Faith and Leavetaking

March 01

Ran across this a couple of days ago and was struck by it. Dave is a great blogger, and had in some ineffable digital way made it on to the list of good-hearted, intelligent Muslims I think about when the other 90% are acting retarded. So losing him--in the theological sense; so far as I know the man is still very much alive--depressed me a little. His reasons for leaving the religion make a lot of sense to me, as I think they would to anyone: the arbitrary rules get exhausting. Part of one longs to simply be ‘a human being experiencing the world’. All the religious people I know, myself included, are fascinated by rules, intellectually stimulated by them, by observing them, dissecting them, reinterpreting them, breaking them, coming back to them. I can’t imagine organized religion is very enriching if you don’t love rules. In fact, it must be agonizing.

No one’s ever asked me why I don’t leave Islam. (I like that I get to talk about this stuff now. When I was working in journalism I didn’t out of principle--when you’re covering ongoing events, you need to be able to turn a critical and impassive eye on religion, your own included. Talking about your spiritual life hampers your ability to do so, along with your reader’s ability to separate you from what you cover.) I’ve miraculously avoided a lot of ‘convert narrative’--the second-guessing, the suspicion of the new community, the absolute turning away from the old--and thank God for that, because I can’t stand identity politics. I didn’t convert to get shuttled into some convenient dress code and retire from meaningful decisions at the age of 20. I’ve had issues with my religion since the day I professed it. But there are two kinds of converts: people who arrive at a religion, and people who simply arrive. I arrived. That’s the lucky category. These are the people who open a holy book and say not “this is what I want to believe” but “this affirms what I have always believed.” This saddles you with issues similar to those faced by people born into the religion: you can get as frustrated as you want, but something about the mess is part of your spiritual DNA, and you will never be able to shed it completely. People who arrive at a religion were probably looking for one, and may have happened on the wrong kind, or may discover what they seek can’t be found in a religion at all. That’s a tough gig, the seeker. The honest ones endure the isolation for the wisdom it brings, and are a delight to know. The dishonest ones become fundamentalists.

This is why I call the people who simply arrive the lucky ones: despite the public turmoil--for people in large numbers are idiots, and your co-religionists are guaranteed to embarrass you or worse--inwardly you’re certain you’ve made the right decision. You wake up every day after that first day a better more whole person. Though you may wrestle with doctrine and polemic, you’ve been spared the crisis of doubt. It’s a gift beyond price.

But only if you like rules.

There’s a rather un-Islamic Egyptian saying I like a lot: ‘Leave with scandal; tomorrow it won’t matter’. It’s tongue-in-cheek, but plenty of people do exactly this when they renounce a religion--it’s the easiest and these days the most profitable way to go about things. So I admire the people who go with dignity, refusing to spread ugliness about a faith they no longer hold, refusing also to justify themselves to the faithful who will resent them for leaving. That takes a kind of courage most of us will never need.