A young man in one of my classes ingenuously suggested that the educated and well-off are more virtuous than the poor.  I wasn’t surprised that he held such a complacent view, but only that he so readily gave voice it.  Among well-off people, this sort of thinking is no less common than it ever was, but nowadays it is impolitic to let it show.

Such views have a history.  Most political thinkers in most times and places have believed good character more prevalent among the well-off.  They may have disagreed about which is more to be admired, the rich or the middle class, but they agreed in their suspicion of poor and working folk.

Aristotle thought generosity required wealth, because the poor have nothing to be generous with.  The Romans depended on men of wealth and good family, because they had leisure to attend to the affairs of the community.  Thomas Jefferson located the mainstay of the republic in sturdy yeoman farmers, who had enough property for independence of spirit, but not enough to oppress those who had less.   Alexander Hamilton was more impressed by “gentlemen of business,” who couldn’t be pushed around and had experience in getting things done.  From time to time I hear people say that tycoons are more to be trusted than working people, because they are too rich to be bribed.

Not all of this is mistaken.  Certainly there are differences among classes and social groups, and there really are advantages to experience and education.  But there is far, far less to these complacencies than meets the eye.  The comfortable are not less prone to vice than poor and working people, but prone to different vices.

A man from the slums is more likely to rob a convenience store.  But a man from a gated community is more likely to embezzle.

A mother on the dole is more likely to commit welfare fraud.  But a bank examiner is more likely to defraud the bank.

A poor man’s sense of humor is more likely to be crude.  But a rich man’s is more likely to be arrogant.

An uneducated bully is more likely to twist an arm.  But an educated bully is more likely to twist the law.

As to bribery, it isn’t through indifference to the chance of gain that one becomes a tycoon in the first place.

And as to generosity, I will never forget the poor woman who invited me and my wife to sit down and share her cake.

I’ve asked before why some people don’t think about God, or even about whether He exists.  Let me change the question.  Supposing that He does exist (you may not accept the supposition), then why would it be wrong to ignore Him?

Most of the nonbelieving young people I know -- most of the nonbelieving old ones too -- have a pretty primitive view of Christianity.  They think of it as based on the low motive of fear, and say people worship God only so that they won’t be sent to hell.  And they say that if this God is really good, He wouldn’t send them to hell just for not abasing themselves before Him.

Let’s consider these two arguments.  As to fear.  Scripture does say that the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom, but it also says that perfect love casts out fear.

Plainly then there are two kinds of fear.  The kind which perfect love casts out has traditionally been called servile fear, the anxiety of a sneaking menial who is afraid of being caught while he is stealing the silver.  But the kind which is the beginning of wisdom has traditionally been called filial fear, the loving awe of a child for his papa. 

As to whether a good God would send anyone to hell.  Whatever else hell might be, at least it is eternal separation from Him.  But isn’t this just what someone who spurns God is choosing?  Being “sent” to hell means merely getting what he wants.  When he gets it, though, he won’t like it.  I don’t know whether hell features literal flames.  I suspect, though, that the hopeless misery of being eternally cut off from the wellspring of life and of joy in life is more terrible than corporeal fire anyway.  One of the saints speculated that the flames of the damned are nothing other than the light of God’s glory as experienced by those who reject it.

“Why would God care?  An all-sufficient God wouldn’t need our worship!”  Correct, but it isn’t for Him; it’s for us.  Supposing that we really are made in God’s image (you may not accept that supposition either), then anyone who is alienated from Him is also alienated from himself.  He cannot truly know who he is or what he is, and he cannot truly be free.  To lose God, then, is to lose man.  Do we really need another reason not to turn our backs on Him?

“Yes, I do!”  Very well, think of the matter like this.  It is abhorrent beyond words to abandon those who have done us the greatest good.  Disloyalty to my friend, unfaithfulness to my wife, ingratitude to my parents, treason to my fatherland -- such things cannot even be spoken of without shame, calumny, and disgrace.  But what greater treason could there be than to turn traitor to the Author of our being, who is not only the Good above all goods, but the Source of all these goods?

Why would you want to do that anyway?  For He is the true Friend and origin of friendship, the true Bridegroom and origin of marriage, the true Father by whose name all earthly fathers are called.  His kingdom is the true Homeland, of which our earthly homeland is hardly a shadow.  Don’t any of these seem good things to you?

And if we still need more reasons to admire what is so great and good, what's wrong with us?

“But I don’t know all this to be true.”  Perhaps not.  But wouldn’t it be prudent to find out?

Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged.  They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead.  For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony.  But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony.  It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon.  It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them.  It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.

-- G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

"If you inquire into the truth of His nature, you must acknowledge the matter to be human: if you search for the mode of His birth, you must confess the power to be of God.  For the Lord Jesus Christ came to do away with not to endure our pollutions: not to succumb to our faults but to heal them.  He came that He might cure every weakness of our corruptness and all the sores of our defiled souls: for which reason it behooved Him to be born by a new order, who brought to men's bodies the new gift of unsullied purity.‌

“For the uncorrupt nature of Him that was born had to guard the primal virginity of the Mother, and the infused power of the Divine Spirit had to preserve in spotlessness and holiness that sanctuary which He had chosen for Himself: that Spirit, I say, who had determined to raise the fallen, to restore the broken, and by overcoming the allurements of the flesh to bestow on us in abundant measure the power of chastity: in order that the virginity which in others cannot be retained in child-bearing, might be attained by them at their second birth.”‌

-- St. Leo the Great, Nativity Sermon II‌

You won’t be surprised that religion comes up often in my courses.  It would be surprising if it didn’t, since they include topics like religion and politics in American thought (ending with the culture wars), the intellectual influences on the American Founding (which included a lot more theology than you might think), and Thomas Aquinas (the great medieval theologian and philosopher).

I encourage students to express their views, and even to be willing to disagree with me and with each other, so long as they are polite and give reasons for their views.

Some students believe in God.  I get that, though I may ask them how they arrived at their belief.

Some students think there isn’t any God.  I get that, though I may ask them what unconditional commitment, what ultimate concern, what “god” takes the place of God in their life.

Some students aren’t sure whether God exists.  I get that too, though I may ask them whether they are living as though He does exist or as though He doesn’t, and why.

But other students say they don’t think about it.  “I’m not religious.”

And I don’t get that.

You might think such students think plenty, but just don’t want to disclose what they’ve been thinking.  That would be plausible if I had put them on the spot, for example if I had asked shy Miss Pickerell, “What do you think about God?”  Usually, though, the statement “I’m not religious” is volunteered in general discussion, by people who would have been free to remain silent.

“I’m not religious” expresses neither belief, disbelief, nor uncertainty.  What then does it express?

Does it express lack of interest?  Suppose a large asteroid is on its way to earth, where it might wipe out all life upon impact.  You ask me, “What do you think?”, and I reply “I’m not very astronomical.”  It might be like that.

Does it express a taste?  Suppose I’ve accidentally ingested poison.  You offer me the antidote, which happens to be flavored, and I reply, “I don’t much care for cherry.”  It might be like that.

Does it express a preference?  Suppose I’ve been listening to Cardi B, and you’re getting ready to go to a Handel concert.  You ask, “Would you like to come along?”, and I reply “I prefer a different kind of music.”  It might be like that.

Or does it express a personality trait?  Suppose it’s flu season.  You ask, “Do you think we’ll catch it?”, and I answer, “According to the Myers-Briggs personality test, I’m INTP, so it’s not likely that I think so, is it?”  It might be like that.

But such responses would miss the point.  “God exists” is a truth claim.  What believers mean by God is that on which everything else depends, that for which everything else exists, that in which all other meaning originates:  That in Whom lies our sole chance of ultimate fulfillment.   He isn’t a hobby.  He isn’t a flavor.  You might not believe that the Most Important Thing is real – but how is it possible that you don’t care either way?

Maybe not caring isn’t possible.  The very first sentence of the pagan philosopher Aristotle’s Metaphysics declares, “All men by nature desire to know.”  Thomas Aquinas views the desire to seek the truth of things as baked into our being, right up there with the desire to share our lives with others in a way that makes sense.  Plants preserve themselves.  Male and female animals unite to carry on the species.   Human beings do those things too, but we are more.  We are rational animals.  We can’t not want to know what is true and what everything means, and the greatest truth is the truth about God.

If these thinkers are right, then the statement “I’m not religious” may reflect a sort of false consciousness.  The person who utters it experiences the same impulse to know the truth of things that we all do.  But he holds the urge down, seeks to divert it, tries not to think about it.

What sense does it make to hold down our most powerful desire, the desire to know the Most Important Thing, and guided by that knowledge, to possess the Greatest Good -- to repress the very desire which indelibly stamps our nature as human?