Does God Exist? A Socratic Dialogue

“Here we are,” Leo announced grandly, reaching over and plucking a large mug off the barista’s tray before setting it in front of Richard. “Your coffee, interspersed with something erroneously called milk.” Then, with theatrical precision, he began lifting the three smaller 6-ounce ceramic cups, one by one, from the tray, placing them neatly in front of himself.

Richard glanced at the barista, his eyebrows raised in confusion. The barista shrugged, as if to say, This isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve seen from him, and walked back to the counter.

Without a word, Leo picked up the first cup and drained it in one go, exhaling contentedly. “Ah,” he said, as if already rejuvenated. He then grabbed the second cup, drinking half before setting it back down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Alright,” Leo said, leaning forward with renewed focus. “Now we can talk.”

Richard blinked. “Three cappuccinos?

“I’m telling you,” said Leo, “coffee might be an even stronger proof for God’s existence than the contingency argument. One cup make me human, but it takes two to make me—as I said—moderately bearable. Give me a sec.”

Richard folded his arms, watching with a mix of disbelief and amusement as Leo downed the second cappuccino in a matter of seconds. It wasn’t so much drinking as it was inhaling.

“Alright, two down,” Leo said, his eyes already brighter.

“You know,” Richard said, watching him with raised eyebrows, “it might be easier if they just hooked you up to an IV. Then you could sit here all day, reading, arguing, and mainlining caffeine without ever lifting a cup.”

By the time he was midway through the third cappuccino, Leo set the cup down with a satisfied sigh. “Alright,” he said. “Caffeine is kicking in. I feel… better. Let’s talk about why you lack a belief in God.”

Richard leaned back in his chair, swirling his mug of coffee with exaggerated patience.

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Photo by Drew Coffman on Unsplash

Richard: You know, as much fun as it’s been debating the definition of atheism—and by fun, I mean torturous—I’m more interested in this: Why do you believe in God?

Leo: Because it seems like God exists.

Richard: It seems? What do you mean? … Wait, that’s it? You’re sitting here with your stack of books, clearly an intelligent guy, and your answer is that it seems like God exists?

Leo: Yes. Why does that surprise you?

Richard: Because it’s ridiculous! You expect me to believe in God because it seems to you that he exists.

Leo: Oh, no, no. But you didn’t ask me for an argument to convince you that God exists. You asked why I believe in God. And I’m telling you: it seems to me that God exists. Now, if you want to talk about arguments that I think make God’s existence more likely than not, I’d be happy to dive into that—but that’s a different question.

Richard: Okay, well it seems me that there isn’t a God. Checkmate. Atheism wins!

Leo: Well, technically that would be a stalemate. Why does it seem to you that there isn’t a God?

Richard: Look, stop trying to shift the burden of proof. Why think that you’re justified in believing in God just because it seems like God exists?

Leo: Oh, this whole burden of proof business is getting tiring. Look, anyone who holds a belief and wants someone else to share it has a burden of proof—simple as that. Let’s try this: do you believe the external world exists?"

Richard: I don’t want to get off on tangents.

Leo: Oh, It’s not, I assure you.

Richard: Yes, Leo, I accept the reality of the external world.

Leo: Why? What’s your argument for it? Can you prove it isn’t all a simulation, that you’re not dreaming, or that it’s not somehow a figment of your imagination?

Richard: This is ridiculous.

Leo: Oh come on, humor me.

Richard: I don’t need to prove that. I just know the external world exists through my senses.

Leo: Right, but couldn’t you be mistaken? That’s what I meant when I said it could all be a simulation or a dream. For all you know, you might be nothing more than a brain floating in a vat of chemicals, with a mad scientist stimulating your neurons through wires to make you believe you’re sitting in a coffee shop right now. Talking to me. Tasting coffee with—regrettably—oat milk.

Richard: I just accept it. And so do you, which is why we don’t waste time arguing about it. God, on the other hand, is a completely different matter.

Leo: You just accept it? Without argument. And you don’t think that’s ridiculous?

Richard: No. Where are you going with this.

Leo: What about the reality of the past? Perhaps it was created five minutes ago, complete with the appearance of age—memories of events that never happened, breakfasts in our stomachs we never ate, rusted cars, crumbling mountains, and so on? It’s possible, isn’t it? Do you have any argument against that?

Richard: Do I have an argument against the past being an illusion? No, no I don’t. And I don’t need one.

Leo: Exactly! Some beliefs don’t require arguments to be rational.

Richard: But isn’t that the point of rationality? If you believe something, there should be an argument for it. Otherwise, how do you know it’s true?

Leo: That sounds reasonable on the surface, but think about what you’re saying. If every belief had to be based on an argument, where would that leave us?

Richard: It would leave us being more careful about what we believe.

Leo: If every belief requires an argument—not evidence, mind you, but an argument—then the premises of those arguments would also need to be justified. Right?

Richard: Yes.

Leo: And how would you justify those premises? Wouldn’t they also need arguments?

Richard: I suppose so.

Leo: The point is, if every belief required an argument, and every argument required further arguments to justify its premises, we’d be stuck in an infinite regress. We’d never be able to believe anything because we’d always be looking for another argument to back up the one before it.

Richard: Alright, I’ll concede that not everything has to be based on an argument. But surely important beliefs, like whether God exists, should have more than just “it seems that way” behind them.

Leo: I agree that important beliefs deserve careful thought. But just because something is important doesn’t mean it can’t also be foundational. Think of properly basic beliefs—

Richard: Properly basic beliefs?

Leo: Properly basic beliefs are the starting points—the bedrock of our reasoning. They don’t depend on arguments because they’re what make reasoning possible in the first place. Without them, we’d have nothing to build on and would be stuck, unable to believe anything at all.

Richard: And you think belief in God is one of these foundational beliefs?

Leo: For many people, yes. Just like the belief in the external world, the reality of the past, or the existence of other minds. These are things we’re rational to accept unless we’re given a good reason to doubt them. Belief in God, for me, fits into that same category.

Richard: How? The existence of God isn’t as obvious as the existence of the external world or the reality of the past. Again, if it were, we wouldn’t be debating it.

Leo: I’d argue that for many people, it is. Across cultures and throughout history, belief in God or a higher power has been nearly universal. It arises naturally in the human mind. Just as we trust our senses or our memory, we can trust this innate sense of the divine unless we have a good reason not to.

Richard: So, you’re saying belief in God is hardwired into us?

Leo: In a way, yes. If belief in God arises naturally and universally, it’s rational to accept it unless you can show it’s false or incoherent.

Richard: But isn’t that circular? You’re essentially saying, “I believe in God because it seems right, and it seems right because God exists.”

Leo: Not quite. I’m saying that belief in God is properly basic, and properly basic beliefs don’t require arguments to be rational. However, they aren’t immune to challenge. If someone presents a strong defeater—a good reason to doubt the belief—it might no longer be rational to hold it.

Richard: And what if I told you that science has explained away the need for God? We have evolution to explain life, the Big Bang to explain the universe, and neuroscience to explain religious experiences. Doesn’t that count as a defeater?

Leo: Only if you think God is competing with those explanations. I don’t. God isn’t a “gap filler” for things we don’t understand. He’s the ground of being—the reason there’s something rather than nothing. Science can explain how things work, but it can’t explain why the universe exists at all, why the laws of nature exist, or why they’re intelligible to us.

Richard: But even if we can’t explain those things yet, why jump to God as the answer? Isn’t that an argument from ignorance?

Leo: It would be if I were saying, “We don’t know, therefore God.” But I’m not. I do in fact think that God is the best explanation for features of reality like contingency, intelligibility, and existence itself. But even apart from arguments, belief in God is justified as a properly basic belief unless someone can show it’s irrational.

Richard: So it’s on me to prove you wrong?

Leo: If you want me to abandon my belief, yes. Just like if I wanted you to abandon your belief in the external world, I’d have to give you reasons to doubt it. Right?

Richard: Let’s say I grant that belief in God could be properly basic. But people’s “basic beliefs” have been wrong before. People used to think the Earth was flat or that the sun revolved around us. Shouldn’t we be skeptical of anything that just “feels” right?

Leo: That’s a good objection. You’re right—our intuitions aren’t infallible. But that doesn’t mean we should reject all properly basic beliefs. It just means we should test them when possible. With belief in God, many of us find that it not only seems true but also aligns with our experiences of meaning, morality, and the order of the universe.

Richard: But isn’t that subjective? Just because it works for you doesn’t mean it’s true.

Leo: Subjectivity doesn’t automatically invalidate a belief. My belief in other minds is subjective—I can’t prove you’re not a philosophical zombie—but it’s still rational. The same goes for God. Unless you can show that belief in God leads to contradictions or fails to cohere with reality, it’s perfectly rational to hold it.

Richard: You’re putting the burden of proof back on me. You see that, don’t you?

Leo: Once again, you didn’t ask me why I think arguments for God’s existence are more compelling than arguments for atheism. You asked why I believe in God, and I’ve answered. Now, I could tell you the whole story—how, as a seventeen-year-old agnostic punk kid, my parents sent me on a pilgrimage to Rome, how I encountered the love of God there, and how He’s been an ongoing reality in my life ever since. But maybe we’ll save my testimony for another day. If you’re looking for an argument for why you should believe in God, I’d be happy to get into that.

Richard: Fine, but why can’t atheism be a properly basic belief? It seems to me that there isn’t a God. I look up into the sky? I try to pray. I have a properly basic belief—to use that language, that no such being exists.

Leo: Hold on a second. Earlier, you said atheism isn’t a positive belief but rather a lack of belief or a rejection of theistic arguments. If that’s the case, then atheism is based on arguments and objections—it’s a response to theism, not a foundational starting point. Properly basic beliefs, on the other hand, are immediate, non-inferential, and arise naturally from properly functioning cognitive faculties. Philosopher Alvin Plantinga would argue that belief in God fits this description, while atheism doesn’t. Atheism isn’t an intuitive starting point; it’s a reaction to theistic claims.

Richard: I have to get going, but I’ll admit, despite first impressions this has been more enjoyable that I thought it would be. You here the same time every day?

Leo: Every day except Sunday’s. Here, take this book with you.

Richard: Five Proofs of the Existence of God, by Ed Feser. You know, I think I’ll let you hold on to that for now. Maybe we can discuss arguments for God the next time I’m in.

Leo: Sounds good to me!