Live and Let Live

Every now and then I get into theological debates with friends or family members. It never really goes anywhere, and I never push things past a certain point (which differs depending on whom I’m talking to), but it’s made me think. Do I really want to convince any of these people that I’m right?

I’ve decided the answer is no. I don’t see that “deconverting” the people in my life would be a good thing. It almost certainly wouldn’t make them any happier, and for many of them convincing them that their religious beliefs are wrong would be devastating. So why argue with them? The truth is that I argue mostly because it’s fun or because I found something someone said annoying. But if I were to give my debates a deeper meaning, they’re an attempt to get these people to acknowledge that I might be right.

Religious people are convinced that they are absolutely right and anyone who disagrees with the tenets of their religion is absolutely wrong. While I have no interest in convincing anyone that they should abandon their religion, I would like to convince them that maybe it isn’t such a sure thing. I’d like them to acknowledge the possibility that their beliefs are mistaken than that there are good reasons why someone would disagree with them.

Once we reach the point where we’re not dealing in absolutes, perhaps we can go one step further and agree that we can each have our own worldview without imposing moral values on those views. Perhaps we can agree to live and let live.

There are some people out there who want atheism to spread, who hope for the day when religious beliefs will have the same status as the belief the world is flat. I’m not interested in convincing people. I don’t care if belief is good or bad for humanity. I don’t care if universal rationalism would make the world a better place. In the big picture, it just doesn’t matter.

I figure I’ll be around for about a century, give or take. While I’m alive I’d just like to be reasonably comfortable and happy and for other people to let me be. (I realize that I’m very fortunate to live in a time and place where I can have both.) Further than that, I don’t care. As long as it doesn’t adversely affect me, if someone wants to believe in an invisible man in the sky, that’s fine with me. Just don’t bother me because I don’t.

Am I A Zealot?

Over the last week I’ve had an interesting conversation in the comment thread to Frum Satire’s post, Is the Torah outdated and irrelevant? I’ve found myself in a debate over the existence of God, arguing for the unlikelihood of His existence. Frum Satire’s blog is an interesting place to have conversations like these because he draws a diverse group of people, who range from strong believers to atheists and from educated intellectuals to… those who are not so intellectual.

I have to ask myself, why do I do this? Part of the answer is because it’s fun. I enjoy debating (especially winning). Part of it is that such conversations force me to think about other points of view and to articulate my own beliefs, which leads me to a better understanding of issues surrounding religion. But I had to ask myself: could part of it be the zealotry of a recent convert?

I’ve been a skeptic for as long as I can remember, always insisting that what I learned in school make logical sense. I’ve always tried to relate what I learned to the real world, and thought about the practical implications of the various things my rabbeim would teach me. I’ve had serious doubts about religion and God since I was sixteen. Yet I’ve always had this hazy notion in the back of my head that God was out there. There were a few arguments for the existence of God that I had heard as a teenager, thought were pretty good, and never really let myself examine. Everyone around me didn’t have any doubts. I couldn’t deny the basis of my culture. And yet, I remember writing papers in college for a writing class where I discussed arguments for various religions and concluded that Hashem was the Creator of the universe and Judasim was the One True Religion. And I didn’t buy it. (The professor, a frum woman, loved it. I got an “A” in that class.)

It wasn’t until I discovered the blogosphere that I realized I wasn’t unique, that there were other people out there who agreed with me, and that it was okay to think the way I did. I found myself drawn to the blogs of fellow skeptics, both those who had left the frum lifestyle and those who, like me, continue to live in the frum community. We all love to hear opinions that confirm our own, and I was eating it up. Very quickly, I came to identify myself as a skeptic and even as an atheist. All this within the last couple of years.

So while the skeptical mode of thought is not new to me, my interest in science, logic, history, and theology are not new, my self-identification as a skeptic is new. And maybe, just maybe, part of why I’m drawn to theological debates is a compulsion to defend my new identity.

Selective Skeptical Debate – Or, Pushing Emotional Buttons

Over Yom Tov I found myself drawn into a theological debate with my brother-in-law. He is the ‘inspired’ type: he finds meaning in everything and marvels at the wonders of Hashem. For some reason he always wants to know my opinion on everything, which while flattering, leaves me in an uncomfortable position when he is asking about religion. I really prefer not to burst his bubbles, but he insists on talking about theology, and he always seems so disappointed when I poke holes in his arguments.

This time the discussion grew to include the whole family. While I think I explained my position well, it got me thinking. Why did I respond to him? Why did I allow him to draw in other family members, and why did I feel the need to explain myself to them? And while I don’t normally have drawn-out theological discussions at the table, I often give in to the urge to critique divrie torah and to challenge statements about religion that I find questionable. Why do I do this? It puts me in situations like arguing theology with my in-laws. Is it an urge to challenge irrationality wherever I encounter it?

There’s a guy I know, a friend of a friend, who is studying to be an acupuncturist. Whenever I see him the conversation always turns eventually to the “ancient Chinese” techniques that he is studying and how they are superior to modern medicine. For example, he once claimed that acupuncture is superior because practitioners take into account what the season is, while medical doctors will prescribe the same medications without regard to the time of year. He discounts the many studies that have shown acupuncture to be effective mostly for pain management, and then only equally effective to random placement of needles. He believes it works for the traditional reason, redirecting Chi, and that it can cure nearly anything.

While I think his beliefs about acupuncture are irrational, I’ve never challenged him. I just grit my teeth and do my best to ignore his statements. He has a lot invested in acupuncture, and he is never going to agree with me that “ancient” and “Chinese” do not automatically equal profound knowledge superior to modern science. So why bother challenging him and getting him upset?

Yet his beliefs about acupuncture are very similar to religious beliefs. He has an irrational belief in undetectable energy because an ancient source says that it is so, and he discounts the evidence provided by science that shows this probably isn’t true. So why do I respond to religious claims and ignore the acupuncturist?

The answer, of course, is that I don’t really care whether or not acupuncture is true. I think it isn’t, and so won’t use it. But if studies came out that showed I was wrong and acupuncture really worked by affecting Chi it wouldn’t really make a difference in my life. I just don’t care enough about acupuncture to make the discomfort of offending someone worthwhile.

Religion, on the other hand, has and does play an important part in my life. If I’m wrong about religion I’ll have to reevaluate my entire understanding of how the world functions. So while I’m no more likely to convince a frum person that yiddishkeit is full of holes than I am likely to convince the acupuncturist that Chi doesn’t exist, religion pushes my buttons and acupuncture doesn’t. I critique divrei torah because religious inconsistencies and absurdities bug me. Chi is just good for a laugh when the acupuncturist is no longer there to be offended.