I believe in the idea of laying the essential elements of an argument–its assumptions and premises—up front. Logic is pretty easy, it’s mostly a straight line. The assumptions tell you where the line is aiming, and if you change the assumptions, you most likely change the conclusions. I do this in service of the twin goals of learning more truth and being honest.
I was raised Hindu, but began questioning religious ideas early—long before I even knew what “metaphysics” meant. At age 15, very much to my parents’ dismay, I converted to Christianity. Specifically, I joined a non-denominational Pentecostalist church that emphasized miracles and ecstatic experience. My conversion wasn’t theological at first; it was experiential, strange, deeply personal, and came at a cost with my parents. I remember having to sneak out of the house, not to attend a party, but on a Sunday morning to attend church. But after studying theology more rigorously in college, I began to re-evaluate some of the assumptions embedded in that tradition.
What stayed with me wasn’t the supernatural aspects of Jesus’ story, but the ethical core—especially his teachings, as recorded in the Gospels. Jesus’ words on compassion, justice, and humility echoed themes I later recognized in the Hebrew prophets like Isaiah and Jeremiah. Eventually, I began asking: does it matter whether the miracles were real? It feels silly to me to base my connection to an all-powerful entity on asking for favors via prayer. Should that change anything for me? Does any of this change anything about the value of trying to live by Jesus’ teachings? Would I live differently if he were a literal son of God—or even a fictional character? These were the questions that seeded what I now call indifferentism.
The underlying principle of indifferentism, then, is that we should focus our attention on those things that matter, specifically in terms of affecting our choices. Speculations about metaphysics, the afterlife, spirituality, or the meaning of life are irrelevant – unless they change what you do. Of course, it can be fun to think about, discuss, or even debate such things. And fun is a great thing, a worthwhile end in itself. But when considering what hills to die on, indifferentism would suggest not choosing those that have no consequences on your choices of action. Does a definitive answer to whether you have an individualized soul matter to your behavior? If not, consider moving on to a more consequential question.
This is not an anti-spiritual perspective. It is simply a practical approach to philosophy.
This approach aligns with several traditions. Stoics teach us to focus only on what we can control. Let’s say you have a passion for music and hope to become a professional, touring musician. A stoic philosopher would advise you to focus only on making the best music you can, by practicing and honing your craft, and learning what your audiences will want to hear. Whether a record label signs you or your track goes viral – these are out of your control. What you can control is what music you make, and how you share it. Similarly, Zen Buddhism rejects speculative thought. And the principle of Occam’s Razor tells us to prefer the simplest answer that is sufficient, rather than adding complexity.
Indifferentism, then, is not about apathy to mysterious matters. It is about clarity and productivity. It is a method that may be useful, among others, to evaluate ideas, systems, and spiritual claims. Do these claims make any difference to our choices either way? If not, then we might consider setting them aside until we have idle, recreational time to pass. In a world drowning in ideas, ideologies, information, and misinformation, indifferentism can be a useful scalpel to cut through noise and distraction and focus on what matters.
I often point out that we really do believe in gravity. We wouldn’t think of walking off the top floor of a tall building without knowing the consequences would be fatal. So we put our belief into action: we take the elevator. Belief without action is hollow. Indifferentism gives us a way to be very pragmatic about our beliefs. Will they change what we choose to do? If not, perhaps they don’t matter.
I will be doing my best to abide by this principle throughout this book (you saw an example near the beginning of Chapter 1, when I pointed out that my belief about the crucial time we live in was not strictly necessary to the usefulness of this book). I invite you to practice it yourself as we explore.