What is Divine Accommodation, and what does it have to do with Neuro-diverse theology?

“The truths of revelation are so high as to exceed our comprehension; but, at the same time, the Holy Spirit has accommodated them so far to our capacity, as to render all Scripture profitable for instruction. None can plead ignorance: for the deepest and most difficult doctrines are made plain to the most simple and unlettered of mankind.”— John Calvin, Commentary on Psalms. Vol 2. 42. 4

The Reformer John Calvin was not known for his softness. His reputation in the popular imagination is often that of a stern logician, wielding doctrine like a scalpel. Yet nestled deep within his theology is a principle so radically pastoral, so attuned to human limitation, that it bears unexpected fruit for contemporary liberation theologies—especially for those seeking to articulate a theology from the margins of neurodiversity. That principle is the doctrine of divine accommodation.

This blog post aims to explore Calvin’s doctrine of divine accommodation and consider how it might underpin and enrich a neurodiverse liberation theology. How might a Reformed understanding of God’s self-disclosure offer both comfort and challenge to a Church still learning to welcome neurodivergent believers? What theological anthropology arises when we begin with the premise that God graciously stoops to communicate with all minds?

I. What is Divine Accommodation?

In its simplest form, divine accommodation is the idea that God "condescends" to communicate with humanity in a way we can grasp. Calvin frequently uses the metaphor of God “lisping” to us as a nurse might to a child (cf. Institutes I.XIII.1). Divine truth is not presented in its raw, unmediated form but is instead tailored—accommodated—to the limitations of human cognition, culture, and language.

God does not reveal Himself in abstraction but in a way that human beings—bound as we are by history, biology, and social context—can apprehend. In Calvin’s own words:

“Such forms of speaking do not so much express clearly what God is like as accommodate the knowledge of him to our slight capacity. To do this he must descend far beneath his loftiness.” (Institutes I.XIII.1)

Importantly, divine accommodation is not deception. It is not God lying about his nature but rather God communicating truly within the bounds of what we are capable of understanding. The ontological chasm between Creator and creature is not bridged by brute intellectual ascent but by divine mercy. God chooses to speak in our language—not merely Hebrew, Aramaic, or Greek, but the deeper grammar of human limitation.

This idea undergirds Scripture’s anthropomorphisms (God having hands or emotions), its temporal imagery (God “changing” his mind), and even its pedagogical structure (progressive revelation). Calvin insists that divine accommodation is not an occasional strategy but the mode of all revelation.

II. Liberation Theology and the Epistemologies of the Marginalized

Liberation theology, in its classic Latin American form, asserts that God has a preferential option for the poor and that theology must begin not with abstract propositions but with the lived experiences of the oppressed. Theologians like Gustavo Gutiérrez and Leonardo Boff emphasized praxis, community, and the hermeneutic of the poor.

More recent developments have extended liberation theology’s concern for marginality to include voices often silenced in theological discourse—such as those from neurodiverse communities. Neurodiverse liberation theology begins with the premise that neurodivergent individuals—autistic people, those with ADHD, dyslexia, OCD, and others—encounter the world in radically different ways. These differences are not deficiencies to be corrected but facets of the imago Dei to be discerned, honoured, and understood.

But what theological method can hold the weight of these insights? How can we integrate Calvin’s Reformation legacy with the liberative insights of neurodiverse theology?

The answer may lie in Calvin’s own epistemological humility.

III. Calvin’s Hermeneutics and Epistemic Justice

Calvin’s doctrine of accommodation carries within it a remarkable humility about human cognition. Knowledge of God, he insists, is not the result of intellectual mastery but of divine initiative. Theology, in this framework, is not a triumph of mental ability but a reception of divine grace.

This has profound implications for how we regard different cognitive styles. If all knowledge of God is accommodated—i.e., shaped by divine mercy to fit our particular limitations—then no one cognitive mode can claim privileged access to divine truth. Rationalism, verbal fluency, or social intuition are not superior theological tools; they are merely one set of instruments among many.

This opens space for a more just epistemology—one that sees autistic perception, hyperfocus, pattern recognition, or echolalia not as obstacles to theological reflection but as loci of encounter with God. Neurodivergent modes of knowing may, in fact, illuminate aspects of divine reality that neurotypical frameworks overlook.

Calvin's doctrine, then, can be re-appropriated not merely to excuse the “simple” but to celebrate the diverse. In the spirit of 1 Corinthians 12, we may say: “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you,’ nor again the head to the feet.” The neurodivergent believer is not an anomaly to be explained but a theologian in their own right.

IV. Neurodiversity and the Accommodating God

Consider what it means, then, to say that God “accommodates” not merely to human limitation in general, but to neurodiverse minds in particular. The God who lisps to toddlers also signs to the deaf, patterns truth for the autistic, and reframes complexity for the anxious. Divine revelation is not delivered in a one-size-fits-all package but unfolds in particularity—in our languages, in our cultural idioms, and even in our neurological wiring.

This moves us toward a Christology of solidarity. The Incarnation is itself the ultimate accommodation—God taking on flesh, entering time, submitting to biological need. Jesus not only speaks in parables; he lives within the social codes, metaphors, and relational networks of his time.

But what if we imagined Jesus accommodating not only to first-century Judaism but to a spectrum of neurodiverse expressions?

Might we envision a Christ who was occasionally misunderstood, who preferred solitude, who fixated on justice, who confounded social expectations, who “grew in wisdom and stature” in ways not always linear or expected? Such reflections are, of course, speculative—but they highlight the theological legitimacy of imagining divine nearness not despite neurodiversity, but through it.

V. Liturgical and Scriptural Implications

Divine accommodation also challenges our ecclesial practices. If God speaks in varied registers, then the Church must likewise attune its liturgies, teachings, and community life to a diversity of needs. Sensory-friendly services, plain language preaching, visual theology, and alternative ways of engaging Scripture are not mere concessions—they are the Church participating in the divine pattern of accommodation.

Scripture itself models this. The Bible contains poetry, narrative, genealogy, lament, law, and apocalypse. Its literary diversity mirrors cognitive diversity. Some are drawn to the structured wisdom of Proverbs; others resonate with the raw emotional honesty of the Psalms. Some find God in Job’s philosophical wrestling, others in the visceral imagery of Revelation.

God accommodates by telling the Story in multiple genres—could we not do the same in our ministries?

VI. From Paternalism to Participation

Divine accommodation, rightly understood, also subverts paternalism. It is not a top-down act of condescension but a movement of love. God’s accommodation is not patronising; it is empowering. It enables a real encounter, not just comprehension.

This has implications for how neurodivergent individuals are included in the Church. Too often, inclusion is framed as a generous allowance for “those people,” with the implicit norm being neurotypical. But divine accommodation suggests a different posture: not inclusion from pity, but mutual dependence in grace.

To be the Body of Christ is not to create a space where neurodiverse people are merely welcomed—it is to recognise that the Body is incomplete without them.

VII. Theological Anthropology Revisited

At the heart of this conversation is theological anthropology—our understanding of what it means to be human in light of who God is. Calvin’s anthropology is at once sobering and hopeful: human beings are utterly dependent on divine initiative, yet dignified by divine attention. We are dust, yet dust animated by breath.

A neurodiverse liberation theology, grounded in Calvin’s accommodation, insists that human worth is not measured by conformity to cognitive norms. Instead, our value lies in being creatures God chooses to address. We are not defined by how well we process information, interpret social cues, or maintain executive function, but by the fact that God stoops to meet us.

This is an anthropology that neither romanticises nor pathologises neurodivergence. It locates our identity not in productivity, rationality, or emotional regulation—but in belovedness.

VIII. Toward a Theology of Communal Accommodation

Finally, divine accommodation invites us to re-imagine the Church as a community of mutual accommodation. Just as God meets us in our particularity, so too are we called to meet one another. Theological hospitality means creating spaces where different modes of perception, communication, and participation are not only tolerated but expected.

This is not easy work. It demands creativity, patience, and above all, humility. But it is work that mirrors the God who bends low, who speaks gently, who invites questions and holds silence.

Conclusion: A Gentle Theology for a Restless World

Calvin’s God is not a distant clock-maker but a tender communicator. In every divine “lisp,” we hear the echo of a God who knows our frame, who remembers we are dust—and who delights to dwell with us nonetheless.

For those navigating the world through neurodiverse minds, this is good news indeed. It proclaims that revelation is not gated by intellect, nor blocked by sensory overload. It whispers that our ways of seeing, though different, are not deficient. And it beckons the Church to reflect that same divine accommodation—not out of duty, but out of joy.

For the glory of God is not seen in uniformity, but in the kaleidoscopic reflection of his image in each of us.