Read Part 1

"My dear," I told Julie, "why not ask him some questions for a change?" "Him" was her atheist brother Oscar.

"Why should I ask him questions?" she replied. "I'm not interested in atheism."

"Lack of interest in Christianity hasn't stopped him from asking you questions."

"But he only asks all those silly questions to mock and pester me," she answered. "Isn't that what we just figured out?"

"We did. So?"

"So are you saying I should mock and pester him?"

"No, no, no. Don't mock and pester him. Out him."

She looked blank. "But he's not — did you think he — ? Why would I want to out him if he was —?"

"Was what?"

"Gay."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Not that kind of outing, Julie. I wasn't even thinking about such things. I mean exposing the game that he's playing for what it is."

"Oh." She thought for a moment. "But doesn't he already know what game he's playing?"

"That remains to be seen. He knows that his questions mock and pester you; for him that's part of the fun. But does he know that he doesn't really care about their answers?"

"Why wouldn't he know?" she asked.

"You didn't know that about him, did you? I mean not until today."

She glanced down at her little sheet of notes on Oscar's fifty-eight questions. "Prof, I may not have realized that his questions were only a game, but they were his questions. Wouldn't he know that they were only a game?"

"Not if he's playing the same game on himself."

"You mean that he thinks that he does care about the answers?"

"It's more likely that he's never even asked himself whether he cares."

Julie considered that. "So how do I get him to ask himself?"

"You might try asking him yourself."

"Hold on. My head is spinning." She crinkled up her eyes and forehead. "I, Julie, ask him, Oscar, to ask himself, Oscar, whether he cares about the answers that I, Julie, give to the questions that he, Oscar, poses me."

"You're making it too complicated," I said. "It's really very simple. Look. The other day I was speaking to someone a lot like Oscar. He was full of questions and objections to belief in God. 'Prove this. How do you know that. What if this. I dare you to show that.'"

"Did he mock you, like Oscar mocks me?"

"No, he was very polite. A nice fellow. At first I tried to answer all his questions. But even after we talked for several hours, he showed no sign of letting up. Eventually I asked a question of my own."

"What was it?"

"A thought experiment."

"A what?" she asked.

"A what-if scenario. I said, 'Suppose we cleared our schedules, got rid of distractions, and did nothing else but discuss all of your objections to belief in God, for however long it took. Weeks. Months. And just suppose that at the end of all that time I had answered every last one of your objections to your complete intellectual satisfaction.'"

"Then what?"

"He said, 'All right, I'm supposing.' I asked him, 'Then would you believe in God?'"

"What did he answer?"

"He hesitated, opened his eyes a little wider, and said 'I don't know."

"I guess that was a conversation-stopper."

"No. It was a turning point."

"Why?"

"Because then I could say, 'If you don't know whether you would believe in God even if I answered all of your objections, then perhaps those objections aren't the real reason why you don't believe in God. What do you think is the real reason?"

"Then what did he say?"

"He looked at me for a few seconds — I could see that he understood — then he changed the subject and brought up a new objection."

Julie looked puzzled. "If the conversation didn't take a turn for the better, then how was what you said a turning point?"

"I didn't mean it was a turning point for the conversation," I said. "I mean it was a turning point for him."

"Why?"

"Because I know he heard me. Because I know he got the point."

"But he went on playing the game."

"No, he only tried to. I asked, 'Are you going to answer my question?' He said 'No.' I said, 'Until you are, there's not much point in talking, is there? When you're ready to answer it, call me, and let's talk again.' I think he was a little shocked, but he agreed."

"So you stopped the conversation?"

"Yes."

"That's it?"

"Were you expecting more?"

"I thought the story was going to wind up with a big, dramatic conversation. 'And then he committed himself to Jesus' — something like that." She frowned. "Professorrr! Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"You've got that amused look again. I don't mind if you think I'm ridiculous, but you have to tell me why."

"I don't think you're ridiculous. It's just that first you make it too complicated, then you make it too easy. A thought experiment like the one I posed only plants a seed."

"You couldn't mean a seed of faith."

"No, a seed of self-doubt. A seed of suspicion, 'Maybe I'm not serious. Maybe I'm just playing a game with myself.' It may take a lot of watering over a long, long period of time for that seed to germinate."

"What about my brother?" she asked.

"What about him?"

"Do you think I could use the same thought experiment to plant a seed of self-doubt in him?"

"It's not a formula, Julie, it's just an example. I'm not saying that you should try the same conversational move with Oscar that I tried with the young man I was talking to. I'm just trying to illustrate how one goes about exposing someone's game."

"But suppose I did try the same conversational move with him. Do you think it would work?"

"I don't know. You're his sister. What do you think?"

She reflected. "Well, in the first place I don't think he'd let me get to the question. When I said, 'Suppose that at the end of all that time I had answered all of your objections,' he'd just say 'You couldn't.'"

"But if it's a thought experiment, he doesn't have to believe that it's actually possible. Why should he be afraid to play 'Let's pretend'?"

"That's true. Besides, he's tried thought experiments on me."

"Sure. Like the one about the little boy and the make-your-own-universe kit."

"But I'm sure he'd be a lot ruder than the guy you were talking with."

"Why?"

"Because he always is."

"If he always is, then you've been missing an opportunity."

"How can his rudeness be an opportunity?"

"You can say, 'Oscar, when people are really serious about a conversation, they're polite to each other. How serious could you be if you can't even be polite?"

"Maybe he'd say, 'You're right. I'm not serious.'"

"Then you could say, 'In that case, you've proven my point."

"Maybe he'd say, 'No, the reason I'm not serious is that your belief-in-God thing is so ridiculous."

"Then you could say, 'If it's so ridiculous, then why are you so afraid to answer my question?'"

"Maybe he'd say, 'I'm not afraid of it. I just don't care about this stuff.'"

"Then you could say, 'I don't believe you.'"

Julie looked at me as though I were crazy. "What?"

"He may not want to know the truth about God, Julie, but that's very different from being indifferent to God. If he were indifferent to God, why would he go to so much trouble to mock and pester you about God? At some level, obviously he 'cares about this stuff.'"

She chewed on that for a little while.

"Anything else?" I asked.

"Yes. You know what? Oscar's clever. I think he'd just turn the question around. I can hear him now. 'Ha, ha, Julie. Two can play 'Let's suppose.' Suppose I answered all of your objections to atheism. Then would you change your mind? Would you disbelieve in God?'"

"Yes, he might say something like that."

"Imagine that you're me. How would you answer?"

"Julie, I can't even begin to imagine that I'm you."

"How would you answer for yourself, then, smart guy? I mean if he said that to you."

"I'd say, 'If you wrecked my philosophical case for believing in God, Oscar, of course it would shake me, and of course I'd rethink. But now answer my question. If I wrecked your philosophical case, would you rethink?'"

"But suppose he pressed," she said. "Suppose he said, 'I'm not asking whether you'd be shaken and rethink, I'm asking if you'd become an atheist like me.'"

"I'd answer, 'I hope not. But you're overlooking a crucial difference between us.'"

"Pretend I'm Oscar. I'd say —"

"Julie, pretending that I'm Oscar is almost as hard as pretending that I'm you."

"Do it anyway. I'd say, 'What crucial difference?'"

"I'd answer, 'There are good reasons to believe in God, and that's important. I love God with all my mind, not just with the rest of me. But knowing Jesus Christ is more than just knowing a theorem. It's more like the way I know my wife."

"He'd say, 'What do you mean?'"

"I mean that I have personal knowledge of Christ, just as I have personal knowledge of my wife. I've walked with Him for a long time, years, and He's never let me down. If you presented me with a philosophical argument that my wife didn't exist, even if I couldn't see a flaw in it, I'd doubt my reasoning before I doubted my wife. And God is more trustworthy still."

Julie was silent, listening. I continued.

"I'd say, 'You're not in my position, Oscar. There is no personal such thing as a personal relationship with No God. If I presented you with arguments that even you found flawless, you'd have nothing to doubt but your reasoning.' And I'd ask, 'Now will you answer my question?'"

"Professor Theophilus —" She stopped and started again. "This helps me understand how to put an end to Oscar's game. But I want to say something about me."

"Well?"

"The thought never occurred to me that knowing God could be like that."

I smiled. "Maybe it ought to occur."