Tactics: A Game Plan for Discussing Your Christian Convictions (7 page)

Third, questions allow you to make progress on a point without being pushy. Since questions are largely neutral, or at least seem that way, they don't sound "preachy." When you ask a question, you aren't actually stating your own view. There's a further benefit here: If you are not pressing a point, you have nothing to prove and therefore nothing to defend. The pressure is off. You can relax and enjoy the conversation while you wait for an easy opening.

Once, during a dinner party at the home of a well-known comedian, I got into a spirited conversation with the actor's wife about animal rights. I had serious reservations about her ideas, but I didn't contradict her directly. Instead, I asked questions meant to expose some of the weaknesses I saw in her view.

Eventually, she began to challenge what she thought were my own views. I pointed out I'd never actually stated my beliefs.

I'd only been asking
questions,
so strictly speaking, there was nothing for me to defend. I didn't mind answering for my own views, but up to that point they had not come up. I was off the hook.

Finally, and most importantly, carefully placed questions put you in the driver's seat. "Being an asker allows you control of situations that statement-makers rarely achieve," Hewitt notes. "An alert questioner can judge when someone grows uneasy. But don't stop. Just change directions. . . .
Once you learn how to guide a conversation, you have also learned how to control it."
²

It might have occurred to you that Jesus used this method frequently. When facing a hostile crowd, he often asked leading questions meant to challenge his audience or silence his detractors by exposing their foolishness: "Show Me a denarius. Whose likeness and inscription does it have?" (Luke 20:24); "Was the baptism of John from heaven or from men?" (Luke 20:4); "Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, 'Your sins are forgiven'; or to say, 'Arise, and take up your pallet and walk'?" (Mark 2:9).
³

In none of these cases was Jesus speaking idly. He understood the power of a well-placed query. Whenever Jesus asked a question, he had a purpose. In the same way, the
Columbo
tactic is most powerful when you have a plan.

There are three basic ways to use
Columbo
. Each is launched by a different model question.
⁴
These three applications comprise the game plan I use to tame the most belligerent critic. Sometimes I simply want to
gather information.
Other times, I ask a question to
reverse the burden of proof,
that is, to encourage the other person to give the reasons for her own views. Finally, I use questions to
lead the conversation
in a specific direction.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?”

When Lieutenant
Columbo
shows up at a crime scene, the first thing he does is gather facts. In the same way, sometimes you'll need more information before you can proceed in a conversation.

Your initial probe, then, will be open-ended: "What do you mean by that?" (
or
some variation).

This question provides a natural opening for conversation, and it puts no pressure on you. It's delivered in a mild, genuinely inquisitive fashion. It's a simple, virtually effortless way to use
Columbo
, and it has tremendous advantages.

First, this question immediately engages the nonbeliever (or the believer, if the difference of opinion is an in-house theological one) in an interactive way. This makes it an excellent conversation starter. When I noticed the jewelry worn by the witch in Wisconsin and asked, "Does that star have religious significance?" —
a
variation of "What do you mean by that?"—it led to a productive conversation.

There are times when discretion is the better part of valor. For example, if your wife calls you an idiot, don’t ask, "What do you mean by that?” She might oblige by clarifying.

Next, this question uncovers valuable information; it helps you know
what
a person thinks. There are two reasons this is important: You don't want to misunderstand him, and you don't want to misrepresent him.

Some questions or challenges are vague. It makes no sense to move forward if you're confused or unclear about what is being said. For example, the claim that "everything is relative" is wildly ambiguous. It should never pass without a request for clarification. Questions like, "What do you mean by 'relative'?" "Is
everything
relative?" and "Would that apply even to your own statement?" are all in order.

Other challenges are complex. They actually contain a number of specific issues jumbled together. For example, sometimes people claim that God is not necessary to explain morality; evolution can do the job. Since our survival depends on shared ethics, it's clear to them how natural selection could be involved in the process.

But this explanation hopelessly conflates two distinct notions. The first is Darwinian evolution which, by definition, can only explain morality in terms of
genetically determined physical traits
selected for survival (though one wonders how the rest of the animal kingdom seems to have endured very well without it). The second is the "evolution" of
intelligently designed civilization
from a primitive nuclear stage with each local tribe fending for itself, to a social contract stage enabling all to live together in safety and harmony. These are different issues. You may need to probe gently with questions to clear the confusion and then deal with each possibility on its own terms.

Second, if you don't understand a person's point, you may misrepresent it. This is a serious misstep, even when done by accident. Instead of fighting the real issue (your opponent's actual view), you set up a lifeless imitation (a "straw man") that you then easily knock down. If you're guilty of using the straw man fallacy, you may find you have given a brilliant refutation of a view the other person doesn't hold.

Sometimes the reason
you
are confused about another person's meaning is because
she
is confused, too. She objects to Christianity for reasons she hasn't thought through. The objection flourishes because no one has challenged the lack of clarity that led to the muddled thinking in the first place.

Don't be surprised, then, when your question "What do you mean by that?" is met with a blank stare. People don't know what they mean much of the time. Often they're merely repeating slogans. When you ask them to flesh out their concern, opinion, or point of view with more precision, they're struck mute. They are forced to think, maybe for the first time, about exactly what they do mean.

Be patient. Asking questions is the simplest way to clear up the confusion. It also gives you time to size up the situation and gather your thoughts.

Ironically, sometimes a bit more clarity is all that's needed to parry an objection. When someone says to me, "Reincarnation was originally part of Christian teaching, but was taken out of the Bible in the fourth century," I always ask them to explain how that works (a variation of our first
Columbo
question). The devil, as they say, is in the details of such a deception. How does someone remove select lines of text from tens of thousands of handwritten documents that had been circulating around the Mediterranean region for over three hundred years? This would be like trying to secretly remove a paragraph from all the copies of yesterday's
L.A. Times.
It can't be done.

Be sure to pay attention to the response to your questions. If the meaning is still unclear, follow up with more queries. Say, "Let me see if I understand you on this.” Then
feed back
the view to make sure you got it right.

Don't underestimate the power of the question "What do you mean by that?" Use it often. You can ask it in its many variations all day long. It will keep you engaged in productive, genial conversation while keeping the focus and the pressure on the other person, not on you.

lO
-SECOND
WINDOW - REDUX

Earlier in this chapter I posed four different scenarios for you to consider. Then I offered a series of questions that I thought were appropriate responses to each one. My general goal was to use the
Columbo
tactic to get information, buy time, and steer things in a direction I thought might be productive. You may have wondered, though, why I chose the specific questions I did. Here was my thinking.

In "Scene 1," I noticed it was unclear what kind of God was being rejected. For some people, God is an old man with a beard sitting on a throne out in space somewhere. If that's the kind of God they
don't
believe in, then I agree with them. Some reject the notion of a personal God, but still believe in an impersonal god-force that animates the universe. Or it may turn out I'm simply dealing with good old-fashioned naturalistic, materialistic atheism. In any case, I need more information before I can continue.

Even when there seems to be little ambiguity in a remark, a clarification question, even a simple one, can break the tension of an awkward moment and buy you some time. It may even yield information you hadn't expected.

I hope you see the benefit of this minimalist approach, at least as a starting place. When you first encounter an atheist, you could launch into something like the
kalam
cosmological argument for God's existence—if you knew it, if you understood it, and if you remembered it—but that would be premature, wouldn't it? Why make things hard on yourself? A question serves you much better initially.

The demand for proof of God's existence is sometimes a trick. It may be a reasonable request for evidence, but often it is not. Unless you know in advance what kind of evidence would count (scientific? historical? philosophical arguments? revelation?) or what kind of "proof" would be satisfying (absolute proof? proof beyond a reasonable doubt? proof based on the preponderance of evidence?), you'll probably be wasting your time. It's too easy for an intellectually dishonest person to dismiss your efforts. "Not good enough," is all he needs to say.

The charge that belief in God is irrational is common, but completely without basis. I'm not going to let anyone who makes this assertion off easily. I want to know, specifically, how theism is at odds with good thinking. My
Columbo
question forces the person to spell out the problem instead of coasting on vague generalities.

Believing in leprechauns is irrational. Believing in God, by contrast, is like believing in atoms. The process is exactly the same. You follow the evidence of what you
can
see to conclude the existence of something you
cannot
see. The effect needs a cause adequate to explain it.

There is nothing irrational or unreasonable about the idea of a personal God creating the material universe. A Big Bang needs a "big Banger," it seems to me. A complex set of instructions (as in DNA) needs an author. A blueprint requires an engineer. A moral law needs a moral lawgiver. This is not a leap; it is a step of intelligent reflection. Therefore, the question "Specifically, what is irrational about believing in God?" is completely in order.

"Scene 2" presents another common challenge: religious pluralism. My questions were meant to capitalize on a number of weaknesses.

First, the comments show a naive understanding of other religions (they actually vary wildly in fundamental beliefs). Second, pluralism presumes that the similarities between faiths are more important than the differences. Are aspirin and arsenic basically the same because they both come in tablet form? For some things, the differences are critical. Religion is one of them.

It's also clear that Jesus was not a pluralist.
⁵
As an observant Jew, he held to the Ten Commandments. Foremost among them was the first: The Lord is God and we owe fidelity to him alone. All other religions are distortions and deceptions. The early followers of Christ were first called "Christians" in Antioch by
others
(Acts 11:26). Their name for
themselves
was simply "the Way" (Acts 9:2; 19:9, 23; 22:4, 24:14, 22).

Did you notice, by the way, that this "Scene 2" person's minimal theology ("The essence of Jesus' teaching is love, not telling other people how to live or believe") does not allow him to escape his own charge? He has his own theological convictions — love, not judgment—that he thinks should govern how other people think and believe. This, of course, is a judgment itself. That's why I asked, "Isn't telling people to love one another just another example of telling them how they should live and believe?"

In "Scene 3," the key word is "only," as in "the Bible was
only
written by men." Notice that the statement itself presumes what it's attempting to prove, that the Bible is a purely human document. Since this is the very question at issue, the attempt is circular.

But there's a more fundamental problem. Even without God's help, fallible human beings sometimes get it right. Our libraries are filled with books written by mere mortals who seem completely capable of accuracy, insight, and wisdom.
If this is true of so many others, why not of Paul, Peter, John, or Jesus?