The Via Media of 7 Economic Errors

The Reformed Church has always taken history seriously. We inherit a tradition that values careful thought, doctrinal continuity, and theological stability; these instincts protect us from novelty for novelty’s sake and from the temptation to treat every new idea as progress. At their best, they cultivate patience and humility while safeguarding settled truths against new errors. Over time, however, those same instincts can incline us toward repetition rather than careful examination, especially when an inherited position carries the weight of a respected name.

I don't believe this tendency is rooted in laziness or bad faith. More often, it arises from an understandable caution. If a particular formulation has been repeated for centuries, and especially if it can be traced to one of our favorite theological forefathers, questioning it can feel like questioning the veracity of our tradition itself. In practice, this sometimes leads us to treat historical quotations as though they carried the same authority as Scripture, rather than recognizing them as historically situated attempts to apply biblical principles to the realities of their own time.

That distinction matters greatly in economic life. John Calvin, and those who followed him, were not trying to offer timeless economic blueprints. They were reasoning carefully within the constraints, assumptions, and structures of their moment, and now many of those structures have changed in foundational ways. We operate in a different economic context than they did. Markets operate differently. Capital moves differently. Labor is organized differently. To try to indiscriminately apply the language of our forefathers to today's economy instead of their principles is not fidelity; it is a failure of the very method they modeled.

Reformed theology has always insisted on the difference between unchanging moral law and its application under varying circumstances. The tradition speaks of general equity for a reason. Principles endure, but their faithful expression requires judgment, attentiveness, and sometimes correction. Economic wisdom, therefore, cannot consist merely in quoting the right people; it requires the harder work of understanding what they were doing and continuing that work in our own context.

The purpose of this article is to practice that discipline. In the sections that follow, we will look at several paired errors that tend to appear in the Reformed Church's economic thinking. In many cases, Reformed Christians have inherited a tendency to lean in one direction, not because the alternative is attractive, but because the tradition has habituated us there. By clearly naming and defining both sides, the hope is to help you recenter on the via media.

I: Living in the Past vs. Living in the Future

Reformed Christians tend to breathe historical air. Confessions, catechisms, and the best voices of prior centuries sit close at hand; and in an age that treats the new as the true, that instinct is wise. It keeps us from confusing cultural momentum with truth, and it reminds us that the Church has existed for millennia; helping us to avoid a bit of chronological snobbery at the risk of the opposite error of Antiquarianism. A tradition that forgets its past will be manipulated in its present, and will not have a future.

The danger arrives when historical consciousness hardens into historical captivity, where repeating a formulation becomes easier than continuing the work that produced it. That is where economic thinking often goes stale. A quotation from a beloved theologian is lifted out of its setting, then repeated as though it were a timeless economic axiom rather than a historically situated application of biblical principle; a warning given to a particular people in a particular economic order becomes a rule for all people in all economic orders. Applying general equity requires discernment rather than rote memorization and recital; sepia-tinted hindsight is always 20/20, and it is easier to recycle antique axioms as mandates than to admit how many foundational conditions have changed, reckon with the present, and plan for the future.

A different type of captivity shows up in those who live in the future. Some become fascinated by speculative transformations of labor, capital, and technology, and the fascination with what could be subtly displaces their ordinary responsibilities for what currently is. The future becomes the reference point for everything, which makes present economic obedience under the present conditions feel small and often optional. Time is spent forecasting what might happen rather than stewarding what is currently in their hand. This posture results in disengagement from and dismissal of the systems that mark the current age in favor of their vaporwave panacea they expect to usher in the economic eschaton.

Reformed Christians, on the whole, tend to inherit the first error. The tradition naturally trains us to distrust modernity. The same distrust, however, can become a reflexive reluctance to reexamine inherited economic assumptions, especially when those views were held by the men we quote so often to correct other errors. When the name attached to a statement is sufficiently revered, the statement is treated as though it were immune to contextual questions. The Reformers would have opposed that posture, because they were not inventing new truths, but applying timeless biblical principles to the concrete conditions of their own day, and that is the harder work we are tempted to avoid now, since faithfulness will often require conclusions that look at least as different as our economic conditions do.

The proper way forward is not to lessen our love for history or to cultivate a vague openness to novelty. The proper way forward is to recover the Reformed method at its best, which means learning to ask what our forefathers were doing, then doing it again in our own moment; our modern context. They were not canonizing economic arrangements. They were reasoning from Scripture, within their context, toward wise application in their day and for their age. That is general equity in practice. A mature economic posture lives in the present, with the past as a tutor and the future as a horizon; it refuses the counterfeit certainty of treating yesterday’s conditions as though they still govern today, and it refuses the folly of living as though tomorrow has already arrived.

II: Under-Planning vs. Over-Planning

A high view of providence trains us to distrust the illusion of control. That instinct can protect us. Planning can become a form of idolatry, especially when it functions less as prudence and more as an implicit assumption that we are the masters of our fate and captains of our own souls. The Bible tells us, "The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps" (Prov. 16:9). This means two things, that God establishes outcomes, and that man is indeed supposed to plan.

Actively not planning, however, is not humility. In Reformed circles, it often appears as a principled reluctance to prepare, justified by a sincere desire to avoid presumption. People speak as though careful preparation implied distrust, or as though taking future responsibilities seriously meant imagining oneself sovereign over future events. The language sounds faithful, but the outcome is frequently a preventable fragility that shifts burdens onto others. Families fail to prepare for foreseeable needs. Churches remain dependent because they never build any assets besides the building, and often do that on debt. A community that will debate secondary doctrinal questions for decades sometimes refuses to think even three years ahead financially, then calls the refusal to plan virtuous.

Over-planning is the opposite error, and it is easier for us to recognize because it looks anxious. Every uncertainty becomes intolerable, so contingencies multiply. Spreadsheets become rituals. Projections become a substitute for prayer, and the whole structure begins to function like a private liturgy of reassurance. It is a failure to trust in God as good. We are commanded not to worry, not strongly suggested to avoid it. Having plans and back-up plans, and contingencies for the back-ups is occasionally warranted in specific situations, but when it is made a practice of everyday life, it invites both anxiety and the illusion of control.

Reformed Christians often assume they are more likely to fall into over-planning, since the culture around them is already addicted to self-management. In practice, the inherited tendency is often the opposite. The tradition’s rightful emphasis on God’s sovereignty can drift into a reluctance to act as though means matter. When providence is treated as an argument against preparation, planning itself becomes morally suspect. That posture is not merely imprudent, it subtly denies the way Scripture speaks about ordinary obedience.

Scripture does not present planning as an insult to providence. Scripture presents planning as one of providence’s ordinary instruments. Joseph’s preparation is praised, not because it guarantees an outcome, but because it honors responsibility under uncertainty. Proverbs commends foresight without promising safety, and it condemns sloth outright, never treating it as a form of piety. Christ does rebuke anxious accumulation, but not because preparation is sinful, but because the confidence was misplaced. It is better for you to lose your talents than to have never risked them at all.

The proper way forward is a kind of planning that is explicitly subordinate. Planning should be real, since responsibilities are real. Planning should be done understanding its limits, since we are creatures. Planning should be active, since God ordinarily works through means. A Reformed posture does not plan in order to secure safety; it plans in order to obey faithfully, to reduce avoidable harm, and to increase capacity for good works, all while acknowledging that outcomes remain in God’s hands. When planning is ordered this way, it becomes neither negligence nor obsession; it becomes steadiness with your feet on the ground and your head in the clouds.

III: Self-Reliance vs. Passive Fatalism

Reformed Christians often speak of God’s sovereignty with a confidence that is both doctrinally right and spiritually necessary. Scripture leaves no room for the fantasy that man is self-made or self-secured; and economic life, with its constant temptation toward pride, makes that reminder especially important. A man can quietly begin to treat his income, his competence, and his strategy as if they were his to begin with; and when that happens, he has not merely become arrogant, he has become religiously confused. There is no such thing as a self-made man, and the man who thinks he is one is in danger of worshipping who he thinks is his creator.

Self-reliance, in this sense, is not hard work or disciplined effort themselves. It is the posture that treats human effort as the decisive cause of outcomes, then treats outcomes as a referendum on their worth. Success becomes proof that one is wise, righteous, or blessed and since it is in a numerically measurable way, comparisons of supposed blessedness and righteousness begin to crop up. Failure becomes merely a technical issue to be corrected, and prayer becomes ceremonial, since the real confidence rests in their personal capacity. This error thrives in modern economic life because the world rewards the appearance of control, and idolizes the rugged hard-charging individual.

Passive fatalism is the quieter error, and it is the one that can wear Reformed language most convincingly. It takes the truth of providence and converts it into an excuse for disengagement: if God intends a thing to happen, the logic goes, it will happen regardless of my exertion; if it does not happen, then my effort would have been either pointless or presumptuous. That posture does not merely interpret outcomes through providence, but uses providence as an argument against acting at all, then calls the refusal humility. The error is distinctly theological rather than merely temperamental, because the same instincts that can lead some to resist presenting the gospel as a sincere, well-meant offer can bleed outward into ordinary life: if God will save whom He will save, why plead; if God will provide what He will provide, why strive; if God will bless whom He will bless, why build. The logic sounds consistent, but it misunderstands what sovereignty means. God’s ordination of ends does not negate the means He has sovereignly chosen to accomplish those ends, and God’s governance of history does not remove human duty. A theology that produces a functional abrogation of responsibility is not a high doctrine of God, but a sanctified pretext for sloth.

These two errors are similar, in a way, to the previous two errors, but they specifically regard action instead of thought. Under-planning and over-planning live in the mind; they are distortions of foresight, of how a man relates to tomorrow before he ever does anything today. Self-reliance and passive fatalism, by contrast, show up in the hands and the feet; they distort agency, either by treating action as self-justification or by treating inaction as humility. Many Reformed Christians fail to plan and still act, often out of duty, instinct, or necessity; others plan carefully and still fail to act, mistaking thinking really hard for actual obedience. These are related errors, but they are not identical. A lack of planning does not always produce passivity, and planning does not automatically produce faithfulness. The point is not to choose between thought and action, but to wed them under providence: plan with sobriety, then act with resolve, and stop pretending that endless and fruitless planning is wisdom or that frantic and thoughtless action is faithfulness.

Reformed Christians often err toward the apathetic and pietistic errors for understandable reasons. It is our natural bent, and we have a tendency to overcorrect against the errors we see the culture making. The culture celebrates autonomy, and we rightly resist it. The culture romanticizes ambition, and we rightly distrust it. The resistance, however, can become a reflexive suspicion of action itself, especially action that carries risk. What if people confuse our failures as God's failures? In that atmosphere, doing little can feel safer than doing much, and safety can be confused with faithfulness.

The proper way forward holds together what Scripture holds together: dependence and duty, humility and effort, prayer and action. Providence never cancels means but dignifies them. God governs outcomes, but He attaches many outcomes to ordinary obedience, and He holds His people accountable for neglect. The doctrine of providence was not given to sedate the Church. It was given to steady the Church, since the man who knows God governs the world is free to act without the desperation of someone who believes the world depends on him. That posture is not self-reliance, and it is not fatalism. It is faithful agency, exercised under God, for the good of households, churches, and neighbors.

IV: Materialism vs. Asceticism

Materialism seldom presents itself as an explicit philosophy; it usually arrives as a practiced assumption about what makes life secure, meaningful, and respectable. It is praxy first, doxy second. Money begins as a tool, then quietly becomes a measuring stick. A household starts reading its financial position as a measure of personal worth, family stability, or even divine favor. Comforts become a quiet entitlement. Savings becomes more than prudence; it becomes the place the heart goes for reassurance when life feels unstable. The theological vocabulary may remain intact, but the functional center of gravity shifts, since created goods are being used to carry the weight of a person's security.

Then there's asceticism, like Gnosticism, a suspicion toward the created order, particularly toward money and the visible goods money can secure, that treats material concerns as spiritually awkward or even evil by default. The material world is sometimes affirmed in principle in a distant kind of way, but approached with hesitation in practice; the world in concept is good, but the world around me is bad. Economic fruitfulness becomes difficult to discuss without immediate hedging your comments or endlessly qualifying them. Building capacity feels morally risky since those who climb higher can fall farther. Christians learn, often without anyone saying it plainly, that maturity is functionally measured by distance from ordinary material concerns. This posture can sound spiritual, and we have an entire monastic tradition we can look to in order to try to justify it, but it can also distort stewardship by training people to retreat from responsibilities that are genuinely part of the life God has called us to.

Both errors have predictable consequences. Materialism produces a life that is constantly on alert, since the thing providing meaning is fragile. When financial pressure arrives, anxiety intensifies because something ultimate feels threatened. Asceticism produces a life that is economically underdeveloped, not necessarily because of virtue, but because the person has learned to treat material capacity as morally suspicious. In that case, the anxiety often shows up later and differently. Resources are thin. Options are few. People wonder why life feels fragile, even though the fragility was intentionally cultivated through years of discomfort with even the idea of economic growth.

Reformed Christians can fall into either side, since we are not immune to the broader culture’s catechism; but the more common inherited posture in our circles is decidedly not an uncritical embrace of wealth. It is the opposite, a kind of practical asceticism, where suspicion toward material goods is treated as maturity, and where economic fruitfulness is handled awkwardly, quickly hedged, or quietly distrusted. That posture is often reinforced by selective quotations from our forefathers, as though a sharp warning aimed at a specific abuse in a specific moment were a timeless prohibition on building any wealth at all. The church is poor because its people have been catechized to believe that there is piety only in poverty, and that it is only by barely surviving that the Kingdom of God will be built.

The proper way forward begins where Scripture begins and ends where Scripture ends. Creation is good; the fall is real; redemption restores rather than abolishes creaturely life. Money must remain a tool, and we must use it. Economic fruitfulness can be pursued without being treated as some kind of spiritual validation, and it can be both pursued and received without embarrassment. Gratitude and sobriety belong together, since the same created goods that can be enjoyed with thanksgiving can also become idols if they are given the wrong place in the heart. A faithful via media, therefore, rejects both the worship of money and the eschewing of money; it treats increased capacity as increased responsibility, then insists that stewardship includes productive engagement with the material world rather than retreat from it.

V: Under-Generosity vs. Over-Generosity

Under-generosity isn't usually driven greed, but by failing to recognize the abundance one does have; it usually looks like a guarded prudence that always has a plausible reason to delay or deny doing good. Security feels fragile, so margins become sacred. A household can call itself responsible while treating all surplus as non-negotiable, since surplus has become the emotional buffer against an uncertain world. The language can sound wise, even biblical; the problem is that love as an action remains theoretical because giving always gets postponed to a hypothetical future season when life will feels less complicated.

Impractical over-generosity is the opposite error, but at least it arises from sincere impulses. A person sees a need, feels genuine compassion, and responds quickly. The problem is not the desire to help; the problem is when that the pattern is unsustainable. Sustainability matters because faithfulness is measured over years, not moments. Giving becomes reactive rather than ordered, driven by emotion rather than thought. Sacrifice becomes dramatic rather than durable. When reality catches up to them, they have less to give, less to build with, and end up limiting their lifetime's amount of giving substantially for the sake of feeling like they're giving more in the moment. There are times when we are called to give until it hurts, but a farmer who gives away all of his grain will have nothing to replant with and will quickly find himself with no grain at all.

Both errors are distortions of the same basic truth; that we are commanded to give, sometimes sacrificially, and always from our abundance. Christian giving is not optional, but neither is it disconnected from other responsibilities. Scripture praises sacrificial generosity, but Scripture also commands provision for one’s household, prudence, and long-term faithfulness. When one set of texts is emphasized while the other is ignored, the result is error. Under-generosity creates a life with plenty of excuses and little love in action. Over-generosity creates a life with moments of intense and cathartic sacrifice and long stretches of fragility. Reformed churches are often poor because they have sanctified poverty for generations; when everyone is a widow giving her last two mites, the church ends up with nothing but mites to spend.

The proper way forward treats generosity as a discipline rather than a mood, and as a form of stewardship rather than a separate moral category floating above the rest of life. Scripture commends cheerful giving; Scripture also commends prudence and responsibility. A truly generous life is not measured by rare moments of dramatic sacrifice, and it is not excused by perpetual caution that never becomes action. The aim is steady, intentional, sustainable giving that strengthens households rather than destabilizing them, supports the church without romanticizing spontaneity, and helps neighbors rather than creating new crises that must later be repaired. The via media here is not purely mathematical or emotional, but ordered giving that is sustainable, so that our charity is maximized across a lifetime.

VI: Isolationism vs. Externalism 

 Isolationism is the impulse to make a community function as though it were a sealed world; a commune or a monastery that never produces anything for its neighbors, never receives anything from them, and measures faithfulness by how little it has to do with the surrounding economy. That posture will always feel safer, because it replaces the risk of engagement with the comfort of containment. Containment, however, carries a cost. The economic benefits of specialization and scale are real, so the attempt to do everything internally becomes a standing tax in time, money, and quality, while the community slowly trades innovation for repetition. There is a deeper problem though. Human beings were made for dominion, which means cultivation that spreads, coordination that expands, and productive engagement with the world beyond our own fences. Isolationism chooses one small plot to keep tidy and calls it faithfulness, while the dominion mandate calls us to build, trade, and extend the garden outward rather than retreat into a self-contained corner of it.

Externalism, or the over-reliance on external systems, treats the surrounding economic order as a kind of permanent utility, always available, always stable enough, always someone else’s responsibility to maintain. In that posture, households and churches outsource their resilience. Skills are neglected because services can be purchased. Local capacity is not developed because external vendors exist. The community becomes dependent on networks, institutions, and markets that do not share its priorities, then acts surprised when those systems extract value, set unfavorable terms, and shape our behavior instead of the other way around. The result is not merely inconvenience; it is a subtle form of vulnerability, since dependence always comes with conditions, and conditions tend to tighten when times are hard.

Isolationism overweighs internal loyalty until it becomes fearful containment and suspicion of outside exchange. Externalism overweighs outside convenience until it becomes indifference to building anything durable at home, and the local community is treated as optional. One error forgets the neighbor outside the walls; the other forgets the neighbor inside them. Neither posture is a faithful application of Christian love, since love is not mere affection for the in-group and it is not mere participation in whatever systems happen to be largest or cheapest. Love is ordered responsibility, which means strengthening one’s own people without turning exclusively inward, and engaging the world beyond without outsourcing duty to it.

In many cases, the Reformed instinct, especially in reaction to cultural instability, can slide toward isolationism, since insularity feels like holiness and loyalty. In other cases, particularly where professional life is already embedded in large institutions, the drift goes the other direction. People rely on outside systems because it is convenient, then discover too late that they have very little local capacity to withstand pressure. Both instincts can be reinforced by selective tradition. Warnings against worldliness can be treated as a mandate for economic withdrawal. Appeals to common grace can be treated as a mandate for unquestioning economic outsourcing.

The proper way forward is neither a closed economy nor a fully outsourced one. A faithful via media builds real internal capacity, since households and churches should not live as dependents when they could live as stewards. It means patronizing each other's businesses, while helping to drive more extra-community business there too. It engages outwardly with discernment, since money, labor, and exchange are part of the created order. The goal is resilience without retreat, participation without dependence, and local strength that is capable of receiving from the outside while not being hollowed out by it. We should be providing goods and services of such tremendous value that wealth is brought into the community instead of funneled out of it. A church should be able to circulate resources internally in a way that strengthens its people, and it should be able to bring in resources from outside in a way that does not slowly train it to function as a client of systems that do not share its convictions.

VII: Recklessness vs. Risk Aversion

Recklessness is not courage. Recklessness is action untethered from judgment, a willingness to gamble, often with obligations that do not belong to you alone. In economic life it often wears the language of “boldness,” as though speed were wisdom itself and confidence were competence. Risk is embraced, but the costs are externalized. A man wagers with his family’s stability, his church’s reputation, and his future capacity for good works, then calls the wager faith. That is not faith. That is presumption with a religious vocabulary, and presumption is always eager to borrow God’s name for its own impulses.

Risk aversion is the quieter error, and in Reformed circles it is often the more respectable one. It is not merely prudence. It is the habit of treating safety as the highest good, then treating every meaningful step forward as suspect precisely because meaningful steps forward require exposure. Over time, caution becomes a moral identity. Not acting feels wise. Declining opportunity feels discerning. A person can even confuse the avoidance of visible failure with the avoidance of actual sin, which is one of the more subtle temptations for serious Christians; a life built around not losing anything often becomes a life that never wins anything either.

Reformed Christians can fall into either extreme, since temperament and local culture do matter. A risk-seeking personality can baptize a reckless decision by quoting providence. A cautious personality can sanctify paralysis by saying it's just humility. Even so, there is a indeed an inherited drift in our circles, and it usually runs toward risk aversion. This happens for several reasons. We see the world’s foolishness clearly, so we learn to distrust bold claims. We know sin is real, so we learn to anticipate downside. We value stability, so we treat disruption as suspect. None of those instincts are wrong in and of themselves. The problem is that they can harden into a posture that refuses to act unless outcomes feel guaranteed, and guarantees always offer lower returns.

Scripture does not call God’s people to gamble, but Scripture also does not call them to never take an educated guess or step out in faith. The Bible praises prudence, and it also assumes initiative. A fact we as a church have largely ignored. The servant who buried his talent was not condemned because he stole or squandered; he was condemned because he refused faithful action. Wisdom literature repeatedly commends diligence and foresight, but it never praises cowardness as a virtue. In a fallen world, stewardship always includes exposure, since you cannot build anything that cannot collapse. We deal with sin and its effects, we don't yield to it.

The proper way forward is to recover a Reformed courage that is neither impulsive nor cowardly. It begins by insisting that risk is not inherently sinful and safety is not always inherently wise. It requires clarity about obligations, since a man is not free to “take risks” with what he owes to his household and his church. It requires realism about outcomes, and a tempering of one's optimism. It requires steadiness of character, since the point of taking prudent risks is not personal thrill but increased capacity for faithful service. A mature posture, therefore, does not chase risk for risk's sake, but neither does it flee from it. It evaluates risks in light of real responsibilities, moves deliberately as wisdom both permits and demands, while leaving outcomes to God without using God as an excuse for either recklessness or retreat.

Conclusion

This piece has aimed at something simple, but not easy: a more disciplined way of thinking and living economically as Reformed Christians. Our tradition is rich, but richness can become a liability when it trains us to repeat errors just because our fathers did. The Reformers themselves were not great because they curated quotations. They were great because they measured inherited claims against Scripture, then applied biblical principles to the world in front of them with unusual courage and clarity. That habit is worth recovering, especially in a domain like economics where the environment has changed so drastically since the Middle Ages.

Each section has followed the same basic pattern. Two errors sit opposite one another. One side usually looks obviously worldly. The other side often looks safer, and in Reformed life “safer” can feel like “more faithful,” even when it produces neglect, stagnation, and withdrawal. That is why naming both extremes matters. When the ends are visible, the middle becomes easier to walk, not as a compromise, but as an act of obedience that refuses to let fear or appetite set the agenda.

A faithful via media is what happens when Scripture governs both our desires and our anxieties. It allows us to receive created goods without enthroning them, to plan without trying to become sovereign, to act without pretending we are self-made, to give in a way that is steady rather than theatrical, to build local strength without retreating into a closed loop, and to engage outwardly without becoming a client of systems that do not share our convictions. That posture is boring. It only sounds extreme to the people who are extremely wrong. It is productive, stable, and quietly potent over time. People want something flashy, something new. The Reformed Church doesn't do that.

If this feels like slow work, that is because it is. Reformed people tend to move carefully. Careful movement can be a virtue when it is paired with real movement. A small, deliberate correction away from an inherited imbalance, practiced consistently, will do more good than a sudden burst of enthusiasm that fades when the calendar turns. Faithfulness usually looks like steady recalibration, carried out over years, under providence, with a clear conscience and a willingness to adjust when Scripture requires it. I hope this article has given you a clearer picture of true north and that perhaps you will consider adjusting your theological compass accordingly.

If you would like to discuss your situation and receive help thinking through practical next steps, you can book a no-cost meeting with Dominion Wealth Strategists: Book a meeting here This article is provided for educational purposes only and reflects general principles rather than individualized guidance. It is not financial, legal, tax, or investment advice, and nothing herein should be interpreted as a recommendation, solicitation, or offer to buy or sell any security or financial product. Any examples are illustrative and may not reflect your circumstances; decisions should be made based on your own goals and situation, and in consultation with appropriately qualified professionals.