'Robert,' he said solemnly, 'one thing is certain: if there be a God at all, he is not like that.If there be a God at all, we shall know him by his perfection--his grand perfect truth, fairness, love--a love to make life an absolute good--not a mere accommodation of difficulties, not a mere preponderance of the balance on the side of well-being.Love only could have been able to create.But they don't seem jealous for the glory of God, those men.They don't mind a speck, or even a blot, here and there upon him.The world doesn't make them miserable.They can get over the misery of their fellow-men without being troubled about them, or about the God that could let such things be.7 They represent a God who does wonderfully well, on the whole, after a middling fashion.I want a God who loves perfectly.He may kill; he may torture even; but if it be for love's sake, Lord, here am I.Do with me as thou wilt.'
Had Ericson forgotten that he had no proof of such a God? The next moment the intellectual demon was awake.
'But what's the good of it all?' he said.'I don't even know that there is anything outside of me.'
'Ye ken that I'm here, Mr.Ericson,' suggested Robert.
'I know nothing of the sort.You may be another phantom--only clearer.'
'Ye speik to me as gin ye thocht me somebody.'
'So does the man to his phantoms, and you call him mad.It is but a yielding to the pressure of constant suggestion.I do not know--Icannot know if there is anything outside of me.'
'But gin there warna, there wad be naebody for ye to love, Mr.
Ericson.'
'Of course not.'
'Nor naebody to love you, Mr.Ericson.'
'Of course not.'
'Syne ye wad be yer ain God, Mr.Ericson.'
'Yes.That would follow.'
'I canna imagine a waur hell--closed in amo' naething--wi' naething a' aboot ye, luikin' something a' the time--kennin' 'at it 's a' a lee, and nae able to win clear o' 't.'
'It is hell, my boy, or anything worse you can call it.'
'What for suld ye believe that, than, Mr.Ericson? I wadna believe sic an ill thing as that.I dinna think I cud believe 't, gin ye war to pruv 't to me.'
'I don't believe it.Nobody could prove that either, even if it were so.I am only miserable that I can't prove the contrary.'
'Suppose there war a God, Mr.Ericson, do ye think ye bude (behoved)to be able to pruv that? Do ye think God cud stan' to be pruved as gin he war something sma' eneuch to be turned roon' and roon', and luikit at upo' ilka side? Gin there war a God, wadna it jist be sae--that we cudna prove him to be, I mean?'
'Perhaps.That is something.I have often thought of that.But then you can't prove anything about it.'
'I canna help thinkin' o' what Mr.Innes said to me ance.I was but a laddie, but I never forgot it.I plaguit him sair wi' wantin' to unnerstan' ilka thing afore I wad gang on wi' my questons (sums).
Says he, ae day, "Robert, my man, gin ye will aye unnerstan' afore ye du as ye're tellt, ye'll never unnerstan' onything.But gin ye du the thing I tell ye, ye'll be i' the mids o' 't afore ye ken 'at ye're gaein' intil 't." I jist thocht I wad try him.It was at lang division that I boglet maist.Weel, I gaed on, and I cud du the thing weel eneuch, ohn made ae mistak.And aye I thocht the maister was wrang, for I never kent the rizzon o' a' that beginnin'
at the wrang en', an' takin' doon an' substrackin', an' a' that.Ye wad hardly believe me, Mr.Ericson: it was only this verra day, as Iwas sittin' i' the kirk--it was a lang psalm they war singin'--that ane wi' the foxes i' the tail o' 't--lang division came into my heid again; and first aye bit glimmerin' o' licht cam in, and syne anither, an' afore the psalm was dune I saw throu' the haill process o' 't.But ye see, gin I hadna dune as I was tauld, and learnt a'
aboot hoo it was dune aforehan', I wad hae had naething to gang rizzonin' aboot, an' wad hae fun' oot naething.'
'That's good, Robert.But when a man is dying for food, he can't wait.'
'He micht try to get up and luik, though.He needna bide in 's bed till somebody comes an' sweirs till him 'at he saw a haddie (haddock) i' the press.'
'I have been looking, Robert--for years.'
'Maybe, like me, only for the rizzon o' 't, Mr.Ericson--gin ye'll forgie my impidence.'
'But what's to be done in this case, Robert? Where's the work that you can do in order to understand? Where's your long division, man?'
'Ye're ayont me noo.I canna tell that, Mr.Ericson.It canna be gaein' to the kirk, surely.Maybe it micht be sayin' yer prayers and readin' yer Bible.'
