For Reformational Humanism

Aristotle says that virtue is situating oneself between two extremes. With humanism, this is especially true. In one instance, humanism glorifies mankind, replacing God with man, replacing “every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matthew 4:4) with every and any word that comes from the mouth of man. On the other hand, there is a temptation amongst humanity to have a debased view of themselves, whether it be a scientism that views man as the ultimate parasite and invasive species, a Gnosticism that sees all flesh as evil, or even a Christian tendency to look down upon man (somewhat rightly) for his sins and for carnal acts deemed unfit for creation’s original, God-given telos. In between these stands the correct relationship between Christianity and humanism, one that glorifies man as the Imago Dei, the man whom God is mindful of (Psalm 8:4). This correct view is also one that relegates man to where he belongs, “a little lower than the angels” (Psalm 8:5), sinful and in need of a redemption he cannot secure for himself, typified in the first Adam fallen, fulfilled by the second Adam glorified.

One cannot interact with the ideas of humanism without understanding its history, from the ancient Greeks, through the Renaissance and Reformation, and up to the modern era. Examining the history of humanism allows one to better grasp the essence of the ideology, track its change over time, and arrive at a definitive conclusion regarding its worth and relationship to the Christian faith.

Perhaps the first explicit humanist declaration of history was Protagoras’s statement, “Man is the measure of all things.” This is a clear summary of all of what is implicit and explicit in Greek life and practice. As Greek culture developed, temples and statues to gods were built, and as Greece entered her golden age, the quality and glory of these constructions increased. Among statues of contrapposto deities, heroes and Olympic champions cropped up. And even in the gods of the people, there was a clear perception that the ideal, the god to imitate, was no more than exalted man, one stronger and more beautiful. Therefore, the worship of the Pantheon of gods was no more than worship of man, usurping the rightful throne of Almighty God. Pericles, in a time of desperation, suggested that a part of a statue, Athena’s stole, could be melted down to fund war necessities. This profaning of the sacred for the sake of winning a war shows that Pericles’s main concern was the salvation of his people—not an ignoble goal by any means, but one that showed the highest priority was not appeasing the gods but protecting man, and perhaps winning glory in battle.

Besides the implicit worship of man in Greek culture, there is no doubt that they often explicitly worshipped man too. The kleos ethic is one which celebrates victory on the battlefield to the end of everlasting glory in story, song, and the hearts of men. Men skilled in feats of strength, in war or in Olympian games, would win prizes and fame. Nude statues were built to honor the great. Ancient Greece was clearly a society that glorified and exalted man: even in worshipping their gods.

This largely continued through the Roman era. As Horace put it, “Conquered Greece took captive her savage conqueror and brought her arts into rustic Latium.” The same is true with the idea of humanism. Rome, stealing many things from Greece, stole too her ideology and gods. Man remained the measure of all things until a religion mockingly titled after its dynamic leader exploded under severe persecution in Rome.

Championing the suffering servant model of humility and deference, Christianity opposed the pagan humanism of Greece and Rome, worshipping the God who exalts the humble, giving them grace and favor, while opposing the proud (Proverbs 3:34, James 4:6, Luke 18:14). Despite at times smothering opposition from Roman authorities, Christianity spread like a contagion, a wildfire, a storm. While traditional Romans saw the fast-growing religion as a plague and scourge, for others it was a swift river purging and cleansing Rome of her idolatries. Rejecting autonomous reason as the source for truth, as the old Greek philosophers argued (Aristotle, Plato and the like), Christians said that only the Spirit-illumined mind could grasp the deepest truths of the universe, having received the fulness of God’s special revelation. True, they worshipped a man, but not just a man: Christians worshipped the Deus Homo, the God-Man.

Yet, as Christianity grew and the list of its scholars and theologians expanded, the great thinkers of the growing Christian tradition respected and learned from the ancient pagan philosophers as they wrestled with the things of God. Starting with Origen and codified by Augustine, the idea of Egyptian gold took root. Just as the Israelites in the Exodus melted down pagan idols into usable gold, so too could Christians throw pagan thought into the crucible and glean insight from its fire-purified form. Some early Christian theologians thought so highly of the noble pagans that they, like Clement of Alexandria, believed their philosophy was essentially the Gentile equivalent to the Old Testament revelation of the Jews. Clement saw the ancient thinkers as preparatory revelation for the coming Logos, the unifying principle of thought, begotten of the Divine Mind. This is arguably the first hint of what could be called Christian humanism. This was a purified form of Greek humanism, which rejected reason as autonomous, but nevertheless viewed it as a powerful, God-given tool for understanding the cosmos. They did not see man as the measure of all things, but believed God’s word which told them that man was made in the image of God, reflecting some small part of his glory in thought, word, and deed.

Continuing throughout the medieval era, the “Egyptian Gold” viewpoint dominated. The scholastics used Platonic and Aristotelian thought to develop their theology. Anselm and Aquinas, favoring Plato and Aristotle respectively, confirmed the stronghold of the philosophers as pagan seers of reality. Until the Renaissance, Christian views on this largely remained the same. Of course, that could be said of a lot of things Christians believed—the Renaissance was just that disruptive, in both good and bad ways.

Pinning down the kind of humanism espoused by the somewhat unclear and nebulous term “the Renaissance” is difficult. Even more so is analyzing the potential value or worthlessness to be found in that ideology. There is debate over whether the Renaissance period sharply divides from the medieval, especially on the humanism issue. Some argue, quite persuasively in this author’s mind, that the change from medieval to modern occurs during the 18th century with the Enlightenment. Undoubtedly, the Renaissance and Reformation sparked massive societal change, increasing individualism and perhaps a skepticism of church and spiritual authority. But to say the Renaissance created paganism anew, that its humanism is the same detrimental philosophy of the Greeks, is to assume humanism, wherever it occurs is the same destructive force.

But opposite this view is another that is equally misguided. This view refers the Middle Ages as the “Dark Ages,” holding that the last thousand years were times of darkness, defacement, and unassuming, blind belief. Proponents of this view cheer the arrival of Renaissance humanism, the rebirth of classicism, and rebellion against superstitious dogmatism. The Renaissance and Reformation are seen as desperately needed rays of light breaking into the deep void. But to say that no Renaissance chaff needs to be separated from the wheat or to deny that the medieval world and church contained soon amount of goodness is to fail to take seriously what the Reformation sought to do, and to overlook the actual faults of the Renaissance. There were humanists who elevated man into the role of God, and, finding no place for the deposed ruler of the universe, cast him aside. But at the same time, the Renaissance was born in Christendom. Its trappings were Christian—but this does not mean it was so all the way though. A careful equilibrium between these two views must be reached.

Francis Shaeffer was right when he pointed out that Renaissance humanism grew into modern, Enlightenment humanism, which is distinct but comes from a bastardized form of Renaissance humanism. While it is possible to distinguish between the two, one must realize that the one grew into the other. Great promise and great pitfall lie on either side of the road to humanism.

This essay argues in favor of a kind of Christian Humanism, which can be called Reformational Humanism. Reformational Humanism’s contention is that humanism as such is not inherently evil. There is a kind of humanism that is good and right and biblical, which, however imperfectly, was born in the Renaissance and further expanded in the Reformation. Reformational Humanism takes the good from the Renaissance humanists and spits out the bad. The Protestant Reformation’s friend, Reformational Humanism encourages a traditional approach to theology and history, one which conserves and preserves the good and worthy. As the Renaissance men sang, “Ad Fontes!” so did the Reformers. But unlike the rebels who casted off any church teaching they didn’t like, the Reformers respected the grand tradition of the Catholic Church, but rejoiced in the removal of actual accretions and heralded the return to the church fathers and scriptures, instead of the Pope and the magisterium. Renaissance humanism saw the nearly the entire previous millennium as an age of backsliding from the highs of the Romans and Greeks, but true, Reformational Humanism adores the good to be found in Aquinas and Anselm, praises the cathedrals and paintings of the medieval era, but rejects the late medieval creeping incursions upon truth, goodness, and beauty.

Reviving classicism, returning to the original sources, seeking to do Christianity better is an inherently Protestant concern. The Reformation work ethic (perhaps foreshadowed by the “father of humanism” Petrarch’s policy of pursuing excellence through individual effort), and emphasis upon literacy created massive benefit for society, especially in northern Europe, where, perhaps coincidentally, where most of what could be called the “Christian Humanists” (such as Erasmus) abided.

Many critiquing Protestantism (and, for that matter, many within Protestantism) desire to establish the movement’s identity in a negative manner, that is, frame Protestantism ever as a protest against Roman Catholicism and other Ecclesialist traditions.[1] But this is not true. While the name can mislead, Protestantism has a positive identity in seeking to constantly reform the church according to the word of God. It seeks to relegate the church to her proper place, essential to the testimony of the word and Word of God, but not above either, and to do the same with God and man: placing God as the supreme and highest being and placing lowly man as the fallen, sinful yet glorious creature he is.

Apart from any historical context, the scriptures are clear: man is glorious. All of creation is glorious insofar as it reflects the glory of God, but man, being made in his image, reflects God greater than anything else in creation. The Apostle Paul, when speaking about the resurrection body, declares that the glory of the heavenly body will far outshine the body man possesses now (1 Corinthians 15:35-49). Contra the Renaissance humanist Pico’s phrase, man’s potential is not unlimited, but it is glorious for those in Christ as they are conformed to the likeness of God, restoring the distorted image (Romans 8:29, Ephesians 4:24). As some theologians have put it, man is the vice-regent of God, taking dominion of the earth in the name of the Lord.

To return to the history, it is important to keep in mind that the humanist movement of the Renaissance was not anti-God—it wasn’t even deist, like a part of Enlightenment would be. Humanism, as first codified by the Renaissance was an attempt to improve Christianity, something the Reformation would build upon. Insofar as it dabbles in secularism and paganism, humanism must be rejected, but it can be a traditional, and arguably biblical, principle to melt down the Egyptian gold, so to speak, into something non-profane and profitable.

The scriptures, Reformational Humanism teaches, are the only infallible guide to faith and practice, and while they contain all things necessary unto salvation, as the Westminster Confession puts it, they do not contain teaching on every single corner of philosophy or life, and in such cases, why not listen to the wisdom of the noble pagans? As Calvin wrote, rejecting truth, even if it be found in the mouths of pagans, is rejecting the Spirit of Truth himself, the God of common grace, reason, and faith. An Anselmian “faith seeking understanding” approach builds off the scriptural principles which govern the believer’s life, and latches onto goodness, truth, and beauty wherever it is found. Humanism and true, godly piety are not strange bedfellows.

Having seen the two extremes to be avoided—the over glorying of man, exalting him above God, and the overly suspicious, man deriding anti-humanist policy—one may now see the true position: classicism, faith and reason, the removal of corrupting accretions upon the church are all good things to be endorsed. Reformational Humanism does so. Man is not the measure of all things, to be worshipped above all. But, when one understands the God who is transcendent and who made man in his image, one can properly see the glory of man too, the glory that when revealed in full by the coming the Lord will redeem the whole creation (Romans 8:19-21).

Endnotes

[1] This term is a catch-all that refers to the several Christian traditions which hold that the church is equal to or greater in authority than the Bible, and that she may make infallible, binding proclamations concerning matters of faith and practice.