But then I encountered Marilynne Robinson, who exploded my stereotype of what it means to be a "Calvinist." Marilynne Robinson is about as far from Mark Driscoll as you can get, and yet here she was, a passionate admirer of John Calvin and self-identified Calvinist. What I found in Robinson was a deeply human and humane vision of Reformed theology, something I just didn't think was possible.
And I have to confess that this was really my own fault. For years I'd heard theologians say that John Calvin was much more nuanced than his modern-day interpreters, like the fire-breathing, "How dare you!" Mark Driscoll.
The other thing that chastened my opinion of Calvinism, a lesson I also learned from Marilynne Robinson, is the role Calvinism played in the American abolitionist movement. This association between American puritanism and abolitionism is amply demonstrated in David S. Reynolds' biographies of Abraham Lincoln and John Brown. This connection also gave me pause. I'm not going to throw the theological system behind the most significant moral revolution in American history under the bus. Mad props to Calvinism.
And John Brown vividly illustrates the point. John Brown, the least racist person in America, was a staunch Calvinist.
All of which raises the question: Why did Calvinism fuel the abolitionist movement?
According to Reynolds, Calvinism fed the abolitionist belief in "the Higher Law," the belief that we owe ultimate allegiance to God's Law over any human law. Given their strong belief in the sovereignty of God, it's not hard to see how a Calvinist would embrace the view that a Higher Law stood over the United States Constitution and its statues, providing the religious and moral justification for defying things like the Fugitive Slave Act and working for the Underground Railroad.
All of that to say, we tend to think of Calvinism as a deeply conservative theology. But for much of American history, Calvinism was liberation theology, the most radical and revolutionary theological movement in the United States.