Universal Acid

A Guest Post By Yehuda Mishenichnas

Note: This is a guest post submitted by Yehuda Mishenichnas. It presents a vehement critique of Orthodox Judaism from an atheist perspective. Both its content and tone represent a radical departure from my own style, arguments, and perspective. I agree with many things in this post, and disagree with many as well. I am publishing this post because I believe this deserves a platform in context of discussions surrounding Judaism. I found it thought-provoking and I hope it welcomes discussion. However, the post represents the ideas of the author alone, not those of Judaism Examined. I apologize to any readers who feel this post is unfairly harsh, condescending, aggressive, or ideological. (I welcome guest posts from any perspective, provided they are engaging and relevant to the themes of the blog.)

I would also like to make clear that while this is representative of a certain group of atheists commonly known as the New Atheists (sometimes called militant atheism), it is not representative of other kinds of atheists, including myself. Therefore I recognize that both theists and atheists may feel straw-manned in some way by this post. That being said, it is an important perspective and it contains many valuable insights. Discuss!

- Simon Furst

Introduction

First, I was invited to read; then, to respond; next, to meet; and finally, to write.

In recent months, I've written extensively on Substack about my views on Orthodox Judaism. Responses have been mixed. Some of you have welcomed my comments warmly, though mostly in private, while others have vehemently disagreed, with many attempting to argue their points. Most who disagreed have demurred, while those who engaged ultimately withered. Please don’t mistake my boldness for condescension; I, too, was once a vehement dissenter. Their plight was mine.

But it’s hard to engage against the relentlessness of universal acid. This term, coined by Dan Dennett, describes evolution’s obliteration of religiously-based arguments for design that require a deity. It can also be applied more broadly to the way reason challenges religious perspectives across all domains. For each person, it takes a different amount of time, but eventually, if one seeks the truth of their beliefs, religion yields to the corrosive nature of reason. When engaging with people on Substack, I often feel the need to have the last word—though only because I find their final arguments untenable.

Discussions can become heated. People often resort to unsavory tactics—shouting, personal attacks, and talking over one another—and some of these unfortunately carry over into text-based arguments. I regret if my tone ever became harsh. My intention was never to attack anyone personally, and as I write this, it is not to speak disparagingly of them—though I understand it may appear that way. Rather, my aim is to address the points they made—and will likely continue to make. Yes, I have disdain for their faulty arguments and logical fallacies. This clarification may seem unkind, but I mean "disparaging" and "disdain" in their formal dictionary senses: "expressing the opinion that something is unworthy or of little worth."

I was raised in Orthodoxy and thought it was everything. I was fervently observant. Almost all of my family is Orthodox, almost all of my friends are Orthodox, and nearly my entire life was spent within the confines of the Orthodox bubble. But the arguments in favor of Orthodoxy’s truth are, unfortunately, "of very little worth" and do not merit esteem for their accuracy. There are simply no good arguments for the truth of Orthodoxy.

The Gedolim and Their Thoughts

Sam Harris has written two books on religion—The End of Faith (2004) and Letter to a Christian Nation (2006)—and has been outspoken against religion ever since. Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion (2006) is equally damning. Daniel Dennett, who passed away in April 2024, left behind a wealth of writings and videos that continue to influence discussions on religion. Numerous other public intellectuals, such as Matt Dillahunty, Michael Shermer, Christopher Hitchens and Steven Pinker, also argue against religious claims, particularly the lack of credible evidence supporting them. Their positions are largely consistent: all religion is unverified, unverifiable and ultimately unconvincing. Harris reports receiving abundant negative feedback for asserting that religion is false. Curiously, he observes that the thousands of letters he receives fall into three broad categories of dissent, and I’ve found the same to be true. People generally either claim that:

1. Religion is true,

2. Religion is useful, or

3. Atheism itself is a religion, which they criticize for its dogmatism, irrationality and intolerance.

I'd like to begin by saying that you don't really need me or these great thinkers. These arguments stand on their own merits, and we are all merely conduits of reason. In other words, no one here is arguing from authority. There’s no need to reinvent the wheel. These thinkers have written and spoken extensively on the subject, and their books and interviews are readily available on YouTube and Amazon (private message me for suggestions if you’d like). Our role is simply to offer greater access to ideas you may never have considered, having grown up in the bubble of right-wing Orthodox Judaism.

While some are eager to explore new ideas on their own, others may need a little help, and there’s no shame in that. It can be difficult to find the time or motivation to read and understand complex texts without guidance. This is where teachers come in—people who have already read and understood the material. They can be invaluable when tackling subjects like cell biology, French, or anything else. Since it's not always easy to contact these great thinkers, I offer my assistance, לפי עניות דעתי, despite my own limitations.

When astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson speaks publicly, he often tells people not to quote him. He’s a science communicator, not the originator of the information he shares. He promotes science in a way that makes it engaging and accessible, but he isn’t conducting original research. For instance, a quasar is one of the most distant and brightest objects we can observe in the universe (I know this from reading his book). But when you repeat this fact, you shouldn’t cite Tyson—he’s not the source. We know about quasars because we’ve observed them, documented them, and read about them in well-established scientific literature. Tyson’s role is merely to help make this information accessible to the public.

The same applies to discussing religion. I don’t need to be here, but I am, and I want to help. Harris, Dawkins, and Dennett and the others don’t need to be here either, but they are, and they’ve been a tremendous help. They’re simply exceptionally clear thinkers who have tackled these questions before us, and their work provides solid answers. Facts are facts, opinions are opinions, and sound reasoning is compelling. We don’t accept bad arguments because these thinkers say so, and certainly not because I say so. When presented with a good argument, you are compelled to believe it, and when you see the flaws in an argument, you’re compelled to discard it. We’re here to provide access to reason that someone raised in a bubble might not know how to find.

Some argue that I’ve drunk the Kool-Aid and am merely a Levite to Harris' and Dawkins’ high priests. But this is not the case, and we’ll see why by the end. It doesn’t help to attack these science-minded thinkers personally, as some have done. It’s like attacking the mailman because he delivers something you don’t want to receive, like an expulsion letter or a parole revocation notice.

If we’re having a discussion about what is real, it doesn’t matter what you want to be real. We can discuss your feelings about it tomorrow, but today we’re focused on handling the facts.

I’m not joking when I call Sam Harris a gadol. He’s someone who has been shaped and refined by the pursuit of truth. Is he flawed? Yes—he’s human. Does he make mistakes? Yes, he’s human. Does he occasionally say foolish things? Yes, he’s human. Does he sometimes make bad arguments? Of course. But Harris and the other gedolim of reason are not revered because they’re infallible. They’re respected because their thoughts are profound and special. We admire them because of the quality of their reasoning, not because of their status. So when they say something wrong, we can reject it without dismissing their entire body of work. Sam Harris, the person, isn’t the point. It just happens that Sam is an extraordinarily clear thinker, and most of what he says is remarkably sound.

Jordan Peterson, on the other hand, presents a large quantity of chaff alongside his grain. If you watch his early interview with Cathy Newman from January 2018, for instance, you’ll witness Peterson’s sharpness and scientific acumen. He’s quick, insightful and has a solid grasp on data analysis. His approach is admirable, and his kindness while debating is evident. It’s clear that Newman, and many others who’ve debated Peterson on topics like the gender pay gap, were out of their depth.

But when Peterson shifts to discussing religion, he’s almost unrecognizable. He stops making sense as soon as he veers into long-winded, 42-word responses to questions that could be answered in just a few words. This highlights the difference between reason and religion. Reason has a built-in mechanism for accepting only what’s reasonable; once something becomes unreasonable, it’s no longer acceptable. Religion, on the other hand, makes sacred claims about individuals, and when religious leaders say the most absurd things, they’re rarely criticized. Orthodoxy tends to ignore these lapses or, worse, pretends they’re not as foolish as they are—such as when modern-day rabbis claim that dinosaurs didn’t exist, or that Noach brought them onto the Ark (or didn’t bring them, explaining their extinction).

Honesty, Open Minds, and the Tone of Discussion

All I ask is that you keep an open mind. Religion discourages this because it presupposes its conclusions. It doesn’t follow the evidence—because there is no evidence to follow—nor does it revise its views in light of new evidence. If you sincerely want to pursue truth, you’ll have to think for yourself. Religion frowns on that, too. This isn’t smack talk; it’s real talk. If Judaism can’t defend itself against all challenges, then it doesn’t deserve to be observed.

From Judaism’s perspective, עבודה זרה (idol worship) and כפירה (heresy) are strictly forbidden, and for good reason. These prohibitions have been both effective and essential. But Judaism has nothing of substance to counter rational critique, so it shuts its eyes or runs away.

Consider the story in I Kings 18:19-40. Elijah challenges the prophets of Baal to a test: each side sacrifices a bull, but neither ignites their own altar. Whichever god sends fire will be determined to be the true one. After much praying, dancing, and pleading, the Baal worshippers receive no response. As evening falls, Elijah douses his altar in water. Then fire descends from heaven, consuming not just the altar but the surrounding land. The people, witnessing this, fall to the ground and reaffirm their faith in the God of Abraham. The prophets of Baal, however, are killed.

It’s a stirring tale, but not a compelling one. Like every biblical story involving the supernatural, it’s a fantasy. There is as much evidence for the God of Abraham as for Santa Claus—that is, none. The only difference is that Christian children eventually outgrow their belief in Santa, while Orthodox Jews never receive that revelation. It’s all wishful thinking. It would be so wonderful if we had a personal god on our side. But honesty and open-mindedness dismantle that narrative, which is why Orthodoxy treats them as threats.

Orthodoxy claims three things in response:

1. We love questions!

2. Do not listen to those arguments; they are bad.

3. If you learn more Torah, you’ll have fewer questions.

The problem is the qualifiers:

1. Questions are encouraged—but only the right ones. Judaism, like a press secretary, entertains questions only from the right people, on the right topics. When those criteria aren’t met, the press conference ends: Thank you, no more questions!

2. Yes, those arguments are “bad.” But Judaism doesn’t mean logically flawed—it means dangerous. If we discuss them, our position weakens. Therefore, we won’t.

3. Judaism claims that studying Torah resolves doubt. But the issue isn’t that we don’t know enough—it’s that we know too much.

All I ask is that you be honest with yourself. Most religious people I’ve encountered live inside a self-reinforcing bubble, having never considered their beliefs from the outside. I’m not here to call them stupid—that would be an unhelpful personal attack. But I am here to challenge their bad reasoning, keeping in mind that they only say such things because they’ve been blinded and, unsurprisingly, don’t realize it.

Public intellectuals have long engaged in these debates. Richard Dawkins argues that while people deserve respect, ideas do not. He quotes Johann Hari:

"I respect you as a person too much to respect your ridiculous ideas."

Sam Harris notes:

"Religion allows us, by the millions, to believe what only lunatics and idiots could believe on their own."

I don’t think Harris is being cruel; he’s simply stating that when people make absurd claims, they should be called out. He often clarifies that religious people aren’t necessarily stupid—just naive and gullible. They are, overwhelmingly, victims of indoctrination. And that indoctrination is difficult to escape. But when believers persist in promoting bad arguments despite being shown why they fail, Harris and Dawkins have, at times, called them stupid. Matt Dillahunty echoes this: he regrets when people take his words as personal attacks but insists that some ideas are, in fact, moronic—though, admittedly, calling someone a “fucking moron” doesn’t help his case.

Without the benefit of facial expressions and tone, my criticisms of religious reasoning are easily mistaken for harshness. Because deeply religious people see faith as central to their identity, they conflate critiques of their beliefs with personal attacks. So let me be clear: I am not here to call anyone an idiot.

Daniel Dennett put it bluntly:

"There’s simply no polite way to tell people they’ve dedicated their lives to an illusion."

I, too, was once deeply mistaken. I, too, was indoctrinated—raised in an Orthodox family, educated in Orthodox schools, and isolated from outside voices. The combination of rigid instruction and near-total social insulation is remarkably effective. I don’t blame religious people for the grip faith holds over them. The familial and communal pressures are not only consequences of belief but barriers against ever leaving. Most religious people are prisoners of their own minds, having been shaped by indoctrination when they were defenseless children.

Dawkins, Dennett and Harris make a crucial point. Harris asks: What happens when someone in ordinary society makes a wild claim—say, that Elvis is still alive? They lose credibility. But when someone makes an equally unsubstantiated religious claim, we simply call them a Catholic, a Jew or a Hindu.

To anyone not indoctrinated, the confusion of those who have been is obvious.

The Pursuit of What Is True

There are many things that are true and many things that are false. Many truths will be discovered, and many things we think are true will be overturned as new information becomes available. Some truths may never be discovered, while many things we consider true will likely remain unchanged. This is the nature of both discovery and truth. The pursuit of truth is tricky because sometimes the very methods we use to identify truth can also lead us to misidentify falsehoods as truth.

There are two types of errors: Type 1 and Type 2.

• A type 1 error occurs when we assert that something is true when it is not.

• A type 2 error occurs when we assert that something is not true when it actually is.

A good way to understand these errors is through the fable of The Boy Who Cried Wolf. In the story, the boy repeatedly gives false alarms, and each time, the villagers rush to protect the flocks. Eventually, when an actual wolf appears, the boy calls for help, but this time the villagers, having been fooled too many times, do not come. The boy is eaten by the wolf. In this case, the villagers make two errors: their first (type 1) error is thinking there’s a wolf when there isn’t, and their second (type 2) error is thinking there isn’t a wolf when there really is.

Orthodox Judaism, like all superstitions (including religion), is a type 1 error. You can remember this from the אחד מי יודע song sung at the conclusion of the סדר של פסח, where we sing, "One is Hashem!" Belief in Hashem is a type 1 error.

Differentiating between truth and falsehood is difficult. As stated, what complicates this even further is that the very methods we use to pursue truth can, at times, inadvertently lead us astray. It’s not enough to possess great zeal to avoid missing something true, because we risk accidentally labeling falsehoods as truth if we’re sloppy in our approach to labeling truth. Depending on the situation, type 1 or type 2 errors might be worse, but it’s important to remember that science, in its pursuit of honest inquiry, can never definitively prove a hypothesis to be true—it can only fail to prove it false. The pursuit of truth in science is about testing hypotheses and rejecting them when they fail.

This may sound like pedantic doublespeak, and for those not science-minded, it might seem annoying, like those logic classes from high school where you learned about contrapositives and "if not p, then not q." But it’s actually quite critical to understand this concept clearly. Are there unicorns? We don’t know. We haven’t observed any. We found some hair and footprints in the woods, but they could have come from something else. Since the hair could point to multiple sources, there's no good reason to conclude it came from a unicorn, and unicorns aren’t even plausible candidates, since their existence has yet to be established. While we can’t prove unicorns don’t exist, anyone who claims to believe in them is not taken seriously, and rightly so. The burden of proof lies with them. While we’re all necessarily agnostic about unicorns (because we don’t know), we live our lives functionally as "a-unicornists"—we don’t believe in them, and there’s no good reason to do so.

The same applies to gods, ghosts, dragons, and fairies. While we can’t know they don’t exist, we also have no good reason to believe they do, and thus we don’t have to adjust our lives around them. We don’t leave out food for the unicorns or take precautions to keep our dogs in our yards safe from them at night. The absence of evidence is itself a powerful argument against belief in such things.

In fact, even if you’re an Orthodox Jew and believe in Hashem, you are still an atheist when it comes to the other thousands of gods. You don’t spend your time worrying about the demands of Jesus, Ganesha, or Ra. You don’t make sure to thank Quetzalcoatl for your chocolate milk (since he’s supposed to have provided cacao to humanity). By your own standards, you are an atheist regarding the gods you don't believe in, just as I am an atheist regarding the god you believe in.

Some might argue that because we can’t know anything for certain (because perhaps tomorrow we will discover that we've been wrong about everything), knowledge is unattainable. In a strict sense, this is true. But we can have massively good reasons to justify our beliefs in certain things. For instance, gravity exists, and it impacts our lives in tangible ways. Thin, clear plastic can stop the flow of water but not the flow of light. In philosophy, we refer to knowledge as "true, justified belief," or the closest approximation to it. We live on a spectrum of belief: the further along the spectrum you go, the more justified your belief is. Beliefs on the right side of the spectrum are considered knowledge.

You can believe something to be true even when it isn't, based on what you think is good evidence. Conversely, you can fail to believe in something that is true because there isn’t yet sufficient evidence. Mistakes happen, all the time.

If I tell you I have a pet dog, but you didn’t know that before, it would be unreasonable for you to believe me until you had sufficient evidence. However, sufficient evidence for such a claim might be just me telling you that I own a dog. The same is true if I say I have a blue shirt; you might believe me immediately, because it's a mundane claim and blue shirts are common. But if I claim to have a pet dragon or an invisible shirt, you would rightly demand extraordinary evidence before accepting my claim.

Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence. Once sufficient evidence is provided, and it meets the threshold of what is expected for such claims, you will be compelled to believe in them. Without that, it would be unreasonable to do so. At that point, the evidence compels belief, and we might even say that we "know" the claim to be true.

Colloquially, people often say "I believe" in something, but this is different from the kind of belief that is based on evidence. For example, you might say you believe your son when he denies cheating on his exam. But when 42 witnesses, 3 videos, 75 photos and a recording of your son admitting to cheating are presented, you might say "I don’t believe it!" But at this point, you're no longer using "belief" in the same way. You’re now engaging with the evidence. That’s fine, because emotions are real, and people’s struggles to accept the truth are also real. But this doesn’t mean we can make unfounded claims about the supernatural, and when asked to provide good reasons to believe such claims, respond with "but I believe!" This doesn’t strengthen your position. It’s the result of a childish understanding, which is what religious claims amount to—carried forward from our formative years of Shabbos parties and Uncle Moishy songs into adulthood.

Belief, Faith, and Indoctrination

When discussing religion, terminology is introduced to help religionists describe the things they think about and the ways they think about them. However, it’s often the case that they misuse and misunderstand their own words because they haven’t thought deeply about what they’re really saying. Belief and faith, knowledge and conviction, atheism and agnosticism—these terms are the bedrock of any conversation about religion. It’s easy to get lost in competing definitions and colloquial versus formal usage, which can be tedious. For those who haven’t encountered it before, understanding this is an important step in the conversation. Here it is:

Dawkins’ Scale of Belief

Richard Dawkins has crafted a 7-point scale to better articulate the spectrum of belief regarding the existence of God:

1. Strong Theist: 100% probability of God. In the words of Carl Jung: “I do not believe, I know.”

2. De facto Theist: Very high probability, but short of 100%. “I don’t know for certain, but I strongly believe in God and live my life on the assumption that He is there.”

3. Leaning Towards Theism: Higher than 50%, but not very high. “I’m very uncertain, but I’m inclined to believe in God.”

4. Completely Impartial: Exactly 50%. “God’s existence and non-existence are exactly equiprobable.”

5. Leaning Towards Atheism: Lower than 50%, but not very low. “I don’t know whether God exists, but I’m inclined to be skeptical.”

6. De facto Atheist: Very low probability, but short of zero. “I don’t know for certain, but I think God is very improbable, and I live my life on the assumption that He is not there.”

7. Strong Atheist: “I know there is no God, with the same conviction that Jung knows there is one.”

Dawkins himself refers to his position as a level 6 agnostic, which he argues is the only reasonable stance to hold. He compares the evidence for any gods (in terms of both quantity and quality) to the evidence for fairies and ghosts. While we can’t definitively say there are no fairies or ghosts because we can’t prove a negative, we do speak of fairies and ghosts (and other mythical creatures) as if they are non-existent in both academic and everyday contexts. This is why Dawkins argues that we must, in effect, be de facto atheists.

The Point of Comparison: Atheism and Religious Myths

Orthodox Jews, like many religious people, are de facto atheists about fairies and other mythological creatures. They feel no compunction about claiming these things don’t exist, just as they feel no obligation to believe in monsters under beds or the vampires of Hoia-Baciu Forest in Transylvania. Yet, they will be the first to assert their unwavering belief in their particular deity and religious traditions.

As already mentioned, Orthodox Jews are also de facto atheists when it comes to the countless other gods that they don’t believe in, such as:

• Muyingwa, the Hopi god of seed germination

• Nanook, the Inuit lord of bears

• Haashch’eezhini, the Navajo god of stars and fire

For hundreds or even thousands of years, indigenous tribes in the Americas prayed to these gods for help with crops, protection from predators and survival during winter. But despite the rich cultural history and the belief of these tribes in their gods, people today view these beliefs as mythology. Here’s a brief description of Haashch’eezhini, or Black God, from Navajo tradition:

"Black God is first encountered by First Man and First Woman on the Yellow (third) world. Black God is primarily a fire god, the inventor of the fire drill, and the first being to discover how to create fire. His father is Fire and his mother is Comet."

How do you read this? I read it as quaint tribal nonsense—nonsense in the sense that it makes no sense. It's so obviously not an accurate reflection of reality. It's silly and not grounded in any observable fact.

To contrast this with religious mythology, Sam Harris quotes J.R.R. Tolkien: “Elves, while immortal, can die, and their spirits go to the Halls of Mandos, where, after a time, they can be reincarnated and return to Valinor” Stories like these, from works of fantasy such as The Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, are universally understood to be fictional. Everyone acknowledges they are stories designed for entertainment. No one seriously believes in them. But the Navajo, just like any religious group, do believe that their Black God is real, while everyone else (including the Inuit, who worship their own bear god) can see the foolishness of these beliefs.

This distinction is crucial: the only people who take these religious claims seriously are those who have been indoctrinated into these belief systems by teachers, preachers and community leaders.

Religious Indoctrination

When you’ve been raised in a bubble where you are taught to think critically about everything except religion, that’s called religious indoctrination. It’s a form of mental conditioning where you are encouraged to apply critical thinking to the world around you, except when it comes to the sacred beliefs of your religion.

The Navajo, for instance, were exceptional trackers. Their practices in tracking mountain lions and deer were based on careful observation and testing to achieve the best outcomes—this is science. The best trackers caught food for their families and kept them safe from predators. They knew exactly how thick and long their bison bone needles should be and how to apply the right amount of force at the right angle when stitching bison hides. They developed efficient, practical tools and techniques based on trial and error. This is science.

However, when it came to their gods, their beliefs were as absurd as any religious belief might seem to an outsider—just like Orthodox Jews' beliefs in the God of Abraham. Sam Harris has pointed out that Mormonism is objectively more absurd than mainstream Christianity because it adds ridiculous ideas to what is essentially a version of Christianity. This does not, however, excuse mainstream Christianity or any other religion.

Just as we understand the fantasy stories of Tolkien and Rowling to be fictional, we must recognize that religious beliefs—whether they are Navajo gods, Jewish theology, or Mormon doctrine—are rooted in the same kind of non-rational thinking, often born from social and cultural conditioning, not from evidence-based reasoning.

Rejection Without Evidence

People often ask, “Where’s the proof that vampires, ghosts, or the Navajo Black God doesn’t exist?” The answer is simple: What is claimed without evidence can be rejected without evidence. Orthodox Jews would say they are not making a claim that these things don’t exist, as doing so would require proof. They’re simply rejecting these ideas because they’re silly and unsupported by any compelling evidence. This stance is reflected in Dawkins' scale, where positions 6 and 7—those of de facto atheism and strong atheism—are identical.

In everyday conversations, people might dismiss fairies and monsters under the bed without a second thought. Just like the Orthodox Jew who rejects belief in other gods, they are a-fairyists and a-Loch Ness monsterists without ever explicitly stating it.

Even in pop culture, like in songs by Eminem and Rihanna, "monsters under the bed" can be a metaphor rather than a serious belief. We understand these metaphors to carry emotional or psychological meaning without threatening our reason.

Likewise, Benson Boone can thank God for the girl he met—even though he knows (or should know) that there is no such thing as a God. Boone may say these words with honest sentiment, even if he’s no longer actively involved with the Mormon church. He is repeating the language of belief, but we all understand that it’s a poetic expression, not a literal claim.

Why We Should Care

Why is truth important? I have a feeling you already know the answer to that. When navigating through life, what could be more essential than understanding what is real and what isn’t? Our actions, our decisions, and our understanding of the world depend on recognizing reality as it is. And why is having good arguments based on solid evidence important? Again, I suspect you already understand why that matters. Without good evidence, we risk basing our beliefs and actions on faulty reasoning, which can lead us astray.

People often ask, “What sort of evidence do you want for a god?” The response is really quite simple:

“We simply do value logic and evidence,” explains Sam Harris, “and all I mean is the same type of evidence required by everyone in regard to everything else other than religion.”

This is a powerful point. What makes religion special that it gets to bypass the same standards of evidence and reasoning that we use for everything else? Why should we treat religious claims differently from claims about the physical world, scientific phenomena, or historical facts? The truth is, we shouldn’t. And yet, religion survives precisely because it exploits logical fallacies and preys on people's gullibility in this regard.

The continuation of religious belief is largely the result of people being taught to accept religious doctrines without ever critically examining them. This is what keeps many people from questioning their faith or looking at it through the lens of logic and evidence. The ideas they hold are often inherited, reinforced by community pressures, and rarely challenged in the same way we challenge any other belief or assumption in life.

Ultimately, this lack of critical thinking, combined with the emotional and social reinforcement that religion provides, creates a system in which belief in gods or supernatural beings persists despite a lack of credible evidence. This is why truth, logic, and evidence matter: they are the tools we use to avoid falling into that trap.

Arguments and Encounters on Substack

While engaging with people on Substack, I’ve encountered a variety of arguments. Some people put forward pseudo-reasonable positions—arguments that sound deeply thought-out and arrive at seemingly rational conclusions. Others seem to have never considered challenges to their own beliefs until prompted by my questions. Let's break down some of these interactions.

---

Special Pleading

Special pleading is a logical fallacy that occurs when an exception is applied without justification, often based on arbitrary or unexamined reasons. It overlaps with biases like confirmation bias and denominator neglect, and can be hard to spot initially. But once you know what to look for, it's much easier to identify.

A classic example of special pleading is found in the arguments of Orthodox Jews when they claim that one should have אמונה (faith) and בטחון (trust) in the רבונו של עולם (Master of the Universe). This kind of argument often boils down to “You just need to trust.”

The problem with this claim is that trust, like belief, is not inherently virtuous. Trust can be beneficial when warranted, but it can also be disastrous when misplaced. Trust is like using the brakes in a car or pulling a gun from its holster: when appropriate, it’s helpful; when misused, it can lead to danger. So, the issue isn’t just about trust in general—it’s about knowing when and where to place that trust, and recognizing that errors will inevitably occur.

For example, when we're boarding a plane, we're more tolerant of type 1 errors (false positives). If airport security flags you for a suspicious item, and all that’s needed is a few extra minutes for enhanced screening, we generally accept the inconvenience. The potential cost of missing a hijacker or weapon is so high—lives, property, and social stability—that we accept a certain level of inconvenience to avoid catastrophe.

However, when it comes to sentencing criminals to death, we’re far more cautious about type 2 errors (false negatives). The cost of executing an innocent person is so severe that we would prefer to let a few guilty individuals go free rather than risk making a mistake that cannot be undone.

Now, if we apply this kind of weighing of errors to faith, we have to ask: What are we trusting in when it comes to Orthodoxy? Are we trusting stories handed down through generations? What makes these stories different from the Navajo’s trust in their tribal myths? To reject Navajo מסורה (tradition) as nonsense while holding fast to Jewish מסורה without scrutiny is a textbook case of special pleading.

---

The Risk of Being Wrong

"But what if we’re wrong?"—this is the fear that often motivates people to cling to their faith, even when faced with rational arguments. What if denying the Jewish מסורה is a type 2 error, akin to the villagers in the fable of the boy who cried wolf, who fail to act at the wrong time because they've been tricked too many times before? What if, in our skepticism, we’re missing something crucial?

It’s a great question, and one that I understand. But here's the issue: Orthodox Judaism doesn’t take the position that maybe it’s true—it asserts with certainty that it is true. The official stance of Orthodoxy is not "let’s trust and see" or "let’s hold off and be open-minded." Instead, it demands unwavering belief that the stories it tells are the true ones, and that all other stories—such as those of the Navajo, or Christianity, or Islam—are false.

This is not a position of agnosticism or cautious inquiry; it’s a bold, categorical claim that its truth is irrefutable. So, why be concerned about the truth of Jewish claims while dismissing those of other religions? The answer is comfort. We’re raised with Jewish stories, practices, and rituals, so they feel natural to us. But if we stop to think, we can see how inconsistent and subjective this is.

For example, Orthodox Jews might dismiss the Navajo faith as "primitive superstition," but their own beliefs are just as rooted in inherited cultural norms. Their prayers, amulets, and religious practices feel normal, but so do the practices of the Navajo or any other culture. This is where special pleading comes into play.

The "Useful Fiction" Argument

In response to these challenges,

Thomas P. Balazs

commented:

"You might call this special pleading, but..."

This comment is revealing. It shows that Balazs hadn’t fully grasped the impact of special pleading in the context of religious belief. When I challenged him on the reasons for his Orthodox beliefs, he responded by saying that Judaism provides him with comfort. That’s a fair point—Judaism, like many religions, offers a sense of structure, purpose, and emotional comfort to its followers. But that’s not the same as saying it's true.

Balazs’ argument shifted to the idea that Orthodoxy is “useful”—but that’s not what Orthodoxy claims. As an institution, Orthodoxy asserts absolute truth. It’s not about the “usefulness” of the religion, but about the certainty that it represents the correct path. If you say that Orthodoxy is “useful,” you're acknowledging that it works for you on an emotional level, but that doesn’t address the issue of truth.

Ultimately, this is where the discussion tends to stall: Some people believe in their religion because it’s useful to them, but that’s not the argument religion makes. Religion claims to have objective, absolute truth. When you start using terms like “useful fiction,” you’re moving away from the claim of absolute truth and into the realm of subjective comfort.

This kind of rhetorical sleight of hand happens often, and it’s important to call it out. Orthodox Judaism and other religious traditions don’t just claim to be comforting—they claim to be true, and we need to hold them to that standard.

Just plain Rivka

Just Plain Rivka’s argument revolves around a series of personal, subjective experiences:

• “I know that Hashem created the world because I have a soul”

• “I know I have a soul because I love music”

• “When I hear words of Torah, they resonate like I have heard them before”

• “I know that Hashem created a physical realm because I live in a physical realm”

These are classic examples of non sequiturs—logical fallacies where the conclusion does not follow from the premises. Rivka’s argument is filled with subjective feelings and personal experiences, but these don't logically or objectively demonstrate the truth of her claims.

• How does her enjoyment of music prove she has a soul? Plenty of people love music, but that doesn’t mean they have souls, much less that they can use their soul to "know" things about the world.

• She claims that Torah resonates with her as though she has “heard it before.” This sounds more like a feeling of familiarity, not objective evidence for the truth of Torah or her soul’s pre-existence at Sinai. If we gave her 50 inspirational lessons designed to feel “resonant,” but some of them were actually invented to sound midrashic or Talmudic, there’s no way she could distinguish the genuine from the invented ones based purely on how they “resonate.” Her argument collapses under scrutiny.

The "soul" argument here is a perfect example of an unsubstantiated, circular reasoning: “I know I have a soul because I feel things I attribute to it.” To counter that, we'd need to ask: How do you know you have a soul in the first place?

For her argument to be persuasive, it would need to demonstrate an external, objective basis for her feelings. If she can’t show this, we’re left with an unfounded assertion, similar to someone claiming to “know” they are always right because they “just know it in their heart.” But feelings alone can’t substantiate truth claims.

Lisa Liel

Lisa Liel makes a statement that feels more like an assertion than a reasoned argument:

• “I think there is ample evidence to support the proposition that Orthodox Judaism is true. That it is not merely true, but it's the Truth.”

However, she fails to provide any concrete evidence to back this up. She claims belief in Orthodoxy is not just emotional but rational because אמונה (faith) is "conviction that a proposition is true," based on evidence. But, again, where is the evidence?

Liel’s argument quickly collapses when she asserts:

• “Reasonable people operate on the basis of what's reasonable, not only what's proven.”

This is essentially a slippery slope—the idea that something can be reasonable without being proven is too vague and ultimately unconvincing. What does “reasonable” mean here? Is she just talking about feeling that something makes sense? If so, then this feels like an appeal to personal intuition or comfort, not verifiable evidence.

What’s missing in Lisa’s argument is concrete evidence for why Orthodoxy is not just “true,” but THE truth. “Reasonableness” is subjective, and in the context of a truth claim, especially one about the nature of existence, reason alone isn’t enough without clear evidence. Simply asserting that a belief is “true” without providing the “ample evidence” you mention is insufficient.

Dean Maughvet

Dean Maughvet’s argument of “pure, simple faith” is a classic form of circular reasoning: he is saying that faith is all you need, and that’s the justification.

• “All you need is pure faith in God.”

This is, in essence, saying “Believe because I say you should believe.” This line of reasoning is used by virtually every other faith tradition as well. How can a religion claim to be the “one true faith” and then justify its validity with the very thing it is trying to prove—the need for faith?

If you truly believe in something with "pure faith," then how do you distinguish between different faiths? Islam, Christianity, and countless other religions would also make similar claims. They each argue for their version of “pure faith,” but they cannot all be true simultaneously. The only way to break this impasse is by presenting objective, verifiable evidence—something that Maughvet does not provide.

The use of faith as the only criterion is problematic. It’s essentially saying that reason and evidence don’t matter, which opens the door to all manner of beliefs being justified on the same grounds. But this is a logical fallacy—faith cannot be a substitute for sound evidence.

Ash

Ash brings up some interesting points about the material vs. metaphysical worldview:

• “Consciousness, morality, quantum observer phenomenon etc do not prove God. But they are things which are not explained through the materialist worldview at all.”

This is where the God-of-the-Gaps (GOTG) fallacy becomes evident. Ash is making an argument from ignorance: just because science doesn’t have all the answers (yet), this doesn’t mean we should jump to invoke a god to explain what’s missing. The missing pieces of a puzzle do not automatically validate the existence of an unseen, supernatural explanation. The “god-of-the-gaps” argument is a logical fallacy where gaps in scientific knowledge are filled with supernatural explanations, essentially concluding that "we don't know, therefore, God did it." This reasoning is not valid because lack of knowledge doesn’t imply an answer—it just means we need more investigation.

For instance, ancient cultures explain natural phenomena like lightning, disease or thunder by invoking gods—Zeus, Thor, etc. But over time, we learned through science how these things work, showing that earlier supernatural explanations were just guesses, based on lack of knowledge.

When Ash argues that things like consciousness and morality don’t fit into a purely materialist worldview, he might be right that we don’t have complete explanations yet. But that doesn't mean God is the answer. It just means we need more time and more data to understand what is happening.

Ploinus Almoinus

Ploinus Almoinus argues that he believes in Orthodoxy because of his trust in the integrity and wisdom of his mentors, particularly his rabbi. But this argument ultimately reduces to appeal to authority:

• “I trust the people who taught me because they are wise and have integrity.”

This is not a rational defense of Orthodoxy—it’s essentially saying that you believe something because other people you trust told you to. But what if those teachers are wrong? What if they, too, were passing on unexamined beliefs?

Simply trusting that your teachers were wise doesn’t provide evidence for the truth of their teachings. If the claim is that the Torah is divinely inspired and its teachings are objectively true, then the evidence for that claim needs to be presented. Passing the buck to others without examining the foundations of their beliefs is not a valid defense.

shulman

Shulman’s statement about having a “strong bag of evidence” that contradicts science reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of how scientific method works. Science does not “contradict” itself—it is an evolving process of understanding the universe. If there were evidence that contradicted established scientific theories, that evidence would be subject to rigorous testing. But simply asserting contradictory evidence without providing verifiable, peer-reviewed support for it isn’t how science works.

Science doesn’t claim to have absolute certainty on everything; it claims to have the best explanation based on available evidence. When Shulman suggests that there’s a strong body of evidence against established scientific conclusions, it’s important to question whether this “evidence” has been subject to the same rigorous process of testing and peer review that science demands.

Conclusion

These interactions all highlight a pattern of weak or fallacious reasoning commonly found in religious arguments. Whether it’s appealing to authority, circular reasoning, non sequiturs, or god-of-the-gaps, these positions fail to provide objective, testable evidence for the truth claims they make. Instead, they rely on emotional appeals, personal experiences, and subjective feelings, which cannot be accepted as definitive evidence in a rational, evidence-based conversation.

If we are serious about beliefs, we should demand that all claims—whether religious or scientific—be backed by credible evidence, not just by emotional assertions or unsupported appeals to personal intuition.

Yehuda M.