According to David Gushee in After Evangelicalism, “Christian humanism” basically means
“orienting our lives by a version of Christian faith that is compassionately realistic about the human condition, reflects the best of human knowledge, and enables all kinds of human beings to truly flourish. It’s humane and for human well-being.”
If this is the case, then the opposite of Christian humanism might be called Christian misanthropy (misanthropy: “a hatred or distrust of humankind”).
Now, the Christian misanthropes themselves would claim that their misanthropy is biblical. Something like: “Humans are totally depraved and in need of redemption, instruction, and, if needed, punishment.” (Though, note that the punishment such humans receive in Hell is, according to the same Christian misanthropes, eternal, conscious, and NOT redemptive/corrective, but purely retributive.)
We see this kind of Christian misanthropy at work in the “Christian” nationalism that has taken hold in the USA. I think it’s what motivates people like Russ Vought (a Wheaton alum) to tear apart the social safety net and undo some of the best work toward human flourishing that’s been done in the past century (consider all the lives saved by USAID, mRNA vaccines, etc. and how little the Christian nationalists care about this).
But I think this is mistaken. I agree with Gushee that Christian humanism “reflects Jesus’ own way of treating people.”
The Way of Jesus
Jesus consistently demonstrated a radical commitment to human dignity and flourishing. He touched lepers, ate with tax collectors, defended an adulteress from mob violence, and elevated the status of women, children, and Samaritans (all groups considered lesser in his society). When religious leaders criticized him for healing on the Sabbath, Jesus responded that “the Sabbath was made for humanity, not humanity for the Sabbath.” This prioritization of human need over rigid rule-following exemplifies Christian humanism at its core.
The parable of the Good Samaritan further illustrates this principle. The religious professionals who passed by the wounded man weren’t necessarily cruel. They were likely following purity codes that touching a potentially dead body would violate. But Jesus elevates compassionate action for human welfare above religious correctness. The hero of his story is someone from a despised religious group who demonstrates costly love for a stranger.
“But Jesus Wasn’t Soft on Sin!”
Some will object: “This is liberal nonsense! Jesus wasn’t soft on sin. He called people vipers and whitewashed tombs. He made a whip and drove money-changers from the temple. He warned of hell and judgment. You’re making Jesus into a therapeutic self-help guru!”
This objection misses the crucial pattern in Jesus’ ministry. Yes, Jesus demonstrated righteous anger and called out sin. But look carefully at who received his harshest words and why.
His “brood of vipers” language was reserved for religious leaders who used their power to crush others while maintaining their own righteousness. His temple-cleansing rage targeted those who turned worship into exploitation, making it harder for the poor and Gentiles to access God. His warnings about judgment fell heaviest on those who refused to show mercy while demanding it for themselves.
Meanwhile, to the woman caught in adultery, Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.” To Zacchaeus the tax collector, he invited himself to dinner. To the thief on the cross, he promised paradise. To Peter who denied him three times, he offered restoration and mission. The pattern is unmistakable: harsh words for the powerful who harm others, gentle restoration for the broken and repentant.
Christian misanthropes reverse this pattern entirely. They aim their harshest judgment at the vulnerable (the poor, immigrants, LGBTQ individuals, those struggling with addiction or mental illness, etc.) while cozying up to political and economic power. They’ve turned Jesus’ prophetic critique upside down, using his words about judgment as weapons against those Jesus came to save, while ignoring his condemnations of religious hypocrisy and oppression.
When Jesus talked about sin, it was always in service of human flourishing, not in opposition to it. Sin, in Jesus’ teaching, is what destroys human beings and communities. His anger at sin was precisely because he loved people and wanted them to thrive. The misanthropes, by contrast, seem to relish human failure and eagerly anticipate divine wrath. They’ve confused hating sin with hating sinners.
The Problem with Christian Misanthropy
Christian misanthropy often manifests as a preoccupation with human sinfulness that eclipses the equally biblical truth of human beings bearing God’s image. Yes, Christian theology acknowledges human brokenness, but when this becomes the dominant or sole lens through which we view humanity, we end up with policies and practices that harm rather than heal. We get immigration policies that separate families, healthcare systems that abandon the vulnerable, and criminal justice approaches focused purely on retribution rather than restoration.
The irony is that Christian misanthropes often exempt themselves from their harsh anthropology. They trust themselves to wield political power, accumulate wealth, and judge others’ worthiness…all while maintaining that humans are utterly depraved. This selective application reveals that their misanthropy is really about controlling and diminishing others, not honest theological reflection about the human condition.
Holding the Tension
True Christian humanism doesn’t ignore sin or brokenness. Instead, it holds in creative tension the paradox that humans are both fallen and beloved, both broken and bearing God’s image. This tension should produce humility and compassion for our fellow humans, not contempt. It should make us slow to judge and quick to serve, skeptical of our own righteousness while hopeful about human potential for transformation.
Consider how this plays out practically: A Christian humanist approach to poverty doesn’t assume the poor are lazy or deserving of their plight, but recognizes systemic injustices and works for economic structures that enable flourishing. It doesn’t romanticize poverty either, but takes seriously Jesus’ proclamation of good news to the poor and works toward their liberation.
Similarly, Christian humanism approaches criminal justice not with pure retributivism but with an eye toward restoration: of victims, communities, and yes, even offenders. It takes seriously the biblical vision of making all things new rather than simply jailing or executing those who’ve done wrong.
A Theological Crisis
The current alliance between certain forms of Christianity and political movements that actively work against human flourishing represents a profound theological crisis. When Christians champion policies that increase suffering, limit access to healthcare, destroy environmental protections, or perpetuate systemic racism, they’re betraying the One who came that people might have life, and have it abundantly.
Gushee is right that we need to reclaim Christian humanism. Not a naive optimism that ignores evil, but a robust faith that takes seriously both human dignity and human need. This kind of Christianity doesn’t seek power over others but power for others’ flourishing. It measures faithfulness not by doctrinal purity or political dominance but by how well we love our neighbors (all of them!) as ourselves.
The Path Forward
The path forward requires us to resist the false choice between taking sin seriously and taking human dignity seriously. The gospel holds both together: we are more broken than we dare admit and more loved than we dare hope. That paradox should produce not misanthropy but profound compassion, for ourselves and for every human being we encounter.
When we embrace Christian humanism, we join Jesus in his mission to heal, restore, and bring life. We work for systems and structures that honor human dignity. We advocate for the vulnerable. We seek justice that restores rather than merely punishes. And we do all this not in spite of our faith, but because of it.
The choice before us is clear: We can follow a misanthropic distortion of Christianity that views humans primarily as objects of wrath, deserving of suffering and eternal punishment. Or we can follow Jesus, who looked at broken humanity with compassion and gave his life so that all might flourish.
I know which one looks more like Good News to me.