Pity The Rich

They’re human, more or less.

The internet is angry that a young woman wrote about her charmed life recently. The internet is a volcano hungry for human sacrifices.

The virtual pitchforks came for Scrooge McDuck’s daughter because she is a “have” who pretends to be a “have not.” Her viral article was all about how she pulls herself up by her bootstraps, even while mentioning her lifestyle is subsidized by the Bank of Parents. She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but wanted people to think it was a spork.

I don’t think she deserved the rage. I felt sorry for her. The well-off have life challenges (it just so happens paying the rent isn’t one of them.)

I felt sorry for her because I was raised to feel compassion for those who are not like me. It wasn’t really my choice. I was brainwashed. My parents were devoted to the faiths they grew up with and decided to subject their children to both Mass and Sunday services. So I spent many hours fighting off sleep in the pews of both Catholic and Baptist churches as a boy.

They wanted to make sure they didn’t raise a monster so they taught me very basic lessons based on fundamental Christian beliefs: be nice, help the weak, God is love.

As a result, my head is full of bits and pieces of scripture. If my personal morality were a finished Tetris puzzle Bibles stories would be the “t” shaped blocks. The other blocks would mostly be Star Trek episodes and the musical Les Miserables.

Trying to understand Western Civilization without the Bible is like trying to explain Lady Gaga without mentioning Madonna. Much of our modern culture can be found in the pages of a book that can be found in roadside motel rooms. It is an essential text whether anyone likes it or not. There are very nice stories in the Bible. Beautiful, even. And there are some fantastic and unbelievable ones, too. Super-strong Samson, Joshua, with his wall-wrecking horn, and Moses, Master of Plagues, were like The Hebrew Avengers to me.

There are, also, parts of the Bible that are best skipped. The Bible had many mortal authors and a few of them were really hung up on prejudices specific to their times (and, sadly, ours.)

I am pretty sure, however, that anyone who says that an ancient crowd-sourced book of collected wisdom was written with lightning bolts by an omnipotent space giant is definitely going to ask you to donate to his private jet fund or risk hellfire at some point. Those are also the people, with their expensive rings and bespoke vestments, who’ll insist that God is fear. They stand before television cameras and propose a transaction: be faithful and their greedy prayers will be answered.

I am no religious scholar but I’m pretty sure a prayer isn’t a genie’s wish.

The moneybags who invoked the wrath of the online mob reminded me of a Bible story. It’s the one where Jesus tells a rich man the only way he can get into heaven is if he gives up his possessions and helps the poor.

This warning to the rich man wasn’t enough for the Son of Man because he then turns to his disciples and says it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle that it is for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.

“But Jesus,” I imagine the rich man shouting. “What if the camel is very, very tiny and the needle is really, really big?”

The rich don’t get to go to heaven. They’re just cursed to try create it here on Earth.

I live in New York City, which is a very popular Valhalla for tycoons. I have known many rich people. One very old billionaire I worked for had surprisingly soft-looking baby skin. It costs money to look that smooth. A startup millionaire I know told me, in all seriousness, he was going to live to 120. A very wealthy woman offered me this advice: “never buy an apartment with an elevator.” I don’t know if I’ve ever really met a happy fat cat, even though they’re often smiling.

I’m not judging. I’ve got my own problems, and some of those problems have absolutely nothing to do with money.

I am not, at this moment, wealthy. But I am not broke. Thank Spock. I recently paid off all of my credit card debt, after many years, so I sometimes feel like I’m rich. I can sit down for dinner at Red Lobster and order anything I want that isn’t an actual lobster. There are those who fought for their wealth. And those born to wealth. I worked hard and, who knows, with a little luck I could become wealthy. But that’s the promise of a casino, too.

I am a capitalist by necessity. I am pretty sure Jesus would have been a socialist. He did feed five thousand people for free and the profit margins on that miracle would have been pretty sweet. The main problem with socialism, though, is all the socialists. But I don’t know if a world built on sharing would be a bad place.

I don’t romanticize poverty. The poor are as capable to happiness as the rich are of suffering. The rich know, in their bones, that money can’t buy love but they try anyway. The profit margins on love are embarrassingly low.

They are human. Forget “The Great Gatsby” — the rich are just like you and me, only with much better healthcare. Their lives are full of insecurity and anxiety. The rich think everyone else is rich and when they meet someone not rich they’re terrified it may be contagious. The rich should be pitied, even if they don’t tend to make eye contact with those of us who look like the help. Their heaven is a luxury bunker. I would rather die in the apocalypse than spend the rest of my life in a five-star ark with people who have too many opinions on capital gains taxes.

Jesus’ disciples freak out when he tells them, twice, that the rich aren’t invited to paradise. I’m sure a couple of them entertained earthly dreams of maybe starting up a lucrative spice business and buying a camel. “Who, then, can enter heaven?” they ask their doomed hippie rabbi.

He responded, simply, that with God nothing is impossible.

Did Jesus exist? I have no idea. There is a historical record of a mouthy preacher who pissed off the deep state. It’s more plausible that Jesus is just Western civilization’s most successful brand. It doesn’t matter though. Be nice. Help the weak. God is love.