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?