devil's advocate

My husband is a natural born arguer. He'd argue that the sky was green if he could find someone to labor the point with him. He loves a good debate, but very early on he learned that he could not argue with me. I don't put up with it. If you don't agree with me, fine, agree to disagree and I'm going to continue liking you unless the argument is on a couple of specific subjects: women's rights, animal rights, and my family and close friends.

One night early on in our relationship, he had had too much whiskey and picked a fight with me over why I volunteered so much for the family crisis center here in town. (I was still in college and actually had time for such things.) He claimed I only did it for recognition, so people would think I was a good person. He made me so mad I cried right there in his living room, and he got so mad at himself he threw his glass into the sink from across the kitchen. He passed out on the bed, and I, not being able to drive his stick shift and not knowing who to call so late, slept on the couch. In the morning he drove me home in complete silence, and later that day he sent flowers with an explanation that he didn't believe anything he had said.

Silly arguments, that's all we ever had or have. After a couple more like the one above, he learned that he couldn't argue with me about stupid things, that I'll cry and make him feel bad or I'll give him that look, with one raised eyebrow and a down-turned mouth, that says, "Watch that line, buddy." And our arguments are usually about why he likes to fight with people (it annoys me even to watch) and there's usually alcohol involved, if not for both of us at least for him.

Luckily we've both matured enough so that now I'd say we fight, like knock-down, drag-out, voices raised and sleepless night fight, only about twice a year. We have little spats maybe four times a year. And snide comments immediately followed by an "I'm sorry, I'm just tired and taking it out on you," or similar maybe once a month. Occasionally he'll still try to get in a pointless debate with me. Once we talked about whether a shirt of mine was pink or red for thirty minutes. (I was pro-red, he was pro-pink.) He claims he's "always right," only conceding that we both can be right in some select instances.

I don't know why I don't like to argue. You could walk up to me right now and tell me that my house is ugly and I have no sense of style, and I'd probably just say, "whatever" and go back to my business. But if you tell me a woman shouldn't have the right to choose, that animals should be factory-farmed because it's our "God-given right," or that my momma is ugly, I turn into a rebellious demon, determined to make you eat your words. My husband likes me like that, likes to see that fire in me, as long as he's not the one that brought it out.

I just don't think there's any point to fighting or even debating in most circumstances. My husband's "always right" attitude is the same attitude that most people have about their beliefs, especially the dearly-held ones like my little category of three. There's no convincing someone of an opinion contrary to their own. Even if you happen to have concrete proof, you have to get the person first to admit they were wrong, and there are very few humans who will do that willingly.

I suppose this all relates back to my agnosticism. As Socrates said, "I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing." I, too, know nothing. I don't believe I'm the smartest woman alive, not by a long shot, but I do know that in order to learn anything, in order to have a mind open to all the amazing things and people in this world, you first have to admit (swallow your pride and admit) that in actuality, you aren't sure of anything and probably never will be. It's so liberating. You at least have to give yourself wiggle-room; otherwise you're stuck inside a set of beliefs that you outgrow or that get proven incorrect and you have no way of extracting yourself from them gracefully and with dignity.

As John Mayer says, "Belief is a beautiful armor. It makes for the heaviest sword," but very rarely does it strike down the real problem. More often, we end up fighting between ourselves, even waging wars, over simple disagreements about belief systems, and we end up with lost friends, damaged relationships, and, in the worst cases, murdered innocents.

No one is right and no one is wrong. The sooner everyone realizes that the better off we'll all be. Live and let live. Clinging to a closed-minded set of beliefs stifles the growth of not only individual people but also of entire communities and countries. Our biggest enemy is usually ourselves.