“I like to think God would be a kind old man. His eyes would laugh when people take Him so serious, and think He’s as fussy as themselves. And He’d have long white whiskers that it’d be lots of fun to pull—so long as it didn’t hurt Him—much.”
“I’m glad you believe there is a God anyway,” I told Nathan, shocked with the lèse-majesté.
“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t said I really do yet. Oh, Billy—we don’t know nothing about Him—not a single thing! Then why is it we keep fooling ourselves that we do? Why not be honest and say we don’t? If there is a God, don’t you suppose He’s wise enough and big enough so He knows we don’t know nothing about Him? Why is it such a sin to refuse to take everything on faith, like old Doctor Dodd is always shouting about, on Sundays? We don’t think it’s any terrible crime to ‘want to be shown’ in business or science. Why should it be in religion? If we’re honest and ready to believe the right thing when we’re shown it is the right thing, why shouldn’t that be enough?”
“You can search me!” I answered.
“Well,” continued Nathan, “I don’t know there is a God—and if there is and He’s Pa’s kind of God, I don’t want anything to do with Him. And if He isn’t Pa’s kind of God, then Pa’s all wrong about all the other things. And if Pa’s all wrong in the other things, then he doesn’t know what he’s talking about in the first place and I’m not obliged to believe him in anything. Oh, Billy, I wish I could live in a world that would just be honest! I wish I could live in a world where people were brave enough to come right out and confess they don’t know anything—about God and religion, I mean,—but were willing to be shown.”
“Don’t you believe in the church and the Cross and everything,—and Jesus Christ?”
“I don’t know what I believe,” Nat repeated angrily. “And I don’t believe any one else does, either, if they’d be honest. I’m sick of being ordered to believe things whether I do or not!”
“But if you don’t believe in the church and the Cross and everything, you’ll go to hell. The Bible says so.”
“I don’t believe there is a hell,” snapped Nathan. “Everybody tells us hell’s a place where the wicked burn forever and ever. Who’s the wickedest man in this town?”
“Why, Jake Pumpton over on the East Road, I guess. Or Mr. Gridley, he swears so much!”