The Witch in Wisconsin
Read this short story from Greg Koukl's book Tactics. Then, consider signing up for the Core Class based on the book beginning March 1st.
THE WITCH IN WISCONSIN
"Several years ago, while on vacation at our family retreat in northern Wisconsin, my wife and I stopped at a store in town to get some photos digitized. I noticed that the woman helping us had a large pentagram—a five-pointed star often associated with the occult—dangling from her neck.
“Does that star have religious significance,” I asked, pointing to the pendant, “or is it just jewelry?”
“Yes, it has religious significance,” she answered. “The five points stand for earth, wind, fire, water, and spirit.” Then she added, “I’m a pagan.”
My wife, caught off guard by the woman’s candor, couldn’t suppress a laugh, then quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I’ve never heard anyone actually admit right out that they are pagan,” she explained. She knew the term only as a negative one used by her friends yelling at their kids: “Get in here, you bunch of pagans!”
“So you’re Wiccan?” I continued.
She nodded. Yes, she was a witch. “It’s an earth religion,” the woman explained, “like the Native Americans. We respect all life.”
“If you respect all life,” I ventured, “then I suppose you’re pro-life on the abortion issue.”
She shook her head. “No, actually I’m not. I’m pro-choice.”
I was surprised. “Isn’t that an unusual position for someone in Wicca to take—I mean, since you’re committed to respecting all life?”
“You’re right. It is odd,” she admitted. Then she qualified herself. “I know I could never do that,” she said, referring to abortion. “I could never kill a baby. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt someone else, because it might come back on me.”
Now, this was a remarkable turn in the conversation, for two reasons. First, notice the words she used to describe abortion. By her own admission, abortion was baby killing. The phrase wasn’t a rhetorical flourish of mine; this was her own description.2 I did not have to persuade her that abortion takes the life of an innocent human being. She already knew it.
What she didn’t realize, though, was that her candid admission had given me a leg up in the discussion, and I was not going to waste that opportunity. For the rest of the conversation, I abandoned the word abortion. It would be baby killing instead...
Second, I thought it surprising that her first reason for not hurting a defenseless child was self-interest—something bad might befall her. Is that the best she can do? I thought. This comment was worth pursuing, but I ignored it and took a different tack.
“Well, maybe you wouldn’t do anything to hurt a baby, but other people would,” I countered calmly. “Shouldn’t we do something to stop them from killing babies?”
“I think women should have a choice,” she responded quickly, without thinking.
Now, generally statements like, “Women should have a choice” are meaningless as they stand. Like the statement, “I have a right to take . . .” the claim requires an object. Choose what? Take what? No one has an open-ended right to choose. People only have the right to choose particular things. Whether anyone has a right to choose depends on what choice they have in mind.
In this case, though, there was no ambiguity. The woman had already identified what the choice amounted to: baby killing, to use her words. Even though she personally respected all life, including human life, this was not a belief she was comfortable forcing on others. Women still should have the choice to kill their own babies.
That was her view. She did not state her conviction in those words, of course, but that was clearly what she believed.
When bizarre ideas like these are implied, do not let them lurk in the shadows. Drag them into the light with a request for clarification. Make the implicit idea explicitly obvious. That is what I did next.
“Do you mean women should have the choice to kill their own babies?”
“Well . . .” She thought for a moment. “I think all things should be taken into consideration on this question.”
“Okay, tell me: what kind of considerations would make it alright to kill a baby?”
“Incest,” she answered.
I was not surprised by her response, since the line is part of the pro-choice playbook, but I don’t want you to miss something significant here.
This dear young woman was advancing her view by trotting out standard slogans in favor of abortion: women have a right to choose, all things should be taken into consideration, incest justifies abortions. Yet in this case, her slogans did not defend abortion in the abstract but explicitly promoted baby killing.
The fact hadn’t registered with her, though, because her slogans were getting in the way. She was simply reciting her lines without thinking. However, you can see that from where I stood, the conversation was starting to sound a little weird.
This happens all the time, of course, on both sides of the aisle. We trot out our pet slogans—whether secular ones or Christian ones—letting our catchphrases do the work that careful, thoughtful conversation should be doing instead. The habit often obscures the full significance (or ramifications, in this case) of our words.
I decided to take the conversation one step farther, hoping to break the slogan spell.
“Hmm. Let me see if I understand your view,” I said. “Let’s just say I had a two-year-old child standing next to me who had been conceived as a result of incest. On your view, it seems, I should have the liberty to kill her. Is that right?”
This last question stopped her in her tracks. Though the notion was clearly absurd, it was also clear that she was deeply committed to her pro-choice convictions. She had no snappy slogan to respond with and had to pause for a moment to think about the corner she had backed herself into. Finally, she said, “I’d have mixed feelings about that.” It was the best she could do.
Of course, she meant this as a concession, but it was a desperately weak response. (“Killing a two-year-old? Gee, you got me on that one. I’ll have to think about it.”)
“I hope so,” was all I had the heart to say. At this point, I noticed a line of customers forming behind me. I realized our conversation was interfering with her work, and my brief opportunity had come to a close.
True, I hadn’t gotten to the gospel, but that was not the direction this conversation was going. This wasn’t a gospel moment but a gardening moment that involved a vital moral issue. It was time to abandon the pursuit, entrust her to the Lord, and move on. My wife and I finished our transaction, wished her well, and departed."
Join us beginning March 1st, 10:50-11:20am for an 8-week Core Class where we will aim to sharpen our conversation skills as ambassadors for Christ. Register and receive a free copy of Tactics!
THE WITCH IN WISCONSIN
"Several years ago, while on vacation at our family retreat in northern Wisconsin, my wife and I stopped at a store in town to get some photos digitized. I noticed that the woman helping us had a large pentagram—a five-pointed star often associated with the occult—dangling from her neck.
“Does that star have religious significance,” I asked, pointing to the pendant, “or is it just jewelry?”
“Yes, it has religious significance,” she answered. “The five points stand for earth, wind, fire, water, and spirit.” Then she added, “I’m a pagan.”
My wife, caught off guard by the woman’s candor, couldn’t suppress a laugh, then quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I’ve never heard anyone actually admit right out that they are pagan,” she explained. She knew the term only as a negative one used by her friends yelling at their kids: “Get in here, you bunch of pagans!”
“So you’re Wiccan?” I continued.
She nodded. Yes, she was a witch. “It’s an earth religion,” the woman explained, “like the Native Americans. We respect all life.”
“If you respect all life,” I ventured, “then I suppose you’re pro-life on the abortion issue.”
She shook her head. “No, actually I’m not. I’m pro-choice.”
I was surprised. “Isn’t that an unusual position for someone in Wicca to take—I mean, since you’re committed to respecting all life?”
“You’re right. It is odd,” she admitted. Then she qualified herself. “I know I could never do that,” she said, referring to abortion. “I could never kill a baby. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt someone else, because it might come back on me.”
Now, this was a remarkable turn in the conversation, for two reasons. First, notice the words she used to describe abortion. By her own admission, abortion was baby killing. The phrase wasn’t a rhetorical flourish of mine; this was her own description.2 I did not have to persuade her that abortion takes the life of an innocent human being. She already knew it.
What she didn’t realize, though, was that her candid admission had given me a leg up in the discussion, and I was not going to waste that opportunity. For the rest of the conversation, I abandoned the word abortion. It would be baby killing instead...
Second, I thought it surprising that her first reason for not hurting a defenseless child was self-interest—something bad might befall her. Is that the best she can do? I thought. This comment was worth pursuing, but I ignored it and took a different tack.
“Well, maybe you wouldn’t do anything to hurt a baby, but other people would,” I countered calmly. “Shouldn’t we do something to stop them from killing babies?”
“I think women should have a choice,” she responded quickly, without thinking.
Now, generally statements like, “Women should have a choice” are meaningless as they stand. Like the statement, “I have a right to take . . .” the claim requires an object. Choose what? Take what? No one has an open-ended right to choose. People only have the right to choose particular things. Whether anyone has a right to choose depends on what choice they have in mind.
In this case, though, there was no ambiguity. The woman had already identified what the choice amounted to: baby killing, to use her words. Even though she personally respected all life, including human life, this was not a belief she was comfortable forcing on others. Women still should have the choice to kill their own babies.
That was her view. She did not state her conviction in those words, of course, but that was clearly what she believed.
When bizarre ideas like these are implied, do not let them lurk in the shadows. Drag them into the light with a request for clarification. Make the implicit idea explicitly obvious. That is what I did next.
“Do you mean women should have the choice to kill their own babies?”
“Well . . .” She thought for a moment. “I think all things should be taken into consideration on this question.”
“Okay, tell me: what kind of considerations would make it alright to kill a baby?”
“Incest,” she answered.
I was not surprised by her response, since the line is part of the pro-choice playbook, but I don’t want you to miss something significant here.
This dear young woman was advancing her view by trotting out standard slogans in favor of abortion: women have a right to choose, all things should be taken into consideration, incest justifies abortions. Yet in this case, her slogans did not defend abortion in the abstract but explicitly promoted baby killing.
The fact hadn’t registered with her, though, because her slogans were getting in the way. She was simply reciting her lines without thinking. However, you can see that from where I stood, the conversation was starting to sound a little weird.
This happens all the time, of course, on both sides of the aisle. We trot out our pet slogans—whether secular ones or Christian ones—letting our catchphrases do the work that careful, thoughtful conversation should be doing instead. The habit often obscures the full significance (or ramifications, in this case) of our words.
I decided to take the conversation one step farther, hoping to break the slogan spell.
“Hmm. Let me see if I understand your view,” I said. “Let’s just say I had a two-year-old child standing next to me who had been conceived as a result of incest. On your view, it seems, I should have the liberty to kill her. Is that right?”
This last question stopped her in her tracks. Though the notion was clearly absurd, it was also clear that she was deeply committed to her pro-choice convictions. She had no snappy slogan to respond with and had to pause for a moment to think about the corner she had backed herself into. Finally, she said, “I’d have mixed feelings about that.” It was the best she could do.
Of course, she meant this as a concession, but it was a desperately weak response. (“Killing a two-year-old? Gee, you got me on that one. I’ll have to think about it.”)
“I hope so,” was all I had the heart to say. At this point, I noticed a line of customers forming behind me. I realized our conversation was interfering with her work, and my brief opportunity had come to a close.
True, I hadn’t gotten to the gospel, but that was not the direction this conversation was going. This wasn’t a gospel moment but a gardening moment that involved a vital moral issue. It was time to abandon the pursuit, entrust her to the Lord, and move on. My wife and I finished our transaction, wished her well, and departed."
Join us beginning March 1st, 10:50-11:20am for an 8-week Core Class where we will aim to sharpen our conversation skills as ambassadors for Christ. Register and receive a free copy of Tactics!