Compiled by: Norbert Zsolt Rácz
Short Introduction
Ferenc Balázs was not a theologian in the conventional sense of the word. For him, religion and systematic reflection on it did not constitute a separate academic field, but rather formed part of a unified worldview that shaped his entire life’s work. There is not a single isolated element within his thought that does not organically connect to the others. One might say that even in his theology, he remained distinctly “Balázs-like.” What is traditionally called theology or science was, for him, merely a tool to forge the small link in the chain allotted to him—what we call life. Nevertheless, his theoretical—if you will, theological—reflections help us better understand the existence of this complex personality.
Historical Context
The most comprehensive expression of his thinking is found in his unfinished work The Religion of the New Human. This book, which he never completed due to his death and which has not yet been published in print, can be understood as the closing part of a larger conceptual series. The first two volumes of this “series” are I Travel Around the World and Under the Soil. Together, these three works revolve around the same grand vision.
The first is about preparation: gathering “spiritual glass beads” from all corners of the world. The intellectual milieu of Oxford, the nature-oriented spirit of the German Wandervogel movement, the relaxed optimism of Berkeley and California, the duality of Japan, the ancient traditions of China, as well as encounters with Gandhi and Tagore, the Middle East, the Holy Land, and Egypt—all appear as finely polished crystals through which the same light shines: that of Ferenc Balázs himself. He examines each refracted ray, preserving, integrating, or critiquing it depending on how it aligns with his own vision.
Under the Soil represents the weaving together of these gathered rays into a unified beam—a tapestry cast over Mészkő, in the hope that this many-colored covering of light might transform the dull, earthbound reality and awaken its long-slumbering creative spark for the future.
Finally, the unfinished third work is a retrospective of this entire journey. It is also a travel narrative—but not around the Earth; rather, around the galaxy named Ferenc Balázs.
His inclination toward abstract thought began to awaken during his years at the Unitarian college in Cluj. He tolerated the often provincial, somewhat outdated Unitarian theology of the time—and the pastoral diploma that came with it—only because he found no better alternative, and because it seemed to offer a path toward realizing his ultimate goal: bringing forth the “new human.” He remained Unitarian, but in his own distinctive way.
In Oxford, he searched for the source of morality. His first scholarly works were written in Berkeley, where he reflected on the unfolding world and the origins of ethics. These ideas were further developed in lectures and studies he presented after returning home, particularly at events and in publications aimed at Unitarian youth, culminating in the aforementioned unfinished synthesis.
In Balázs’s thought, the world is in constant development. Universality itself is destined for growth and fulfillment—this is its fate. However, this determinism does not apply to the individual. The billions of human lives can either advance or hinder this development, which progresses in leaps, always building upon previous stages.
Within this process, the “new human” is both natural and spiritual. Religious as well—but not in the institutional sense. Rather, this human places faith in the continuous forward movement of development itself. Moral as well—but not due to external authority, rather because of an inherent orientation toward the good. For Balázs, God is not an object of scientific inquiry, but the medium within which life can reach fulfillment.
His ideas were rarely received with enthusiasm by the Transylvanian Unitarian community, especially by church leadership. He was accused of irreligion and atheistic humanism, and even brought before committees. Yet, despite their inability to fully accept his views, they tolerated him. For he was, after all, a Unitarian: free-thinking, questioning, searching, debating—challenging everything, yet always striving for truth and goodness.
And what gives these ideas their relevance today? Precisely their own nature. The authority of centuries-old institutions has been eroded by the twentieth century. The carefully constructed edifices of faith have been cracked by modernity—but through these cracks, a new possibility emerges: that human beings might freely, without constraints, guided only by conscience, dedicate themselves to a fuller world, and in all their actions seek, desire, will, and dream of something better.