Written by Carl R. Trueman |
Tuesday, May 30, 2023
Many on right and left today choose to be marked by the Mephistophelean metaphysic. They embody the spirit that negates, an easy, lazy option that carries with it the instant gratification that destruction always brings with it. Thankfully, however, there is still hope. 

I am the spirit that negates.” So Mephistopheles describes his calling to Faust in their first encounter in Goethe’s great version of the medieval legend. And the calling of Mephistopheles has become the very spirit of the age in which we now find ourselves. Whether on the left or the right, the spirit of negation, of nay-saying, of tearing down that which is, has become our default setting. For this reason, it should really be no surprise that critical theory, the most intellectually impressive articulation of the Mephistophelean metaphysic, has found a home at both ends of the political spectrum.
In such a culture, despair can become a chic temptation, especially when, to quote the hymn writer, change and decay in all around we see. There is, however, an antidote: hope. But where is hope, in an allegedly hopeless age, to be found?
I am privileged to be a teacher. I am paid to read, write, and talk about things I love, things I consider to be important. And I do that full-time, for my living. Those who are blessed with such a calling but who feel no gratitude for it have small souls and little grasp of the lives many others lead that are not marked by such good fortune.
But more than being paid full-time to pursue what would otherwise be my hobbies, it is the students that bring me joy and hope. Contra so many stereotypical media accounts of “snowflakes” and over-privileged, hyper-sensitive, entitled troublemakers, my students are respectful, keen to learn, and hungry for truth. They do not simply assume as truth everything I tell them, thankfully, but they are eager to use class as a context in which they pursue it to the best of their ability.
I was reminded of this at commencement last Saturday. Grove City College, like many schools, has a tradition of a student giving a speech during the ceremony to the graduating class. If what a college is really doing is best demonstrated by what its best students say and think, then I found real hope—real, joyful hope—on Saturday as a young woman, Meredith Johnson, spoke about the true nature of home. That she is both a student of mine and the daughter of a former student of mine made her speech even more powerful to me. Here is proof positive that teaching is a joy and a privilege whose significance goes beyond the momentary classroom encounters.
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We move horizontally between the images, among the things of earth, understanding how they relate to each other, so that the whole picture and experience of the world can then lead us to God. God draws us into this web of creation so that we might know him through it. It’s how he reveals himself to us in a way that fits our frame.

What the Heavens Declare
Psalm 19 begins with one of the most famous verses in the Bible: “The heavens declare the glory of God.” The first half of the psalm celebrates God’s glory in nature—in the heavens (v. 1), in the sun’s course across the sky (vv. 4, 6), in the similarities between the sun and a warrior and a bridegroom (v. 5). This revelation has gone out to the entire world so that there is no place where God’s revelation is not heard (vv. 2–4). In other words, the psalm begins with a celebration of what theologians call “general revelation.” General revelation includes all the ways that God reveals himself in creation—in the ordinary course of nature and the general course of history. In other words, it’s not just the heavens that declare the glory of God.
Everything that God has made declares the glory of God. The apostle Paul tells us that God’s “invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made” (Rom. 1:20). In other words, made things make invisible attributes visible. Created things make eternal things perceivable. God’s own power and righteousness and beauty and wisdom and mercy are invisible attributes. We can’t see them directly. But when we see a tornado tear across the plains, we see his power. When we stand on a giant mountain, we feel the firmness and stability of his righteousness. When we watch the sun set over the Pacific Ocean, we see his beauty. When we witness the magnificent intricacy of the food chain—deer eating grass and then being eaten by lions—we see his inscrutable wisdom and mercy over all that he has made. Made things make invisible attributes visible.

How do Christians enjoy the good things of the earth while still enjoying the Creator? Scripture supports the wholehearted enjoyment of both. Here is a book for Christians struggling to enjoy the things of earth for the glory of God.

That’s what we mean by general revelation, and by its nature, it is pervasive and constant. It’s accessible to all men everywhere. “There is no speech, nor are there words, whose voice is not heard” (Ps. 19:3). As C. S. Lewis said, “We may ignore, but we can nowhere evade the presence of God. The world is crowded with Him. He walks everywhere incognito.”1 Jonathan Edwards, an eighteenth-century American pastor and theologian, testified that he believed that the whole universe, heaven and earth, from top to bottom and front to back is filled with “images of divine things, as full as a language is of words.”2 By this, he meant that everything in creation is communication from God about God. God speaks to us everywhere and in everything.
Earthly Categories for Spiritual Things
General revelation works both directly and indirectly. It works directly by creating categories in our minds and hearts for knowing God. This is direct because we move straight from the made thing to God himself. How do the heavens declare the glory of God? Through their size and majesty. The vastness of the heavens points to the greatness of God. Or the beauty of a sunset gives us a visual picture of the beauty and holiness of God. Or the sun’s perpetual and constant shining images God’s constant and everlasting goodness. In each case, we move straight from the made thing to God himself. Our experience of the world gives us categories for knowing God and his word.
And not just God himself. General revelation gives us categories for knowing many aspects of the spiritual life. Consider Psalm 1.
Blessed is the manwho walks not in the counsel of the wicked,nor stands in the way of sinners,nor sits in the seat of scoffers;but his delight is in the law of the Lord,and on his law he meditates day and night.
He is like a treeplanted by streams of waterthat yields its fruit in its season,and its leaf does not wither.In all that he does, he prospers.The wicked are not so,but are like chaff that the wind drives away.(Psalm 1:1–4)
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Unfortunately—and incorrectly—some people assume that Calvin’s magnum opus must be the bedrock of the so-called “five points of Calvinism” and that Calvin must have used his book largely to defend his “Calvinism.” That’s not correct. The first sentence of the Institutes orients us to its two great themes: “Nearly all the wisdom we possess, that is to say, true and sound wisdom, consists of two parts: the knowledge of God and of ourselves” (Institutes 1.1.1). Calvin’s desire—which he comes back to time and time again—is this reciprocal knowledge. Only in knowing God will we know ourselves; only in knowing who we really are will we be able to know God.

John Calvin (1509–1564) is one of those historical figures people have strong opinions about—sometimes even when those opinions are not based in reality. I have heard people malign Calvin because, they said, all he taught was double predestination and the rightfulness of executing heretics like Michael Servetus. As if that’s all Calvin believed! Others fall prey to believing Calvin was simply a disembodied brain sitting on a shelf, trying to figure out how he could get as many people into hell as possible. As if he had no friends or feelings! More often, though, people view Calvin as more philosophical than biblical and refuse to read him for this reason. As if Calvin’s thought is not punctuated with biblical and pastoral reflection!
If these are some of your concerns or fears about Calvin, fear no more. Read the Institutes of the Christian Religion, Calvin’s magnum opus, to understand him and his thought for yourself. You can do it. And you will profit from it by being encouraged by one of Christ’s gifts to his people. Most significantly, I think, you will grow to know God better through the writing ministry of John Calvin.
To Know and Love God
Why do we sometimes fear reading older books? C.S. Lewis pointed out that, due to humility, students regularly read commentaries on the classics rather than going back to the original sources themselves. He then remarked, “The student is half afraid to meet one of the great philosophers face to face. He feels himself inadequate and thinks he will not understand him. But if he only knew, the great man, just because of his greatness, is much more intelligible than his modern commentator” (Introduction to On the Incarnation).
I agree with Lewis in the case of Calvin. “The great man, just because of his greatness,” is intelligible.
Once a reader is oriented to Calvin’s intention in composing the Institutes, he can readily understand almost all of it without needing recourse to a commentary or guide. Why? Largely because Calvin was a Christian writing to Christians about the most important reality in the universe to them: God, and our need to know him and enjoy him. Calvin desired his readers to know and love God through reading his book, a desire that’s a timeless longing for God’s people — whether persecuted sixteenth-century French Protestants or twenty-first-century Christians trying to navigate the upheavals of our world.
Seven truths orient us to reading and understanding the Institutes. The last one is the most important.
1. Title
Institutes is a translation of the Latin Institutio, which means “instruction.” Calvin, then, was writing to instruct people in the Christian religion. His book is not as extensive as Thomas Aquinas’s Summa Theologiae (“summary of theology”) or Charles Hodge’s Systematic Theology, which were meant for advanced students. Calvin wrote in a simple fashion so that normal Christians could understand him. This comes through even in English translation. Try it and see for yourself!
2. Audience
In fact, Calvin had two audiences in mind when he composed the Institutes. He first wrote and published the book in Latin, the language of scholarship in his day. No matter their country of origin, European theological students and the educated class would be able to read him. But as Calvin revised and expanded the book, he usually translated the Latin editions into French so that his native countrymen would be able to read his work in their heart language. His audience was largely the persecuted church, since Protestants in France and the rest of Europe lived in precarious conditions. The Institutes therefore has an earnestness that differentiates it from much modern theological writing. I think you’ll find your heart warmed by reading it.
3. Attention to Detail
John Calvin was extraordinarily driven to get everything just right. He published the first edition in 1536. It was about one-fifth as long as the final edition. Soon followed the 1539 edition. Between 1543 and 1550, Calvin released other revised editions similar to each other. Finally, the 1559 edition was published just five years before his death.
By the time he died, Calvin had lectured, preached, or written commentaries on almost all the books of the Bible. In this final edition, then, he brought to bear all the biblical exposition he’d done as well as the pastoral wisdom he’d gained in his decades of shepherding the church in Geneva.
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