Does God really exist or is the concept just a grand but primitive delusion? Is he an infinite personal God or just a piece of folklore passed down through the centuries? IN A MOUSE'S MIND ___________________________________________________________________________________ Two mice, Herman and Melvin, stretched out on a couch eating Nacho Cheese Doritos. ___________________________________________________________________________________ Herman: Somethin’ tastes funny with these things. Here try one. Melvin:Yeah, you’re right. They’re cutting down of the cheese again! Herman: Yeah, that’s what I thought. I spend half the day scrounging these things and whatdaya get? Not enough cheese to fill a thimble. We gotta do some-thing. Melvin: Winter’s comin’ and we’re gonna be lookin’ mighty slim come spring ‘lessen we store up. Herman: Are you my mother? Melvin: What? Herman: Ya sound just like my mother. I know we gotta store up! Whatdaya think I’m sittin’ around resting for? So I’ve got the strength to get up and grab some grub! Don’t worry. There’s lots of corn up there. I’ve seen it. Melvin: Yeah, I’ve seen it too. . . . Funny. Every year I worry about getting’ enough food. And every year the corn shows up in the field. Herman: That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell ya. It shows up every year. What makes ya think it won’t this time? Melvin: I don’t know. I guess I just wonder how it gets there. Herman: Who cares how it gets there! The point is, we got a great thing goin’ here. Our hole is smack dab in the middle of the biggest corn field in the world. No use feelin’ guilty about it. Might as well go up and check out the crop, shall we? Melvin: You go ahead. I’ll be up in a minute. Herman: Okay, Melvin, level with me. First ya tell me how we need to store up and then ya don’t wanna go. What’s up? Melvin: I don’t know. I guess I’m still thinkin’ about the corn. Herman: What about it? Melvin: It’s like it just shows up every year. We don’t do anything. We don’t plant it, we don’t water it, we don’t weed it. It just shows up. Herman: Like it always has and always will. What’s the big deal? Melvin: It just seems strange to me that it does that all on its own. It makes me think that . . . well, you know what they used to say. Herman: Who used to say? Melvin: Our parents. And their parents. And their — Herman: (interrupting) Oh, no. You’re not gonna — Melvin: (interrupting) Herman, the more I think about it, the more I wonder. What if there really is . . . a farmer? Herman: Oh, Melvin. Get a hold of yourself. That’s a crazy — Melvin: (interrupting) But think about it, Herman. How does the corn show up every year? Herman: Melvin, that’s so simple it’s insulting. Corn is a germinating plant. Don’t you remember fifth grade science? The kernels that are unused are the seeds for next years crop. That’s why I never gather too much. Don’t wanna steal next year’s dinner. Melvin: I know all that, Herm. But why does the corn always grow in rows? I mean you’d think it would grow in random order if it was by chance. Why can you look straight down a row like . . . Herman: Like what? Melvin: Like somebody planted it. Herman: Oh, come on. Who could plant it? Even if we both worked all day . . . even if every mouse in the county worked all day, we couldn’t begin to touch a field this size. Melvin: I know. That’s my point. The only way it could be planted is if there was some body much bigger than us. Like . . . Herman: A farmer. Melvin: Exactly. Herman: Belief in a farmer is a relic of a bygone age. Our ancestors were fearful mouses – mooses – meece – mice. Where do you think we got the phrase, “as cowardly as a mouse?” They were afraid that nature would somehow destroy them, flood their holes and burn their food. So they created the idea of a farmer to comfort themselves. The idea that someone was in charge of the field made them feel better. They figured if they could keep their imaginary “farmer” happy, he’d make sure they survived. Melvin: And you don’t buy that anymore . . . Herman: Oh, I used to. My grandfather used to set me on his knee. We’d have cheese whiz and crackers, and he’d tell me farmer stories about how such and such a mouse saw the farmer or such and such a mouse was protected by the farmer. But it’s somethin’ ya grow out of. Melvin: Like Santa Mouse. Herman: Exactly. We don’t need some invisible being to take care of us. We do pretty well ourselves, don’t we? (patting stomach) We’ve got a nice hole — biggest in the field – lots of food and good friends. You and me, Mel. We can take care of ourselves. Melvin: What about the house? Herman: What house? Melvin: Don’t play dumb, Herm. You remember that night we got turned around and went way too far west. Remember when we saw it? Herman: I didn’t see anything. Melvin: You did, too! You’re the one who pointed it out. Silhouetted against the sky, it was unmistakable. A large white house. The kind farmers live in. Herman: It coulda been anything. Melvin: It was a house, Herman. You know that as well as I do. My grandmouse told me the farmer built one of those a long time ago to live in. Now how did that get there if the farmer didn’t build it? Herman: I don’t know! Maybe it’s always been there. For farmer’s sake, why are you so fascinated by all this? Melvin: See you said it! Herman: Said what? Melvin: “For farmer’s sake.” Even you talk about the farmer. Herman: It’s a figure of speech, Mel. It doesn’t mean anything. Melvin: Then why does everybody talk about it? Everywhere I go it’s “farmer this” and “farmer that.” All our best stories have a farmer in them. All our history is laced with farmer legends! Herman: It’s our past, Mel. I don’t deny that. But it’s not the future! The idea of a farmer doesn’t fit any more. There’s nothing to confirm it. You just can’t prove it. Melvin: And then there’s those darn shakes! How do you explain that? Herman: Earthquakes. They’re very common in this area. Melvin: Or maybe it’s the farmer! Herman: Oh, come on . . . Melvin: I’m serious! What if he’s up there right now walkin’ around the field! Herman: Mel, you’re losin it! Melvin: Or maybe I’m findin’ it. Have you ever been outside during a quake? Herman: Of course not. Melvin: Me neither. But it’s time I went. (starts to go) Herman: Mel. Get back here! You know it’s not safe. Melvin: That’s what everybody says. “Don’t go out during a quake. It’s not safe.” Maybe they don’t want us to find out. Well I’m goin’! (starts to go) Herman: Mel, wait! Wait just a minute! (Mel stops) Now let’s think for a minute. Let’s suppose, hypothetically speaking, there is a farmer out there. What concern is that to you? And how do you know you even want to meet him? What if he’s mad at ya? Or suppose he hates mice? Then whatta you gonna do? Melvin: Well, now, that’s mighty strange comin’ from you. I thought you were so sure there’s no such thing as a farmer. Herman: Mel, I’m gonna tell you something I never told you before. One day, when I was just a little scrounger, I heard a story. I don’t know if it’s true or not. But my cousin Harold found something once. It was in the basement. Melvin: Then there is a house! Herman: At least according to Harold. He said it was ghastly. A terrible machine near the trash pile. It had a wooden base and a huge metal spring that propelled this steel bar. Then there was a place to put cheese. Cheese, Mel. That’s for mice! He said it looked like it was designed to be some sort of trap. When some poor mouse like you comes along and grabs it, the steel bar comes whipping over and (karate chops) . . . you’re history. Melvin: So you think the farmer hates mice? Herman: Sounds like it to me. Melvin: Maybe he just hates them when they come uninvited into his house and steal his cheese. Maybe that’s why our parents always told us to stay away from anything that looks like a house. Herman: Maybe. Or maybe . . . if you did find him . . . he’d squish you under his boot like an overripe tomater. Melvin: Maybe. I guess I’ll find out won’t I? The Farmer: Man: Hey honey, you shoulda seen what I saw today. I was out in the east field and I almost stepped on this little tiny mouse. He was so scared he could barely move. Poor little fella was frozen in fear. I picked him up and he just stared at me. So I put him down and gave him a little piece of licorice. He just stood there for a second and then ran off down his hole. Hope I didn’t scare him too bad . . . ___________________________________________________________________________________ Written by Dave McClellan