In our recent discussion of fatalism contrasted with the biblical worldview, we saw that physical resources are only as good as the theology that wields them.

That is, some otherwise wealthy cultures are shackled by fatalist worldviews positing that there is little point in trying to improve anyone’s lot in life—people are irrevocably bound by their social class or by their circumstances.

Societies like these might be given the resources to help those in need, but if they fatalistically refuse to help the lowly or distressed, the suffering may very well go on suffering.

Christian philosopher Vishal Mangalwadi observed this very thing about his Indian community in his book The Book That Made Your World: How the Bible Created the Soul of Western Civilization (2011).

But how is this relevant to those of us who do live in a culture that prioritizes charity?

It provides us with a mirror to help us view our own society from another angle. As a matter of fact, the West is so saturated with helping the needy that we largely take it for granted.

Think about it this way—in our political and cultural debates, the squabbles seldom swarm around whether “caring for vulnerable people” is a good idea.

Everyone agrees that it is. No one tries to argue that it’s a good thing to crush vulnerable people, instead, the arguments are always about who is the needy party, whether they are truly needy, whether respecting their wishes is the best way to care for them, whether government is the proper provider, etc.

Some politicians argue for taxpayer spending on healthcare, housing, and education because the vulnerable (the sick, the homeless, and the children, respectively) need to be helped. Other politicians argue for smaller government, fewer regulations, and lower taxes because the vulnerable (small businesses and local economies) need to be helped.

Even the proponents of abortion—one of the most atrocious assaults on the vulnerable in modern times—don’t dare justify it by calling it what it is. Instead, they justify it by depersonalizing the vulnerable baby into a mere “pregnancy,” and then emphasizing the vulnerability of the victimized woman—so that our innate desires to help the needy skip over the former and latch on to the latter.

Think about it for a second.

Have you ever heard a public figure openly argue that trampling on a needy person or group was a good thing? I can’t think of a single time. Even those who are intentionally trying to trample on the vulnerable always try to dismiss the facts of the case, tacitly admitting that the principle of compassion is indeed their obligation.

Then they distract our attention to something else, like how they are acting in the name of the latest victimized class.

Where did this universal acknowledgement—that we have an obligation to help the needy—come from? In the grand scheme of history, it’s a bit of an odd belief. The Assyrian kings would boast about how they skinned alive their prisoners or impaled them on stakes.

The Romans took great bloodthirsty pleasure in watching slaves battle each other to death. Even the Greeks, to whom the West typically credits the first foundations of democracy, didn’t have much of a concept of human dignity as we know it today. (I am indebted to Tom Holland’s book, Dominion: How the Christian Revolution Remade the World, for many of these insights.)

But a certain odd religion sprang out of the Middle East, centered around a Teacher who commanded His followers to consider others as better than themselves, to care for the fatherless and the widow, and to give even a cup of cold water to lowly ones in His name.

This religion taught that all men were created in the image of God, and that their Creator had valued them highly enough to die for them and commanded them to do the same.

This religion esteemed those who lived in poverty for the sake of Christ, who helped others without expecting to be helped, and who laid down their lives for their brothers.

And as this religion shaped culture over the centuries, these values became part of our culture.

They are so much a part of our societal fabric that even those who reject God will do so because of His own standards. “I couldn’t believe in a God who would allow little children to starve in Africa” only works if caring for the needy is an obligation in the first place.

“Christianity is oppressive and intolerant of people with nontraditional sexual orientations” only works if oppressing victims is wrong in the first place. (Again, Holland does some great work analyzing this in his book.)

The very fact that our culture takes for granted the ideas of caring for the needy is both a blessing and a curse.

The blessing is that the Bible’s message of redemption permeates our very thought process. But the curse is that we forget to give God credit.

We plagiarize Him.

We secularize the idea of charity, assuming it to be true while discounting the theological basis for it. And when we apply biblically grounded ideas in unbiblical ways (e.g., justifying abortion out of compassion for the mother), that’s when we manufacture some of the most dangerous true-sounding lies.

So, when someone tries to use God’s standards against His Word, we have a thought-provoking question to ask: why is it important to care for the victimized in the first place? It’s so much a part of our collective consciousness that most people probably haven’t thought about it much.

But when they finally do, they’ll likely be surprised to find themselves inescapably entangled in the web of Christian morality—which is the only firm foundation for the claims they are trying to make to discount it.

We must always remember from Whom we got our values in the first place. And the obligation remains on us to avoid twisting them, but rather to apply them in ways that honor Him.

Don’t plagiarize God.