspar Olivean and the Substance of the Covenant, ch. 1; Bruce Gordon,
Protestant History and Identity in Sixteenth-Century Europe). After all no
other group suffered more martyrs in that period than the Reformed. Remember
that Calvin only came to Geneva as a refugee seeking shelter, was expelled by
the city council in 1538, and only returned after they begged Strasbourg to
release him in 1541. He stayed at the pleasure of the council. They could have
expelled him at will but they did not.
Calvin had far more influence over civil life than we are
accustomed to seeing but he was no tyrant in Geneva. He was not even a citizen
until late in his life. He was a sixteenth-century man and a Constantinian—but
so was most everyone else in the period. The real argument here cannot
reasonably be over Calvin’s influence in civil affairs or else the entire
magisterial Reformation must be convicted. Where’s the moral outrage over
Bucer, Melanchthon, Luther, Zwingli, Bullinger et al? ? So, we may fairly
wonder whether something else is bothering so many moderns and late moderns.