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Someone was approaching my office. A girl. I couldn't see her, but I could hear her. From the clopping of her shoes, I would have said that it was Julie, but the rhythm was wrong — not the usual clop-clop-clop but clop, clop, clop.
But it was Julie after all. "Hello, Professor T." Without ceremony, she entered and sat down.
"Good morning. So it was you."
"You were expecting someone different?" she asked wanly.
"No, but you were walking. You always run."
"I guess I'm a little down this week."
"I'm sorry to hear it. I never would have guessed that a little down was an emotion you ever experienced."
"Come on. You've seen me before when I wasn't cheerful."
"Julie, I've seen you cheerful, giddy, distressed, confused, embarrassed and even a little ill. Never anything as mundane as a little down. Are things all right with — well, are things all right?"
An unexpected grin split her face. "You mean with me and Zack? No worries there, Prof. We both like being married." She laughed. "He's gaining weight."
I smiled back. I'd told Zack that he would.
But her grin had already vanished. "The problem is my brother. I was hoping you might have some thoughts about him."
"I thought Zack said that you had two brothers. Do you mean Oswald, the atheist? Or the other one?"
"His name isn't Oswald, it's Oscar. But you remembered the other part right. He is an atheist. And he's getting worse. That's why I'm down. I'm so worried about him."
"Worse how? You mean he's more hardened in his atheist beliefs?"
"I wouldn't say he's more hardened in his beliefs," she said, "but he's more bitter. It's been going on for months now. He's awfully unhappy about something, and I can't tell what. He'd never tell me anything like that. And he argues with Zack all the time."
"About what?"
"Everything — music, food, politics, you name it. But he's bitterest when he's arguing about God."
"Does he argue about God with you too?"
"Yes and no. It's so hard to have a real conversation with him. But every so often he spouts off to me about how only a fool would believe in God, and he tosses off some reason. I try to answer, but he listens only long enough to mock me. Here, I wrote down some of his objections." She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her purse and smoothed it out. "Can I read them to you?"
"Yes, but —"
"Number one. Oscar says —"
"Julie, wait a second —"
"Oscar says 'If God created the universe' — did you say something, Professor?"
I sighed. "Never mind. Go ahead."
"'If God created the universe, who created God?' I didn't know how to answer that one."
"That's a chestnut."
"A what?"
"A chestnut. Every atheist in the world thinks he's the first to think of it. And every atheist in the world thinks it has no answer."
"Oh. Well, what's the answer?"
"Oscar is assuming that God is a contingent being. That means something that doesn't have to be. Otherwise there wouldn't be much point in asking what caused Him, would there? People only ask the causes of things that don't have to be, but are."
"I guess Oscar does assume that," she said.
"But we theists believe God is a necessary being. That means He couldn't not be. So although God is the cause of all things, He Himself does not require a cause."
"But Prof, Oscar would want to know why there has to be a necessary being. Why couldn't everything be a contingent being? I mean, why couldn't the universe be caused by A, A be caused by B, B be caused by C, and so on forever and ever?"
"Julie, if everything needs a cause, then the chain itself needs a cause. To put it another way, unless there is a first cause that isn't a contingent being, the chain of causes could never get started in the first place."
"Ohhh."
"We call this first cause God."
"I get it. OK, number two. Oscar says —"
"Julie, you're going too f—"
"Oscar says, 'Maybe a bored kid' — did you speak again, Prof?"
I sighed again. "Don't mind me."
"'Maybe some bored kid got his hands on his parents' make-your-own-universe kit, but put all the parts together wrong. When his parents found out, they threw that messed-up universe in the trash can, and that's us.' Oscar asked me, 'How do you know that's not how it happened?' Sorry, Prof, I know it sounds silly, but it's what he said."
"Not only silly but unnecessary," I said. "If you know the answer to the other question, then you know the answer to this one."
"I don't see how."
"Is this powerful bored kid a necessary being or a contingent being?"
"Well, he doesn't have to exist, so I guess he's a contingent being. Oh, I get it now."
"Tell me."
"If he's a contingent being, then we have to ask what caused him. So we still haven't got to the first cause. But we showed before that there has to be a first cause. And that's what we call God."
"Neatly put. Now, Julie —"
"OK, number three."
"Julie —"
"Oscar says —"
"Julie —"
"'If God is omnipotent, then why couldn't He —'"
"Julie!"
She jumped. "What?"
"You're going about this all wrong."
"But I thought we were making progress," she asked.
"Tell me what you mean by making progress."
"I mean I already have answers to two of Oscar's objections. If we just keep going —"
"I see. How many objections does Oscar have?"
"Well, I haven't written all of them down."
"Just tell me how many you've written down."
She turned her little sheet over, glanced at the back, then turned it back over to the front. "Fifty-eight."
"Did you say fifty-eight?"
"Um, yes." She turned slightly pink. "I learned shorthand back in high school. And I write small."
To hide my expression, I rubbed my face with both hands. "And just what did you think Oscar would do when he heard your 58 answers?"
"I hadn't thought that far. I don't know."
"Have you been able to answer any of his previous objections?"
"Sure. Several dozen of them. I'm pretty smart, you know, even if I do act like an airhead sometimes."
"I know you are. But how did he respond when you answered his other objections? Has Oscar ever said, 'That's a good answer,' or "Oh, thanks,' or 'Gee, there's food for thought'?"
"No. He's always ignored my answer, changed the subject and raised another objection."
"Does that give you good reason to think that Oscar cares about your answers?"
Julie was silent for the better part of a minute. Finally she answered, "No." Another silence. "He's just being clever."
"Then why do you play this futile game of his?"
Julie's pinkness had been fading; now it turned to blotchy red. Tears began running from her eyes. "Because he's my brother, and I love him, and I don't know what else to do."
I nudged a box of tissues toward her. She rummaged in her purse instead. In a moment she had a handkerchief, and her face disappeared behind it. "A lot of help you are," her muffled voice said. "You think Oscar's case is hopeless."
"I didn't say his case is hopeless," I said.
Her eyes reappeared above the handkerchief. "You didn't?"
"No."
"But you called it futile," she said. "I heard you."
"I said that Oscar's game is futile. Not his case."
I left her alone while she cleaned up her face. In a little while she stuffed the handkerchief back in her purse. "Start talking," she said. There was a fierce look in her reddened eyes that I had seen only once before.1
"When someone is really seeking the truth, and he is troubled by a real intellectual question," I began, "then your goal is to try to give an answer. That's important."
"That's just what I've been doing," she protested, "but you say it’s wrong."
"That's just what you haven't been doing. Is Oscar seeking the truth? Is he really troubled by the questions?"
"No," she conceded. "He's not seeking the truth. He doesn't care about the questions."
"If Oscar's endless questions are just a game," I replied, "then providing endless answers only plays into the game. He will never accept them, no matter how good they are. You will never reach the last objection, because he will always come up with another."
"If my goal isn't answering, what is it?"
"Ending the game."
"You mean ending the conversation?"
"I mean having a different kind of conversation."
"But I can't not answer his questions."
"If the answers don't interest him, yes, you can."
"So I don't say anything? What kind of conversation would that be?"
"I didn't say you shouldn't say anything."
"Then what do I say?"
"My dear," I replied, "why not ask him some questions for a change?"
Continue to Part 2, Ending the Game
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NOTES
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Julie and Theophilus go way back. Here are some of their previous conversations:
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