Virtually no one today would deny that the Roman Catholic Church at the time of the Protestant Reformation was in need of reform. And that includes modern-day Catholics.
It is well known that the church had become overly involved in worldly matters, perhaps especially in politics. Bishops and archbishops served as princes and other such positions of power. They held vast amounts of wealth and owned large tracts of land. Their worldly power was considerable.
Not only that, a system of indulgences had developed where the faithful were urged to give money to the church in order to secure a fortuitous slot in heaven. To be crass about it, you literally could buy yourself out of Purgatory and straight into heaven.
Indeed, there were other issues, many theological in nature, far too extensive to detail here. But suffice it to say, there was considerable discontent within and without the church.
The last straw for Martin Luther, an academician and monk, was when Pope Leo X, a patron of the arts and a member of the Medici banking family, who at his election was quoted as saying, “Since God has given us the papacy, let us enjoy it,” decided to rebuild St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. How to pay for this lavish expenditure? Ramp up the payment of indulgences.
For Luther, this was a step too far. As such, in 1517 he nailed his now-famous “95 Theses” on the door of the church in Wittenberg, Germany, considered the official start of the Reformation.
Shortly thereafter, John Calvin, a French-born Geneva-based theologian, also got into the act. And he didn’t play around. Together with Luther, they became the seminal figures in a movement that eventually divided the Western church into two parts.
As with most movements, the Reformation ultimately produced a few major, unintended consequences, and not always to good effect.
In some sense, this breakup was akin to what modern-day psychologists call “reaction-formation,” the process whereby a group or individual adopts the exact opposite ideas and/or behaviors from that which they are actively opposing.
A classic example of this phenomenon can be seen with rebellious teenagers who reject their parents’ worldview and seek to do the exact opposite. Thus, much of what is worthy is rejected in favor of its opposite extreme. The baby, as I’m always saying, is thrown out with the bathwater.
Luther, it’s important to note, never wanted to break with the Catholic Church, only to make necessary reforms. But both sides hardened their positions and the break became inevitable. As has been said, the first casualty of war is the truth. In the midst of heated battle, the two extremes held the debate hostage.
In any event, we today live with the consequences of what, in my view, was an ill-considered break. This may be an odd thing to say for someone who is a retired Protestant pastor, named after Calvin (my middle name), and whose ancestors since the mid-18th century served as pastors in the Calvinist tradition. Nonetheless, there it is.
Among the many unfortunate changes, ironically, was the diminishment of a once clearly defined path to heaven. In rejecting indulgences and other forms of “works,” Protestantism rejected virtually all human efforts toward attaining heaven.
On the surface, this would seem to make sense. Consider Paul’s doctrine of faith not works. But they took it to the extreme, or so it seems.
Calvin went a step further. He argued for double-predestination, meaning that God had already decided who was saved and who wasn’t. This effectively obviated the role of human effort in the economy of salvation.
Then again, this was consistent with the general belief among the Reformers that the essential problem with the Catholic Church was that it had domesticated an otherwise transcendent God.
The Reformers, that is, sought to reassert the absolute sovereignty and otherness of God. There was to be no earthly equivalent. God was holy, set apart, and not to be mimicked by human pretension.
As I say, the unintended consequence was the lessening of an active and participatory role for human beings who now must defer passively to God’s providence, will, and “control.”
But is such a view commensurate with human nature? I mean, don’t we humans need to aspire to something greater than ourselves? Don’t we need to know that our efforts have value beyond earthly utility? Aren’t we hardwired to reach for heavenly things?
Curiously, this rejection of otherworldly aspirations ultimately contributed to what sociologist Max Weber called “the Protestant work ethic.” Released from the propriety of directing one’s efforts toward heavenly salvation, and, ultimately, heaven itself, people redirected their energies toward this-world achievement.
In other words, the inborn human need for work, within Protestantism and over time, was redirected toward secular endeavors. One found satisfaction and, yes, even redemption, in thrift, hard work, and diligence in business affairs.
Weber went on to argue that this Protestant work ethic was largely responsible for the tremendous success of capitalism, especially in America. (The earliest settlers, be it noted, were Protestants, specifically Calvinists, i.e. Congregationalist pilgrims.)
Weber pointed out that because Protestantism stressed Original Sin (though it hardly invented it), the effect was one of chastening all human effort. Thus, the Protestant work ethic, as it was practiced, eschewed ostentation of any sort, including any display of wealth or comfort.
The industrious worker was urged to be thrifty and humble. The virtue of hard work together with the prohibition against flaunting the fruits of one’s labor led people to be frugal, to save. This, according to Weber, is largely responsible for the creation of America’s immense wealth.
Of course, in time, as the rigors of religious piety subsided, America, while keeping its focus on acquisition, lost its sense of modesty and the character necessary to keep mammon in proper perspective. Thrift, prudence, and self-discipline gave way to the pursuit of entertainment and leisure. which is where we find ourselves today.
The Protestant focus on sin had yet another unintended twist. The human person had to be put in his place, in contrast to the late Middle Ages and the Renaissance. The spirit of these previous ages celebrated humanity’s highest aspirations and achievements in the fields of art, science, education, and, yes, religion. This focus on bringing out the best of human potential produced masterpieces such as Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris (seen above).
In an effort to counteract the humanistic excesses of church and culture, Protestantism tended to diminish and even discourage the highest of human aspiration.
My guess is that we today could never build anything quite as beautiful or as grand or as majestic as Notre Dame, one of the highest achievements of Christian society seeking to honor and glorify God.
Not only that, according to Weber, this same Protestant focus on sin eventually contributed to the leveling of democratic society. The fear of standing out from the crowd led to mass conformity. Absent the human spirit’s highest aspirations and a mastery born of devotion, vision, sacrifice, and hard work, mediocrity filled the vacuum.
Today we live in a society that exists on a pedestrian, this-worldly plain, one that attempts to curb what’s best in us. As a result, there’s less truth, less beauty, less joy, less mystery, less faith, less hope, less love.
With no small amount of irony, we effectively substituted the things of God for the things of this world, all in an effort to accomplish precisely the opposite!
It’s a shame the Reformation wasn’t just that, a re-formation, that is, a reforming movement that faithfully and effectively addressed the shortcomings of the day and set things back on track.
Perhaps now is the time to invite God back into our everyday lives again, that our aspirations and efforts might once again find their truest object – heaven.