"...followed by a brisk mauling."

A friend recently asked me the following: 

 How do you calmly debate with people who shove atheism down your throat & personally insult you for believing in something above yourself?

I thought about my response for a long time, and it’s something I want to put here, too, because I think it’s something that all of us with faith struggle with (being one of three Muslims in my community, I know it’s something I’ve struggled with). Before I begin, though, I want to acknowledge what it is I believe in. 

As a Muslim, I believe there is one true god, Allah, and Mohammed is His prophet. But further than that, I believe that Allah, the Highest Power, the Creator, is simply the collective will of humanity to do and create good. I believe that Mohammed, as with other prophets before him, practiced and preached a life spent serving this force.  

Now that I’ve more clearly stated what it is I believe, I want to answer my friend’s question

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Faith and science are not contradictory. They are not mutually exclusive. Neither is faith and critical thought; history is filled with people who both had faith and thought critically. Some of the most intelligent people in the world today are theists or deists. What many atheists do not understand is that, unlike atheism (which at its core is based on the absence of something else), faith is not exclusionary of doubt. Faith, true faith, I believe, is an acknowledgement of doubt. All theists have doubts; doubt is part of belief. But faith does not, I believe, call for us to discard our doubts (and here, let’s be clear that faith is not the same thing as any organized religious system). Faith allows us to question and criticize our systems of belief, to have doubts and to acknowledge them. Faith allows us to seek answers; in my mind, this is the core of what faith is—a way to find answers to otherwise unanswerable questions.

Many atheists deny faith because they believe it is or has done evil. Yes, evil acts have been done in the name of faith. But good has also been done in the name of faith, and evil has been done in the name of things other than faith (patriarchy, nationalism, fascism, etc). To accept one of these facts while denying either of the other two is, in my mind, both illogical and unreasonable. Perhaps, then, faith is not the issue. Perhaps what matters is not why you act, but how. If you have faith in something that requires you to act in a way which is charitable and compassionate, that’s good. If you have no faith, but a moral system which requires you to act in a way that is charitable and compassionate, that’s just as good. I don’t know that it matters what the motive force is, and I’m not sure why anyone should think it does.

I think, honestly, the only way to truly debate people who refuse to accept that other people have faith is to do exactly what you’re doing already. The only way to combat militant atheism is to live as a compassionate and intelligent person who believes in a higher power. To act with empathy and reason. To be capable of charity and critical thinking. And to continue to believe in something greater than yourself. 

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EDIT: When I say atheist here, I’m not being fair to atheists. Most atheists I know are great and wonderful people, who don’t judge me or others as somehow defective simply for believing in something. Many of my closest friends are atheists, as are members of my family. They don’t hate or harm theists for being theists, and I should have been much more clear that here, when I speak of atheists, I mean the small portion of atheists who are militantly against any religious belief—people like Bill Maher, who truly believe that believing in God makes you a bad person. This is not a statement against atheism, and if it comes off that way, I’m truly sorry, as I never meant it to. Rather, it’s meant to communicate how I deal with certain atheists who truly think less of me once they realize I believe in Allah.

Surgery went well. Certainly better than I’d ever dreamed to hope, in such a fragile place. I must sincerely thank all of you for your good thoughts, well-wishing, and prayers. It was all clearly received by those Above stairs as well as Below (and knowing some of you, by those in the sunken depths of Ry’leh as well). Miss Cathy R., your “Magical Trevor” suggestion was amazingly helpful—though it’s still stuck in my head, to the initial amusement and probably eventual bafflement of those around me (who are probably a tad bit sick of hearing it). To everyone who pushed for me to be right up front with my doctors about the anxiety and why it was there, a special shout-out to you as well. I followed your advice and my doctors were splendid. They even gave me medicine to help me relax—that had the interesting side effects of making me violently ill and find automatic trashcans highly amusing. But it and the gentle care I received worked wonders. I’m still on “bed rest” for a couple more days, and it’ll be an even longer road than that to a full recovery, but today for the first time in months I got out of bed and stood up straight. Basically what I’m saying is, sooner or later—and I’m banking on sooner, because recovering is boring and I want to get out there!—I’m going to be great again. Cats and kittens (and all us darker creatures, too), Trixie Jack Mattachine is back, and better than ze’s been in month, maybe years—quite possibly as long as you’ve known zir. ;D Thank you all for sticking by me through this. I’ll try to make it worth your while.

Today I started wearing hijab again (wide-leg dark jeans with a silver flower on the front thigh, red long-sleeve tee with a white/red floral-print button-up blouse, a magenta head scarf, and rainbow hoop earrings). I’m amazed at how much better about myself I feel when I do. Planning out a good hijabi outfit makes me happy, and when I get dressed, I can’t help but feel as though I’m taking part in a sacred ritual before a big battle—as though I’m one of the unnamed warriors during the song “Savages” in Disney’s “Pocahontas.” Putting my jewelry on and adjusting my hijab is akin to carefully applying war paint. When I’m done, I’m confident, beautiful, and most of all, dominant—as powerful as Bilquis in “American Gods.” I am ready and willing to take on the world, though my weapons are serenity, peace, and compassion. With these, and the grace of Allah, I can repel any invader, defend against any siege, and win any war.