What If My Children Adopted My Parents’ Beliefs?

Every so often, I get a comment like this on my blog:

Dear Libby Anne,

You state that you are an atheist. What would you do if one of your children choose the lifestyle your parents have—if he/she states that you are totally wrong in not believing in god? Would you support or accept his/ her choices? Would you feel betrayed in everything you taught them (e.g. critical thinking) because they don’t think it to be the right way for them? What if he/she decides to leave the decision of family size to god, homeschool their 15 children and be a strong supporter of “How to train up a child” or the Pearls? Would you tell your children that there choices of life are wrong—are you tolerant enough for that?

Jesse

Holy assumptions Batman! But let’s untangle this, because I do get this question fairly frequently, and it’s worth addressing—if only so that I can have a link to share next time this question comes up, which it will.

The first thing I notice is the assumption that I think critical thinking is only compatible with atheism. I don’t. I think you can be both a critical thinker and religious. In other words, Jesse makes a lot of assumptions about me as an atheist that are quite simply not accurate. Atheists don’t have some sort of creed they all sign. I find that a lot of people see I’m an atheist and then assume that I’m some sort of anti-theist who views religion as the root of all evil. I’m not. Some atheists may hold those views, but I don’t.

The truth is that I would have no problem with one of my children becoming Christian, or joining another religious tradition. My children are their own people, and their beliefs and choices are theirs. I have not hung my happiness or my fulfillment as a person on them replicating my beliefs. I am not raising them as some sort of do-overs of myself. I am raising them to become independent people, leave home, and fly. Their journeys are their journeys.

Last year a close relative went through a faith crisis and I realized that I had literally no stake in her becoming an atheist. As she moved away from fundamentalist Christianity, I encouraged her to look into a variety of Christian traditions. When she ultimately left Christianity entirely, it wasn’t because I’d tried to push her in that direction, because I hadn’t. I was very happy for her, but not because she had left Christianity. Rather, I was happy that she had found somewhere she felt at peace.

But that’s not really what Jesse is asking, is it? He’s asking not how I’d handle my children becoming religious, but rather how I’d handle my children becoming my parents. The truth is, I’d have some problems with that—but not for the reasons Jesse suggests.

If my children became my parents they would treat me with judgement, seeing me as a lost sinner in need of converting. This would destroy our relationship, and that would sadden me deeply—and it would hurt, too. But it would be them damaging our relationship, not me—just as it is my parents, not me, who damage our relationship. I am content to disagree with my parents, and to leave aside subjects like politics and religion. They are the ones who cannot do that, because their religious beliefs won’t let them. If my children adopted those same beliefs, they, too, would not be able to agree to disagree or accept each other’s differences.

While it would be painful to watch my children destroy their relationships with me, for my part I would do what I could to be accepting and gracious. Their lives are their own, and their journeys are their own. While I might set boundaries with them (for instance, putting certain topics off limits between us), I would not push them away or treat them unkindly.

I should pause to clarify that there are plenty of Christians whose beliefs allow them to get along just fine with those who are different from them. I have numerous close friends who are Christians, but who do not judge me or view me as broken or in need of saving. If my children were to become this sort of Christian, our relationships need not be damaged one whit.

But there’s another point to be made, and that has to do with one of my children becoming “a strong supporter of “How to train up a child” or the Pearls.” If one of my children became followers of the Pearls’ childrearing teachings, they would be abusing my grandchildren. There is a big difference between being tolerant of differences in belief and being tolerant of abuse. While I don’t have a problem with the former, I have a big problem with the latter. (If you don’t believe that the Pearls teach abuse, please read my page-by-page review of their book, To Train Up A Child.)

If one of my children became a follower of the Pearls, I would be concerned for my grandchildren. I would voice my concerns to my child, I would keep an eye out for my grandchildren’s wellbeing, and, if I felt it necessary, I would place a call to social services. My (hypothetical) grandchildren’s wellbeing is important to me, and I would in no way tolerate my children abusing them. That’s not what “tolerance” means.

At this point Jesse may be wondering how I define “abuse.” Yes, there are some atheists who argue that raising children in a faith tradition is abuse. I am not one of them. I also don’t view homeschooling as abuse, and I don’t see growing up in a large family as abuse. I’m not playing fast and loose with definitions here. But if anyone doesn’t believe that what the Pearls teach is abuse, they need to take a look at my page-by-page review of their book, To Train Up A Child. The Pearls teach that parents should beat their children into submission. That is abuse.

But let’s take another piece. What if one of my children left family planning to God and ended up with 15 children? I personally think having more children than you can properly care for—and 15 children is more children than anyone can properly care for—is unwise. But then, Jesse’s question seems to rest on the assumption that accepting differences means agreeing with the person you disagree with—which obviously makes no sense. I can disagree with my children’s choices or beliefs while still accepting that they are independent people who have every right to make their own choices and form their own beliefs.

Should one of my children have 15 children, I would voice my concerns, but I would do my best to not let this difference damage our relationship. It is in fact possible to disagree with someone without pushing them away or constantly judging them. I would try to be there for my grandchildren as needed, but I wouldn’t alienate my children.

One more point—how would I react of Sally grew up to believe that wives’ role is to submit and husbands’ role is to lead? I would of course be saddened, because Sally deserves better than that. I would also likely be a bit concerned for Sally’s wellbeing. I’m her mother. I want her to be happy and healthy. But even with my concerns, I wouldn’t push her away or judge her—and I wouldn’t alienate her. Instead I would love her, accept her, and be there for her.

I suppose that for me, when I talk about tolerance or acceptance, what I’m really talking about the ability to maintain a healthy relationship with someone in spite of differences in belief or life choices. Having a healthy relationship doesn’t mean never disagreeing with someone, or never telling someone when you are concerned for them, but it does mean not treating someone badly or resorting to guilt trips or manipulation when there are disagreements.