A Theology of Green Politics

It seems like forever since I’ve written anything here; I’ve been busy writing on Canadian politics over at the Green Party Provencher page (I’m the Green candidate for the federal riding of Provencher). But while my thoughts have been on sustainability and public policy, I still see the world theologically, so I’ve been thinking about the theological justification for a Christian entering the political arena and promoting sustainable policies.

Some people think that it’s inappropriate for Christians to be involved in politics because we may be tempted to make decisions for everyone based on our own faith, which may not be shared by those we represent. Government is secular, and therefore safe from the variety of competing religious claims that diverse Canadians may hold to. While I think it’s impossible to be non-political, or to compartmentalize faith so that we behave differently in public than in private (we need to maintain integrity), I think there is a point here. I also think that it’s a point that fits well within Christian theology, and goes all the way back to Genesis.

The Role of Christians in Society

We’re sometimes tempted to make laws and policies that reflect Christian character. Why wouldn’t we? After all, Christ taught us to love one another, and only forbade things that were harmful to us all, personally and collectively. The trouble is, you can’t legislate love. Laws and policies are blunt instruments that are only able to limit the damage of our sin, not make us better people. That’s why Christ challenged his followers to exceed the law.

Let’s think about that a little bit more. Jesus said “I did not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it,” and gave several examples of how to do so by exceeding the requirements of the law. The law says not to murder; Christ says not to hate. The law says not to commit adultery; Christ says not to lust. We often read this as Christ instituting a new law, but that’s not what he said: the law remained as it was, and he called people to a way of life that involved intentionally and self-sacrificially exceeding the requirements of the law. He was very open about the fact that this way of life wasn’t for everyone, even though he thought the law was for everyone.

As followers of Christ, then, we have a role to play in society, but it’s not to enshrine the way of Christ into law. It’s to intentionally and self-sacrificially exceed the requirements of the laws we live under. Another way of looking at it might be to out-government the government by offering our own social structures and supports to society. Christians have traditionally done this by funding hospitals, running soup kitchens, and providing sanctuary in their churches; or by inviting their neighbours in for a meal, or sending an anonymous donation to the family down the street who’s struggling financially. We’re not called to undermine the other social structures that exist (unless they are unjust), but rather to consistently embody generosity and care in a way that raises the bar for public institutions and society.

So it’s not right or helpful for Christians to push legislation that would legally hold everyone to the standard of Christ. So on what basis does a person of faith interact with politics?

Humans First, Israelites Second

God chose Israel from among the nations, formed it from the offspring of a long line of barren women in order to be his special, chosen people. Then he gave them a code of laws that would govern them as God’s people. These were the laws that Jesus was talking about when he urged his disciples to go even further, but these laws didn’t apply to most of the world. These laws were God’s way of asking Israel to go further than the people around them, to stand out by the extent of their holiness and generosity just as the disciples of Jesus did in his day and still do today. These are not the kind of laws that govern any nation today (not even the modern nation of Israel). These are precisely the type of laws that are inappropriate in a diverse society like Canada.

So what other laws were there? If we go back a little bit further to Genesis 9:5-6 we see the passage that some scholars refer to as the founding of human government:

And for your lifeblood I will surely demand an accounting. I will demand an accounting from every animal. And from each man, too, I will demand an accounting for the life of his fellow man. Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed; for in the image of God has God made man.

This is the most basic law in Scripture, complete with a punishment. It implies a basic prohibition (not to kill humans), and applies to everyone, human and animal. This is the kind of law that governments can enforce, even in a pluralistic society like ours. Israel had many laws like this, which were also very similar to the Code of Hammurabi (which predates the 10 Commandments), and an Israelite probably would have expected any foreigner to fulfill this kind of law; but they would never have expected a foreigner to fulfill Israelite purity laws. Some laws are universal, and some are articles of faith and devotion; a modern secular society maintains the former, not the latter.

In this regard, then, I don’t see any reason why a Christian shouldn’t serve in a political office that requires them to represent non-Christians. The type of laws we write and uphold in Canada are universal and enforceable, applicable to human beings in general and not the product of a call to exceed the basic law that governs us all. But let’s go another step backward.

Human Purpose: A Biblical-Theological Argument for Secular Green Politics

While the covenant with Noah is often seen as the beginning of human government, it’s not the first time humans are told how to live. If we go back to the beginning of Genesis we see God creating the world, including human beings. Everything that is created is good, but humans are the only things created with an explicit purpose:

Then God said, “Let us make man in our image, in our likeness, and let them rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.”

So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.

-Genesis 1:26-27

If the Noahic Covenant (above) brings us a universal law against killing people, the Adamic Covenant here gives us something that is beyond a law, but is also not a voluntary way of life that only applies to certain people. The way of Christ exceeds the laws of Israel, which themselves exceed the universal laws of other humans; but this thing is foundational, both to the laws and the call to exceed those laws. This thing is more than just vocation, or what we’re called to – that’s what Christ offers us. This thing is created purpose, or our inherent reason for existing. It’s foundational, universal, and departure from it does a type of violence to ourselves and everyone around us.

The passage above has been used in the past to justify humans using the whole earth for our pleasure, but that’s not a good reading of it. “Rule over” doesn’t need to mean exploiting, plundering, or abusing. Key to interpreting this is to look at the words “image” and “likeness.” In the Ancient Near East a ruler would erect a statue of themselves in cities far from the capital to remind people of what the king looked like – this was an image, or likeness. The other use for these words was to refer to idols, which were made from the ground (clay) and the spirit of a god would be “breathed” into them. The description of the creation of Adam in the next chapter very deliberately follows this formula. Humans were created to be a representation of God’s rule over creation, and to be a physical host for his spiritual presence. What this means, then, is that our relationship to all of creation is to be as stewards or representatives of God; or more powerfully, as co-creators with God, the physical presence of a spiritual God. This means that we should treat the creation as if it is our own precious creation, nurturing and tending it as God does.

Because this relationship to the rest of creation is the reason humans exist, it is at the core of our human identity and forms the foundation for all of our interactions with the rest of creation and each other. When we depart from it – i.e., when we act destructively toward the world – we cause incredible suffering, not just for animals and ecosystems, but also for other humans, ourselves, and even society. A government that writes and enforces laws that abuse the natural world is an unjust government that harms its people (even if only indirectly) and an unwise government that fails to plan for the best interests of its people.


So my theology does not allow me to impose my own Christianity on others through legislation, even if that would work. The basis of national laws is universal rather than being limited to a particular faith or ethical commitment, and my own faith and ethical commitment spur me to personally exceed the basic requirements of the universal laws while only requiring that others adhere to those laws rather than exceed them. But at the core of my faith commitment and my very humanness is my relationship to the rest of creation. Because of that, I am compelled to care about the environment and sustainability, and governments are compelled (as an aspect of serving their people if nothing else) to write and enforce laws and policies that limit negative interactions with the natural world and facilitate the kind of cohesive and caring relationship with the natural world that fulfills our created purpose as humans. We can’t force people to be Christians, or to love each other, or to care for the environment, but we can collectively agree to limit the damage that we as individuals and as a society would otherwise cause, and in so doing create space for the self-sacrificial generosity and care of Christ to raise the bar for all of us.


Subduing and Having Dominion Over the Earth

Historically, Christians have believed that human beings were created as the pinnacle of creation, that everything prior to us was made for our benefit, that we have “dominion” or rule over all of nature (and therefore can pretty much do what we want with it), and that we can enforce this dominant position by subduing or taming nature. We get all of this from Genesis 1:

Then God said, “Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness; and let them rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over the cattle and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.” God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them. God blessed them; and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it; and rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over every living thing that moves on the earth.” Then God said, “Behold, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is on the surface of all the earth, and every tree which has fruit yielding seed; it shall be food for you; and to every beast of the earth and to every bird of the sky and to every thing that moves on the earth which has life, I have given every green plant for food”; and it was so. God saw all that He had made, and behold, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day. (emphasis added in bold)

John Calvin’s interpretation of these passages was that humanity is the pinnacle of creation, that everything else was made for our benefit, and that this is inherently linked to our being created in the image of God. In the 1960’s an incendiary article was printed that pointed to the Protestant work ethic (usually identified with Calvinism) and the theology behind it as a primary factor in the rape and destruction of our planet (I can’t think of the title or author offhand), and I can certainly see the connection. If nature exists for human flourishing (to the glory of God), then virtually any exploitation of nature can be justified by human beings gaining from it.

In the past few decades there have been many attempts to re-read this passage and re-write this theology to make it more eco-friendly, and much of it is very helpful. The degree to which this theology needs to be revised, however, is still an issue. For example, it’s very helpful to critique Calvin’s uncritical anthropocentrism, which he assumes with no effort at explanation or justification; yet eco-centrism is also inappropriate, and it’s difficult to dismiss the human perspective and emphasis altogether in a text communicated to humans, written by humans for humans, which culminates in God becoming a human. Yes, be critical and suspicious of anthropocentric readings and theologies, but consider carefully the Christological implications, or the implications for the doctrine of revelation. Along those lines I have a few thoughts on how this passage should be read.

1. The Meaning of Dominion

Calvin’s understanding of “ruling” is quite different from mine. He lived in a time when most countries were still ruled by monarchs who, ideally, had total control of their nations and ruled by force rather than by acclamation, not needing the approval of the lower classes who had far less dignity than them. Further, his understanding of God’s rule over creation was one of intense micromanagement: every single event in the universe happens at God’s good pleasure, ordained by his perfect will in full foreknowledge of the future, working out a perfect plan for all creation to glorify him, which is befitting to his infinite glory and dignity beside which all else is merely instrumental. In this kind of thought, “rule over” connotes power and privilege: human beings, as rulers over creation, have superior dignity and are free to enjoy and exploit those they rule over for their own benefit.

Most attempts to reassess this theology have revolved around the term “stewardship,” using it to replace the harsher terms “dominion” or “rule”. Note that “stewardship” isn’t found in the text above, but it’s implied: a steward is merely one who is appointed to rule in the place of the rightful ruler, so God telling humans to rule over the earth he created is bestowing stewardship. Note also that there’s nothing in this term that necessarily changes the theology: we still rule, it’s just emphasized that this is in God’s place. Because of God’s true dominion, it is suggested that we should treat his kingdom as he would – and our notion of how God treats his kingdom has changed since Calvin’s time. Most interpreters emphasize that God is loving and kind, and that God values everything that he has created, but most of them (that I’ve seen) still fall short of the radical reversal of rule that Jesus showed us (from Luke 22):

And there arose also a dispute among them as to which one of them was regarded to be greatest. And He said to them, “The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those who have authority over them are called ‘Benefactors.’ But it is not this way with you, but the one who is the greatest among you must become like the youngest, and the leader like the servant. For who is greater, the one who reclines at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one who reclines at the table? But I am among you as the one who serves.

Most eco-friendly readings of Genesis still emphasize human authority over creation, but just try to make it nicer, which is terribly insufficient given the radical reversal of authority that Jesus modeled. He was authoritative because he was the one who served. His emphasis was not on power, but on responsibility and service. Christians read Scripture in light of the character and teachings of Jesus Christ, and in that light I find it impossible to see “dominion” or “rule over” creation as anything less than the responsibility for its wellbeing – the total opposite of Calvin’s view, which encouraged us to exploit it for our own wellbeing. Jesus went on to characterize his authority or rule as friendship with his disciples (John 15:15), and told them that there was no greater love than to give oneself up for one’s friends (John 15:13). This is the way that God rules the universe, and as his steward, “ruling over” creation, I can’t help but come to the conclusion that I should be willing to at least inconvenience myself for the wellbeing of the rest of the ecosystem.

Many would argue that Jesus’ example of rule only applies to human beings, and that I’m distorting his example by applying it to nature. I think that this is still tied up in human exceptionalism, or the idea that humanity is the pinnacle of creation rather than (or in addition to) being the caretaker of it. Calvin (and virtually everyone else) saw humanity’s creation last as implying that we were the pinnacle, the climax of God’s creative work, and to a certain extent that’s very true (God said that creation as a whole was “very good” only after humans were created), but we must not forget that the implication of our very creation is that we were created for a purpose, which was to have dominion, which we’ve now characterized as self-sacrificial love and friendship for our subjects. There is a sense in which humans are exceptional, in that we alone are created in God’s image, we alone represent him on the earth, we alone are adopted as siblings and co-heirs with Christ who took on human form (and not the form of an animal or plant); but again, given the inversion of dignity and authority that Christ models, this need not imply that humanity is greater or has more dignity or worth than nature in the traditional/hierarchical sense. Rather, we are exceptional because of the purpose God has given us (to rule as God rules), whereas the old view is that we were given rule because we are exceptional. That kind of anthropocentrism is little more than egocentrism, and has no place in the Kingdom of God.

2. The Meaning of Subdue

Most of the time we only hear the word “subdue” in police reports: police subdued an attacker, easily pictured as a person in authority physically dominating someone under their authority until that person submits to their authority and desists their antagonistic behaviour. The image is obviously negative, forceful, and assumes conflict. Sometimes we also hear the word “subdued”, often describing a boring party or even a funeral, implying that the thing that is subdued is listless, joyless, lifeless. It’s understanding, then, that some eco-conscious interpreters have a serious problem with the idea of human beings “subduing” the rest of creation, much less that this would be a good thing.

For a lot of human history there has been conflict between humanity and nature. Wolves, for example, were hunted to near extinction in many places because they constituted a threat to human settlements, cattle, and even human lives. Even a hundred years ago, a major trope in literature was man vs. nature, with the “wild” being an exotic place of danger and mystery, contrasted with the dignity and order of human civilization. Over the past century, though, in light of the barbarism of human nature revealed in the Holocaust and always-intensifying ecological crises, culture has taken a different view: “the wild” is “God’s country,” a pristine place untainted by contact with the always-destructive humans, a hidden remnant of Eden.

None of these characterizations of nature are fully true, and they reflect much more what we humans think of ourselves than any realities of the natural world, but the point still remains: is it appropriate for humans to interfere with ecosystems? We do have a history of destroying them inadvertently, even when we’re actually trying to help. Perhaps the best thing we can do to care for “the wild” is to do nothing to it at all. This is the philosophy behind nature reserves, huge tracts of land set aside to simply exist with a minimal amount of human interaction. Then again, sometimes it seems that we can help: national parks are often treated as nature reserves, but we also often interfere by reintroducing species decimated by previous human interference, culling invasive species, or performing controlled burns in fire-prone areas. Sometimes our efforts include some level of harm to the ecosystem, and we don’t discover it until decades later; other times we’re actually able to correct our past mistakes, and having learned from nature are able to encourage it to flourish.

Is that really “subduing” the earth? This sounds a lot like the sanitization of “dominion,” doesn’t it? Ultimately, “subdue” means “control” or “bring under control.” The Bible says that God controls a lot of things in nature – usually the things that we’re completely unable to influence, like the wind, the rain, the tides, the snow, the boundaries of the oceans, the quality of the harvest…except that, to an increasing extent, we are now able to influence and even control most of these things. And for the most part, we’re doing it inadvertently as part of our exploitation of the earth, just as we inadvertently harmed ecosystems and eradicated species in the past. Our climate is increasingly out of control because of our actions and habits, and must be subdued.

In this case, subduing the climate means subduing ourselves: if we stop over-consuming, burning oil and burning forests, and even reverse our habits by planting new forests, the climate will calm down. Climate scientists paint an apocalyptic image of what the climate will be like if we pass the point of no return on carbon emissions, and it’s an image of a completely out-of-control climate that makes all life precarious. That is a type of nature that will certainly need to be subdued and brought under control. But if we can subdue ourselves before we hit that tipping point (if we haven’t already – experts are torn on that), then all we need do is leave it be, like the nature reserves. That’s certainly one application of this text, but it doesn’t capture the full meaning of what is meant by “subdue” in the text; it’s really much better to use the image of a garden, as the text itself does.

Genesis 2 says that Adam was put in the garden to take care of it. Those who are critical of the notion of subduing “the wild” are also critical of seeing humans as gardeners. When we think of gardens, we tend to think of the “great” gardens of the world: carefully manicured grass and sculpted shrubs, flowers planted in blocks or patterns of colour, everything uniform and neat. This kind of garden requires the gardener to “subdue” nature in a forceful sense, and while what it produces is beautiful, it is not without violence on the ecosystem. Most species of plants and animals are viewed as “weeds” and “pests” because they break the uniformity of the gardener’s vision, and are eradicated or hunted without mercy. In this model of gardening, most of nature is devalued.

However, along with the growing ecological awareness that leads to re-reading Genesis comes increased (or rediscovered) knowledge of the diversity, resilience, and properties of nature. The great gardens of today are often just as carefully pruned but completely unmanicured, with the gardener’s role being that of providing the indigenous plants with what they need to fully thrive in their natural environment, limiting the influence of invasive species or damagingly overpopulated creatures in order to promote the “natural” equilibrium of an ecosystem. My own yard is planted with indigenous grasses that grow long, and I’m far from meticulous about “weeding” as I know that the plants that grow in the midst of my lawn are part of this habitat; I only pull them when enough of them are growing in a certain spot that they crowd out other plants that would also thrive in that area of the lawn. My lawn was planted with the knowledge that the space it grows in was once “wild” forest, and before that it was orchard (more than forty years ago), and before that it was probably “wild” forest again. Now it’s grass, and that’s a decision that I have made. I have interfered, and what grows there now grows at my good pleasure; I can pull it out, cull its numbers, or subdue it, and I do so with the goal of allowing the whole to flourish in its own beauty rather than bending it to my own view of beauty.


I subdue my yard because I love it. I mourned when a construction crew (against my wishes) cleared a large section of my yard as they dug the basement of my house, but we’ve gone out of our way to plant indigenous grasses and wildflowers to attract pollinators, butterflies and bees; we’ve planted local trees that thrive here, of the same varieties that were cut down and cleared out to make room for our house. We’re correcting the mistakes that were made last year, and using our knowledge and power to help our yard find the equilibrium that naturally occurs after many years; with our careful help a small ecosystem can be developed in our backyard within a few years, and we can enjoy the benefits it provides. I consider this ecosystem, somewhat abstract as it might seem, a friend; and I’m willing to work to give it what it needs to thrive. My “dominion” is one of service, and my “garden” is “natural” or “wild” in spite of being “subdued”. Its dignity is not diminished by my own, nor is my dignity diminished by having a “wild” yard; rather, both of our dignities are enhanced when I choose to serve and live in harmony with the natural world that I call my own.

That’s what I see in Genesis, and what I’d like to see in our world.

Calvin, Self-Loathing, and the Image of God

I’m currently reading T. F. Torrance’s Calvin’s Doctrine of Man (Eugene, Or: Wipf & Stock, 2001), and I’m coming to the conclusion that I was wrong about Calvin.

You see, I’ve been frustrated with the way the neo-Calvinists love to baste us in a strange self-loathing in their emphasis on the total depravity of humanity. For years, when I bring this up, I’ve been told that Calvinism as we have it today goes much further in many respects than Calvin ever did, and that he probably wouldn’t roll with those guys if he were still here. Total depravity in Calvin’s mind, I’ve been told, refers to the fact that all humans are fallen and in need of grace, rather than some notion that everything we do is inherently evil and sick. So in spite of my frustration with Calvinism, I’ve held out hope for Calvin. I even asked for his massive commentary set for a birthday gift, complete with his Institutes. I want to like Calvin so bad, and I really thought that his thought was different than I feared it was.

I was wrong, apparently.

Here’s an excerpt from Calvin’s Doctrine of Man. I think I’m with him this far.

Because grace implies a total judgment on man, it also implies a total judgment on his possession of the imago dei. It is an inescapable inference from the revelation of grace that Christ is our righteousness, and wisdom, and imago dei, that fallen man is quite bereft of the image of God. He is therefore alienated from himself, and is totally corrupted or perverted. If there is anything left of the image of God in him it is a “fearful deformity.” – p. 86-87

Calvin starts with the concept of grace, and from that he figures that we were in need of saving. This is fine; Paul does the same thing, starting from the cross and deducing that if we were saved, we must have needed saving. Paul also says pretty clearly that Christ is our righteousness, and I’m totally fine with that: we are righteous before God because we identify with Christ (or rather, because Christ identifies himself with us). I’m also okay with saying that Christ is our wisdom, though I’m more prone to identify wisdom with the Holy Spirit. I’m also okay with saying that Christ is the true image of God. What I’m not so sure about is saying that “fallen man is quite bereft of the image of God.”

Here’s another quote, picking up where the last one left off. Tell me if you think he takes it a bit too far.

There can be no doubt, therefore, in the mind of Calvin, that from the point of view of salvation in Christ faith must speak of fallen man in total terms. By the single word of our Lord that we must be born again, he says, “our whole nature is condemned.” “In our nature there is nothing but perversity.” “Our whole nature is so vitiated that we can do nothing but sin.” “The soul of man is totally perverted and corrupted.” Even the natural virtues and the natural goodness of men must be regarded as “wholly iniquity”. Calvin can even say of fallen men: “Their proper nourishment is sin and there is not so much as one drop of goodness to be found in them, and, to be short, as the body receives its sustenance from meat and drink, so also men have no other substance in them than sin: all is corrupted.” “There is more worth in all the vermin of the world than there is in man, for he is a creature in whom the image of God has been effaced.” Again, speaking of man after the fall Calvin says: “And truly, it was a sad and horrible spectacle that he in whom recently the image of God was shining should lie hidden under fetid skins to cover his own disgrace, and that there should be more comeliness in a dead animal than in a living man.” “It is true that our Lord created us after His own image and likeness, but that was wholly defaced and wiped out in us by the sin of Adam. We are accursed, we are by nature shut out from all hope of life.” – p. 87-88

Calvin identifies the image of God as being the relationship between God and humanity. If this is the case, then I suppose there’s a logic in all of this. I’m much more inclined to think of the image of God as being a vocation, duty, or command. We represent God on earth. Image is stewardship, which is the responsibility to represent, and therefore resemble, the One who has charged us with this task. The imago dei is not so much that we resemble God, as it is that we’re made to resemble God. Not in the sense of being forced to do so, but in the sense of being created for this purpose. This is our telos, the inherent goal of human existence, included in us from our very creation and grown into as we grow in Christ-likeness. If this is what the imago dei or image of God is, then I’m willing to grant that it may be a “fearful deformity” in most of us, but it can never be separated from us or extinguished within us. In fact, it is the very obviousness of the image of God in us that makes our deformity of it so fearful: it’s still there, and it’s clear what we’re supposed to be, which makes our deviance from it so grotesque. Seeing a D student write a D paper is a shame, but it’s expected; seeing an A student write a D paper is tragic. Seeing someone get into petty crime is sad, but seeing the child of a spiritual leader or politician or chief of police is tragic. The tragic nature of the Fall is not that we’re bad to the core, it’s that we’re “very good”, even still, and we go against that goodness.

What bothers me about Calvin, aside from the fact that it appears that the neo-Calvinists aren’t exaggerating his views as much as I had hoped, is that he polarizes things so much. Everything is in absolutes with him. It’s not simply that we’re fallen, it’s that everything is as bad as it could possibly be. It’s not just that Christ redeems us, but that everything even remotely good in us is Christ and our only role on this earth is to give God glory for doing everything else for us because we’re so thoroughly evil that even our natural goodness is actually evil.

I find this kind of talk to be disrespectful toward God, and his creation. It implies that, rather than redeeming humanity, God decided to just do it all himself. Remember when you tried to help your dad with a chore or task when you were a little kid, and your “helping” just created more work for him? Sometimes, he’d get frustrated and just do it himself; but when he was being a really great dad, he’d take his time and show you how to do it right. And then watch while you screwed it up a dozen times. Calvin’s God is the one that just decides to do it himself.

There’s a logic in this, too. See, in Calvin’s view the imago dei, the image of God, is something that God sees, not something that anyone else does. In Calvin’s view of the imago dei, God created human beings in order to bring himself glory: we’re the mirror that he can admire himself in. Actually. So when we failed to reflect him well, and showed up in the mirror being dirty and bleeding from the effects of sin, God pushes us out of the mirror and incarnates his Son to take our place, so that he can continue to see his own glory in the world.

If that was his purpose, of course he would get frustrated with our failure and just do it himself! Now, if he actually desired to have creatures who not only resemble him, but would grow up into his image in the sense that they would come to be like him and represent him (that is, help him with his work), then he would be the other kind of dad, taking the time and effort to help us get it right, no matter how much he might get dirty and hurt along with us.

So I get Calvin now. I can even appreciate that our views on the depravity and perversity of humanity are pretty close. I can even get his sense of our utter grossness, when I think about it. But when it comes to why that’s important, and how it relates to our created purpose, we couldn’t be further apart.

Now I gotta figure out what I’m going to do with this 22-volume commentary set…