A Review of Jon Balserak, Geneva’s Use of Lies, Deceit, and Subterfuge, 1536–1563: Telling the Old, Old Story in Reformation France, Oxford Studies in Historical Theology (Oxford University Press, 2024).
I’ve always been interested in John Calvin, so the title of this historical work caught my eye. I don’t have the expertise in this period of history (or French and Latin) in order to evaluate the scholarly arguments of this book, but I have no reason to question Jon Balserak’s scholarship. My goal is rather to summarize the book and reflect on the morality of Calvin’s conduct.
Book Summary
Overall, Geneva’s Use of Lies, Deceit, and Subterfuge, 1536–1563 is a fascinating work. After a long Part I of introductory issues, Balserak covers a narrow period of French and Swiss history—with Part II covering the subject “Devising and Implementing Calvin’s Plans, 1536–1563,” and Part III entitled “Negotiating Three Challenges, 1559–1563.”
Balserak’s work shows that “Geneva ministers and other colleagues told lies, engaged in dissembling and deception, counterfeited, impersonated, and more,” and they did so in order “to keep their work in France hidden from the French Catholic authorities” (vii). More specifically, he argues that “Calvin, after fleeing Paris in late 1533 or early 1534 (because of alleged ties to Lutheranism), began devising plans to evangelize France.” Calvin was especially involved in “political maneuvering” in hopes that French nobles might support the Calvinist churches in France (3).
However, Calvin did not just do politics. Rather, he employed “falsehood and deception in order to hide what he and his Genevan colleagues” were doing (3). Balserak is very clear that “Calvin himself engaged in lying and duplicity”—not just for a short time, but “over a period of approximately twenty-five years” (4). And while other Genevans were involved, Calvin was, according to Balserak, the “mastermind” behind it all (12). This may surprise many Christians today, but Balserak argues persuasively that Calvin repeatedly made false statements in order to deceive the French authorities, with the goal of protecting Calvinist ministers and churches in France.
In a chapter reviewing the scholarship (chapter 2), Balserak notes that the issue of Geneva pastors lying has not received much attention largely because “polemics has saturated scholarship on Geneva from the sixteenth century” until now (20). Calvin had his detractors even in his own day, which makes sorting through the allegations against him difficult, especially since sources weren’t always cited. Yet while some scholars have made claims regarding the dishonesty of Calvin and Beza, prior to Balserak’s work, “no one has identified a pattern of (or commitment to, if you will) mendacity which is strategically employed as part of a plan in Calvin, nor has anyone located this within Calvin’s efforts to reform his homeland” (282).
Now the reason such deception was even considered necessary by some was because of the opposition of the French government to the Huguenots (the French Calvinists). Throughout his work, Balserak explains the historical details regarding the circumstances of Calvin’s evangelistic efforts in France. Under the reign of Francis I, France’s government issued the Edict of Fontainebleau (1540), which outlawed all religions except Roman Catholicism (8, 178). Then under the reign of Henry II (r. 1547–1559), the Edict of Châteaubriant (1551) tasked both civil and ecclesiastical courts in France with punishing heretics. An edict in 1557 even made it a crime to travel to Geneva (178). Henry II’s successor, King Francis II, died in December 1560, which the Genevans considered God’s judgment and brought them great rejoicing (200). Calvin and Beza immediately sought to have Antoine of Navarre made regent (as Antoine’s wife was a Calvinist), but this did not happen. Instead, Catherine de’ Medici was either declared regent or made herself regent (200–201). Catherine brought toleration, culminating in the Edict of Toleration in January 1562. Yet while this ended persecution, it also weakened Geneva’s position in seeking to place Antoine near the throne and it awakened enemies of the Reformed faith inside and outside France (205, 235).
Calvin’s Method of Deception
The scholarly consensus regarding Calvin’s 1535 letter to King Francis I (a preface to his Institutes) is that Calvin was defending the true gospel from the criticism of the Paris Faculty of Theology. While not rejecting this explanation, Balserak argues that the primary reason Calvin wrote these letters (which is not mentioned by other scholars) is that he “wished to depict himself to the French king as loyal and obedient in order (at least in part) to hide from the king the fact that he had been engaged in illegal activities” (99). As Balserak notes, Calvin described himself and other Protestants as France’s obedient neighbors, even though they were not (118).
There was a strategy to Calvin’s plan to evangelize France, seen in that whereas Beza visited the French Reformed churches but did not write to them, Calvin only wrote letters to the French believers (152). Calvin and Beza used “nicknames and codewords” in their letters (6). Calvin used various pseudonyms from about age 24 until his death in 1564 (110–111). His use of pseudonyms was greater when writing to those in France (155). Calvin even published some versions of the 1536 Institutes anonymously, as well as the 1539 Latin Institutes under the pseudonym Alcuinus (155).
Calvin’s “Company of Pastors” were all French, particularly Frenchmen from the noble rather than common class. And the reason was deliberate, as Calvin was seeking to train French ministers to evangelize his homeland (128–129). As Calvin wrote to Bullinger (probably in March 1562), “Certainly nothing delays the course of the kingdom of Christ more than the lack of ministers” (257). Yet even in the first year of the Company of Pastors, they did not tell the Genevan Little Council their plans (162). An example of Calvin’s deception is seen in early 1561, when the new king of France, Charles IX, sent a letter to Geneva asking that the preachers sent to France from Geneva be recalled. Calvin wrote the reply sent by Geneva’s government and ministers, in which the letter said that “in truth before God” Geneva had “never attempted to send persons into your kingdom” (163, 205). Balserak argues this was a clear falsehood.
Calvin’s work had great success. By 1561, the Protestant population of France was around 12% (199). The Reformed church grew massively at the end of 1561, going from 1,500 churches to 2,150 in early 1562 (124, 232–233).
However, Calvin also worked toward political change, hoping that France would have a government favorable toward the Reformed religion. Balserak corrects the record here:
we must conclude that the majority of scholars err in holding that Calvin was opposed to all forms of active resistance. He was not. He was willing to support active resistance against the civil magistrate so long as it was pursued by a Prince of the Blood and, in fact, was actively involved in such resistance. (176)
While most scholars focus on the failed Amboise Conspiracy in 1560, they have not focused as much on the Maligny Affair later that same year (188). Calvin and Beza were seeking to raise money for troops that they could provide to Antoine of Navarre if he were willing to use them for the Huguenot cause (190). Balserak comments, “It does not seem a stretch to say that they viewed the sacrificial giving of funds for the war effort as a spiritual service akin to praying or volunteering to be a solider,” as “The Huguenots were equivalent to the Israelites and the French Catholic forces to the Moabites or Philistines” (274).
When arms were seized at Lyons, Calvin in an October 1560 letter to Heinrich Bullinger even denied that he and Beza had any association with the plot and fabricated that Beza was in the area because he was summoned by a letter from Antoine (191–192). After what Calvin regarded as Antoine’s cowardly failure to take the throne in 1560, Calvin and Beza referred to him as “Julian,” thus comparing Antoine to Julian the Apostate (154, 261). After the Peace of Amboise (March 1563) ended the first war of the French Wars of Religion between the Catholics and Huguenots (1562–1598), Calvin wrote an April 1563 letter to Bullinger castigating both Antoine and Prince Louis of Condé (the military leader of the Huguenots) for betraying the Reformed cause. Calvin told Bullinger that Prince Condé “servilely prostituted himself to” the queen (278).
Evaluating Calvin’s Deception
What are we to think of Calvin’s lying and deception in his efforts to evangelize his homeland? Balserak’s entire third chapter provides fascinating background information on how Christians have thought about lying, as well as the practice of dis/simulation and self-fashioning in Calvin’s day (“Lies, Self-Presentation, and Early Modern Culture”). Self-fashioning in sixteenth century Europe could involve deception, but it also could relate to the adoption of the clothing, language, and demeanor of a particular profession (80). To define our terms, dissimulation is “concealment,” while simulation is “feigning or pretending” (51). There is debate as to whether the two can be distinguished, and though Calvin distinguished between simulation and dissimulation, Balserak argues that Calvin did not consistently follow the differentiation (79, 81). Balserak notes that power is at issue here, as “Almost invariably those who employ dis/simulation are the weaker in the relation” (89). He explains how the justification of such dis/simulation goes: “If I am weaker but can do good—indeed, possibly eternal good—through the intelligent use of a little pretense, is that not wise and prudent of me to do so?” (90).
As Christians, of course, we must go to the Bible to evaluate such practices. Balserak lists several examples of deception in Scripture: Abraham saying his wife was his sister (Gen. 20:1-18), Rebekah and Jacob deceiving Isaac (Gen. 27:12-13, 19, 24), the Hebrew midwives lying about hiding the baby boys (Ex. 1:15-21), Rahab lying about hiding the spies (Josh. 2:2-6), David feigning madness before the Philistines (1 Sam. 21:13), Jesus hiding His identity (Luke 24:28-29), the Lord putting a lying spirit in the mouth of the prophets (1 Kings 22:22-23), and the Lord deceiving the people in Jeremiah 4:10, Ezekiel 4:9-10, and 2 Thessalonians 2:9-12 (57–60).
In Christian history, some theologians like Clement of Alexandria and John Chrysostom agreed with Plato in supporting “the medicinal lie,” also called “the pious lie” (mendacium officiosum) (60). John Cassian even applied this concept to Jacob’s trickery regarding his birthright in Genesis 27, writing that Jacob “saw that in this way greater benefits would be conferred on him” (62). However, Augustine and Aquinas agreed with Aristotle in considering all lying to be sinful (63). Augustine allowed for deception in war (which can refer to concealment and is not equivalent to making false assertions). And in passages like Exodus 1, Augustine said that God rewarded the midwives for their benevolence but not their “iniquity of lying” (65). Calvin agreed with Augustine’s assessment: “Two faults are to be noted in the answer of the midwives. They did not frankly profess their piety, and they escaped by means of a lie, which is more serious.” Yet Calvin qualified this by saying, “The women spoke timidly and parsimoniously, yet because they had nevertheless acted courageously, God tolerated in them the vice which he might justly have condemned” (289).
As for his own moral analysis, Balserak says, “It is not his willingness to break French law that moves me to identify Calvin’s conduct as immoral but his mendacity” (284–285, italics mine). Balserak argues that Calvin’s use of lying in his plans to evangelize France “is explainable, in part, through his and the other participants’ condoning of pious lying with biblical warrant from Exodus 1:17-21, Joshua 2:2-7, and similar texts, but that a certain aspect of inexplicability clings to their exploits” (49). Yet while Calvin followed Augustine’s position that lying is always wrong, it is noteworthy that Augustine thought deception in war is permissible. Balserak notes that “the elasticity of the concept of war is something on which to reflect” (70). While there does not seem to be much commentary by Calvin on deception in war, this concept may explain much of the approach of Calvin and Beza in their dealings with France and the Roman Catholics.
As Balserak says, “Calvin was, so far as we can tell, utterly convinced he was obeying the Lord and striving to establish Christ’s kingdom in France” (295). And the context was indeed war—“Calvin and his colleagues understood the [French civil] war as a calling and believed without doubt that it represented a means for establishing Christ’s kingdom. Calvin did not see war and the gospel as diametrically opposed” (16). Balserak further explains: “Calvin, Beza, and their colleagues believed that war was an entirely appropriate enterprise to be taken up and engaged in by the church. They did not distinguish in a fundamental way between the church as a spiritual body and war as a this-worldly enterprise which should not be engaged in by churches but by political bodies” (238). Balserak also argues that “they saw this war as a means for establishing the kingdom of Christ in France” (239).
In order to understand Calvin’s view of (holy) war, Balserak examines Calvin’s 87 sermons on 2 Samuel preached between May 23, 1562 and February 3, 1563 (242). In his exposition of 2 Samuel 2:18-32, Calvin said, “There is a double war in the Church because of religion”: one war against heresy and a second war against sects (as that between the House of Saul and the House of David, and between the Catholics and Calvinists in Calvin’s day). Calvin even said, “When people are banded against one another in sects,” eventually “it becomes necessary to resort to arms” (246–247). Calvin stated, “the church of God will always have to fight, either with weapons or with verbal disputations” (248). In a sermon on 2 Samuel 10:10-19, Calvin asserted that the two bases for just war are “the honour and worship of God and for the safety of all the people” (250). While “the honour and worship of God” is not usually listed under Just War Theory today, Calvin included religion as a primary cause for just war. When combined with Calvin’s view of civil government advancing the cause of religion, this seems to explain much of his approach to deception for the cause of evangelizing France.
There is the challenge of consistency since Calvin advised the Reformed believers in France to keep quiet but he criticized the Nicodemites—those of Protestant conviction who remained in the Roman Catholic church—for not making their faith known publicly (151). However, since Calvin considered the Nicodemites to be in error, he might have wanted them go public and so be thrown into prison (287). Calvin was not willing to praise the faith of the Nicodemites amidst weakness since they participated in the Mass and were thus engaged in idolatry (292). If we consider that Calvin’s approach to evangelizing France was seen through the lens of war, then the Nicodemites occupied a very different position from the faithful whom Calvin sought to protect.
Balserak says that one of the challenges in interpreting Calvin’s conduct is that “It is extremely difficult…to identify a biblical text with circumstances similar to those of Calvin” (282). This means we cannot merely look to Calvin’s commentaries. Whether Calvin’s practices are consistent with his commentaries on lying is a matter of debate. But either way, the wartime scenario does appear to make sense of Calvin’s conduct. (I am not aware of evidence that Calvin made a practice of lying in other matters outside his plan to evangelize France.) I also believe this framework of deception during war also best accounts for the biblical data. While speaking untruths is ordinarily immoral, that may not be the case when there is an enemy at war with you and your cause is righteous. I therefore take these passages to establish that Scripture’s ordinary prohibition of stating falsehood admits exceptional cases in which deception of a wicked aggressor for the protection of innocent life or the advancement of a righteous cause is morally permissible. Wartime deception seems to be the clearest instance of this principle.
Of course, the question then is: when are we properly at war so that this exception applies? Some will think Calvin’s case was not justified. I think this is a difficult question. But when we look back at Scripture, we see cases of what I would argue are justified falsehoods in resistance to wicked aggressors—such as the Hebrew midwives lying in order to prevent Pharaoh from murdering baby boys, and in the clearer wartime case, Rahab lying in order to protect the Israelite spies (and the Bible gives no hint of condemnation in either case). Right or wrong, Abraham certainly felt threatened by Abimelech (Gen. 20), and David felt threatened by the Philistines (1 Sam. 21). Jacob was not threatened, and so his case may fall under a different category. Yet as I’ve previously argued, Isaac was seeking to thwart God’s plan announced to Rebekah, so she and Jacob were deceiving as a means of protection against Isaac’s assault upon God’s promised seed. Calvin recognized this in scolding Isaac for “wrestling against the oracle of God” since he must have known God’s promise regarding Jacob. However, Calvin still had some criticism when he said, “surely the stratagem of Rebekah was not without fault,” considering it to be a sinful misstep. Yet because Rebekah was willing to take on great risk, Calvin attributed extraordinary faith (eximia eius fides) to her: “this did not proceed from any other source than from faith” (290). Similarly, in commenting on Joshua 2 (in 1563), Calvin said Rahab’s lying was “not without fault” since “it is never right to lie,” but her word was “not…stripped of the praise of virtue.” Balserak concludes: “Finding fault with saints lying but then vigorously highlighting their piety is a trope for Calvin in his handling of these biblical instances of apparently God-approved mendacity” (292).
Conclusion
There are two questions that must be distinguished. The first is the moral question of whether lying is always wrong (Augustine’s position), or whether there is the exceptional case of “the pious lie,” such as in cases of war. Based on my interpretation of Scripture, I adhere to the latter and thus differ from what Calvin wrote in his commentaries (though this does not require holding that Calvin’s circumstances were an occasion where such lying was permissible). This leads to a second question based on the historical record, which is how we make sense of Calvin’s conduct. Based on the evidence that Jon Balserak has provided in Geneva’s Use of Lies, Deceit, and Subterfuge, 1536–1563, John Calvin did indeed tell lies—and not merely conceal information—as part of his plan to advance the Reformed faith in France.
Regarding his own motives, two possibilities seem particularly plausible: Calvin might have regarded his lying as either (1) weakness motivated by faith, or (2) morally permissible because of the wartime context. The latter may appear to make more sense because Calvin did not make one decision in a moment of weakness under pressure but was committed to a longstanding plan over 25 years that employed deception and falsehood. On the other hand, the former fits with Calvin’s statements in his commentaries that lying is always wrong, and Calvin surely felt that his brethren in France were under threat (and he might have felt in danger himself if his illegal activities were revealed to the French authorities).
Unfortunately, we do not have a treatise by Calvin to explain his thinking on the matter, and I am unaware of any comments by Calvin on deception and lying in war. It seems that Calvin’s conduct was inconsistent with his statements on lying. Yet perhaps the solution is that Calvin committed himself to a long plan of deception in wartime, particularly aimed at concealment (which is not equivalent to lying), but then he fell into occasions of outright lying for the cause of the Reformed church (crossing his own stated moral boundary). If this is correct, we may categorize Calvin according to his own standard—a man of great faith who was “not without fault.”