The Truth is Inside
Thoughts on the Integration of Theology and Humanism
When I was working on my Master of Arts in Counseling at Asbury Theological Seminary in 2005, I wrote a paper entitled “God is a Humanist.” My professor was not amused. Although small in stature, she carried herself with a kind of no-nonsense air that made her rather intimidating. Just between you and me, I secretly referred to her as “Sarge.” In this paper I tried to prove, with little success that since God created humanity then God knows us intimately and is for us therefore pro-human and thus a humanist. A beginning thesis statement that my professor thought was poorly supported, as evidenced by my grade and the returned paper covered in red ink.
I have always been drawn to the humanist theorists in general and Carl Rogers in particular. I found humanism to be optimistic and hopeful. A humanist therapist in a clinical setting is less focused on the dysfunction of the client and more focused on their potential. It is all about understanding free will, self-actualization (becoming your best self) and self-efficacy (believing you are capable of accomplishment). In a humanistic framework, therapy starts with the assumption that each person has within them what they need to grow and become. It made sense to me then and it makes even more sense to me now. God, in creating, humanity has placed deep within us what we need to be our best and truest selves. We have everything we need.
The last semester of graduate school required an integration paper where we were to show how we understood the interplay between our preferred theory and our faith. Taking an integration class each semester led me to my obvious choice, Carl Roger’s Person-Centered Therapy. This theory proved an easy fit with my understanding of faith at the time. I liked Roger’s for his trust in people, never only an authority or an expert, he provided his clients with what he termed “unconditional positive regard.” Asbury did for its students what Roger’s did for his clients. Asbury did not dictate how to combine our future practice with our faith understanding. They trusted themselves as faculty to give us the framework me and my fellow students would need to do our own work. Other seminaries at that time were moving away from a clinical curriculum into a more biblical counseling approach. At Asbury we learned to identify ourselves not as Christian counselors but rather, counselors who are Christian. I did not know this would be important to me when I applied to Asbury, but this became a valuable distinction, one I still use today. Ironically, I started the deconstruction of my faith in a spirit filled evangelical seminary that provided room for questions, room for doubts and a safe place to begin to sort through my beliefs.
I grew a lot in those few short years. I entertained my doubts and my questions. In recalling my time in Wilmore, Kentucky I am reminded of the countless hours I spent in the stacks of Asbury’s B. L. Fisher Library, one of my favorite places on campus. I remember struggling with the idea of original sin. How could I make sense of this belief that we as humans are born with sin that we must be redeemed or saved from? How does this fit in with my humanistic view of God? I met this first doubt with a question I have used repeatedly as I have untangled my faith from my culture, family, and church. I often ask myself, what if I don’t know? What if not knowing is, ok? What if I just choose to not decide and allow room for the ambiguity. With the question of original sin, I was unsure of what I believed. I had fond memories of holding each of my newborn children, seeing their sweet, innocent faces, nothing that would lead me to the conclusion that they were born full of sin. I wasn’t sure what I thought but I know how I felt. It felt wrong to cast all people as corrupt from the start. Somehow, humanism felt truer, that humans are born with the potential for good as well as the potential for bad. The choices we make and circumstances in which we find ourselves lead us to either positive or negative outcomes.
It is through this lens of humanism that I see each person who walks through my door. I see them as holding the answers they are longing for. I can then understand my role as helping to unlock, and free what has always been there. I am less of the wise sage with all the answers and more the journey companion that walks with them on their path of self-discovery. This feels right and good to me. It feels so much better than me being the expert and telling my clients what they need to do. My social work background taught me that each client is the expert of their life. Even though by the time someone seeks out a counselor they might be feeling like their lives are out of control and they are unsure of their next steps. I can be more directive when it is needed but I want to as quickly as possible help them begin to trust themselves again and encourage them and cheer them on. And that all stems from this belief that each person has not only the right to self-determination but that they have what they need to get there. It could be that anxiety or depression are creating some roadblocks, it could be a difficult and traumatic past getting in the way, it could be that a recent loss. But it is there, within them, none the less.
In a world that can overwhelm me with tragedy, loss, fear, stress, and anxiety, focusing on hope is a lifeline. Humanism frees me from judgement. It allows me to stay curious. When I was first introduced to this theory, it was like the tension in my body eased. Marth Beck says in her book, “The Way of Integrity (2021)” that when we hear truth our body responds by loosening and relaxing. She believes it is a way for us to know our truth. I have been trying to notice this often-subtle response and let it sink in. A skill I am refining. I have spent too many years not listening to my body and ignoring my reactions. I have become very good at stifling any feedback my body may be giving me. I am learning to pay attention.
Being as involved in the church as I have been the last three decades, I have held this fondness for humanism close to my heart. Fearful of sharing it with anyone, convinced I would be labeled a heretic. I wanted to explore my thoughts and my feelings but never wanted to stand out or ruffle any feathers, I held it in. I played the game of church well. I showed up, I smiled, I was involved until it became untenable for me.
Fear of judgment and criticism kept me from being authentic, but finally I found being at church doing what I had always done was becoming too hard. I pulled back, I stopped small things at first. I stopped walking down the isle with my husband during the Postlude and shaking hands. That became too suffocating for me. When one of the dear saints of the church asked me to walk out with Kurt and shake hands because, “we like to see you standing there with our pastor.” I smiled and said, “I don’t do that.” When I got home, I broke down in tears, devastated by the realization that shaking my hand for 10 seconds lead them to believe they knew me. I would have loved to be asked over to the home of this sweet saint and gotten to really know her and be known by her. All she needed was a brief encounter with socially accepted salutations; have a good week, good to see you, take care. It all seemed a bit inhumane. Something the
God I was seeking would not have wanted for humanity. The God my soul longed for, made me with the capacity for deep and meaningful relationships not brief, shallow encounters once a week.
Julie Swartz Gottman says that as humans we are “pack animals.” She says we need each other. If this is how God made us, how could I ever be satisfied with surface level conversations one morning a week? I long for a community of humans striving for closeness with God and closeness, care, empathy, compassion, curiosity, and encouragement for each other. A place where we are free to be our best selves without fear. A place that offers room to explore the truth God has placed inside of us.
Today almost twenty years later, I stand by my feebly supported thesis, Our God is a Humanist.