examples of Catholic teaching, including the papacy, the Eucharist, the sacraments, honoring Mary and the saints, the existence of purgatory, the Mass as a sacrifice, and infant baptism were clearly present in the early Church. My book Why Is That in Tradition? details much of the evidence for these claims. The facts of history, for example, as well as the objective data found in the Bible, are important empirical streams of evidence in the work of apologetics. They assist us in the process of validating or invalidating various theological claims. But those bodies of evidence are really only useful to apologetics when used in discussion and debate between those who already believe in the trustworthiness of the Bible; for example, Jews, in the case of what Christians call the “Old Testament,” and Christians, in the case of the Old and New Testaments. Atheists and non-Christian believers in God, however, do not place any stock in what the Bible says.
Discussion between Christians and atheists involves what is known as “natural apologetics,” an approach in which the Christian seeks to demonstrate the reasonableness of theism solely on logical, rational grounds (that is, without any appeal to anything like “divine revelation,” which atheists reject in any case).
Apologetics geared for non-Christian theists, such as Hindus, Jews, Muslims, and Buddhists, requires what’s known as “Christian apologetics,” in which the common-ground belief that God exists (regardless of how “God” may be understood in any given religion) becomes the foundation upon which the Christian can build the case for the claim that Jesus Christ is truly God incarnate. This is done by demonstrating the ample rational and historical evidence that corroborates this claim.
My experience of encountering objections to Catholic teachings, listening closely to the objection, testing the objection, and drawing a conclusion as to whether or not it was correct usually happened informally, in discussions with non-Catholics, non-Christians, and nontheists. Sometimes these interactions went on long enough to afford me ample time to really dig into the evidence, pro and con, and finally make a determination based on a fair amount of careful study of the facts. Examples of this kind of thing would include long-term apologetics discussions with non-Catholic friends who, over weeks and even months, kept up a sustained effort to dissuade me from being Catholic. Other times, the time frame was more compressed but still significant. One particularly vivid memory of this kind of encounter sticks out in my mind.
Chapter 2
A Case Study in Apologetics Conversations
Years ago, I had to catch an early morning flight out of Orange County’s John Wayne Airport. Stepping into the first-class cabin,4 I was pleased to see that it was largely empty, so I’d likely be able to have plenty of room with no one seated next to me. I glanced at my boarding pass to see what my assigned seat was, and was dismayed that the window seat next to mine was already occupied by a stern-looking Middle Eastern man in his mid-forties. Not knowing if other passengers would arrive just in time to fill up the other seats, I plopped down in my assigned seat with the intention of moving to another seat as soon as the flight was ready to depart.
“Hey, once everyone’s boarded, I’m going to move to another seat so we’ll both have more room,” I told the man next to me. I figured he’d appreciate the extra elbow room if I moved.
“Oh,” he said, unsmilingly. “Does this mean you do not want to sit next to me? Is it because I am a Muslim?”
I was embarrassed that he would suggest such a thing and, I must admit, also chagrined because I had, in fact, felt a mild pang of anxiety when I noticed he was Middle-Eastern.
“Of course not!” I said, not wanting to offend him. “I just figured you’d want extra room.” I realized then that, like it or not, I’d be sitting next to this guy even if the rest of the seats were wide open. After no more than two or three minutes of obligatory small talk he got down to business. I’ll call him Khalid.
“I am a Muslim,” Khalid said matter-of-factly, searching my face to gauge my reaction. “I believe that there is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet. What about you? Do you believe in God?”
Suddenly, I was very happy with my assigned seat. If nothing else, I knew this would be an interesting flight. Man, was I right about that.
“Oh yes. I believe in God!” I smiled broadly. “I’m Catholic and believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Messiah and Savior of the World.”
“Allah does not have a ‘son’!” he parried emphatically. “Jesus, peace be upon him, was a great prophet, but he was not God. In fact, he was a Muslim.”
“Right on!” I thought to myself as I mentally rubbed my hands together in anticipation, “this is going to be a really good flight.”
For the next several hours, Khalid and I had a lively but friendly discussion about Christianity and Islam. He wasted no time getting down to his appeal to me to become a Muslim. I told him I would be happy to listen to any and all reasons he wanted to give to support his beliefs under one condition: When he had said his peace, he must agree to listen with an open mind to my reasons for believing in Jesus Christ. Both of us followed through on this promise. After about an hour of his giving me an uninterrupted series of arguments intended to convince me that Islam is the only true religion, it was my turn.
I spoke first about my personal faith in Jesus, how I had come to believe that he is indeed God, not a god or a godlike being, but God incarnate. It was necessary to explain before all else that Christianity is not, as Muslims mistakenly think, “polytheistic.” The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are not three gods, they are not separate beings, as Khalid was convinced Christians believe. I did my best to explain the Catholic doctrine of the Trinity, that there is One God in Three Persons. This is a profoundly mysterious yet still, to some extent, knowable truth. God, I explained to Khalid, is pure spirit. He is eternal, all-powerful, all-knowing, all good, all holy, utterly transcendent (i.e., outside of space and time and therefore immaterial), and is personal, not some kind of amorphous “force” à la Star Wars. So far, so good. Khalid agreed with all of these beliefs.
“Now,” I pressed further, “because God is infinite, that means there can be no barrier, no limit to his knowledge and his love. The same is true of his freedom and his power.” Everything in the universe, every thing, is finite, no matter how large it may be. The only thing that exists that is infinite is God himself. So, while God knows every thing in the universe perfectly, because each thing is finite, at a certain point it “runs out,” and therefore there is a finite limit to what can be known about it. But God’s knowledge is infinite, I explained. Khalid agreed with this.
I proceeded to say that the only way God’s knowledge could be infinite would be if there were some infinite thing, something that itself had no limits, that he could know infinitely. The only thing that God can know infinitely, I said, is himself. From all eternity, God has known himself. His self-knowledge, in fact, is similar to the image of yourself you see reflected in a mirror. That image of you in the mirror is an exact reflection of you, but it is not you. However, with God, the image of himself, his self-knowledge, his word about himself, cannot be separate from him or else there would be a second “infinite” thing. No, this infinite self-knowledge is in fact not something separate from God himself. It is his Word, a person, the very image and reflection of the Father. Christians know him as the eternal, unbegotten Son of God.5 The Father and the Son know each other perfectly, infinitely, equally, and eternally. This must be so, or else there would be some sort of division or hierarchy in God. And they also know each other perfectly, infinitely, equally, and eternally. This infinite mutual love between the Father and the Son is also a Person, the Holy Spirit. Thus, I explained to Khalid, the Catholic Church,
