When I was sixteen I joined the church and was asked if I loved
God. I replied 'Yes,' as was customary and expected. But
instantly with a flash something spoke within me, 'No, you do
not.' I was haunted for a long time with shame and remorse for
my falsehood and for my wickedness in not loving God, mingled
with fear that there might be an avenging God who would punish me
in some terrible way. . . . At nineteen, I had an attack of
tonsilitis. Before I had quite recovered, I heard told a story
of a brute who had kicked his wife down-stairs, and then
continued the operation until she became insensible. I felt the
horror of the thing keenly. Instantly this thought flashed
through my mind: 'I have no use for a God who permits such
things.' This experience was followed by months of stoical
indifference to the God of my previous life, mingled with
feelings of positive dislike and a somewhat proud defiance of
him. I still thought there might be a God. If so he would
probably damn me, but I should have to stand it. I felt very
little fear and no desire to propitiate him. I have never had
any personal relations with him since this painful experience.
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