A symbol of the spirit. Well, and Jesus? Surely his true glory also was not that he was a supernatural being, descended out of heaven, but that he was a human individual (actual or fictitious) whose life, through its unique perfection, had become a symbol reigning in the hearts of men, and strengthening them with the vision of love's divinity.

While I was musing about Christ as symbol, the Christian, with downcast eyes, was telling me how, in the light of that bright presence, and of the virtue of the God-man's conduct here on earth, he came to realize with increasing shame and horror the true condition of his own soul, and the ugliness of his own conduct. "My sister," he said, "whom I thought I loved so deeply, I never loved at all. Indeed, how could I love her, never having really known her, save as a comfort for myself? And when at last she failed me, I was resentful. My wife, too, I never loved. Even when I surrendered her, loving her (so I told myself) more than I craved her, the truth was simply that, with her heart elsewhere, she was useless to me; and so, striking a generous pose, I left her. It was the same with all my self-righteous indignation at the barbarities of war. This too was a mere gesture, its nerve not love but a vulgar tangle of mere squeamishness and pride."

With a rueful smile he looked at me and said, "Pathetic! That we should so deceive ourselves!"

Continuing his story, he reminded me that he had entered the cathedral to commit some outrage; but now, he said, he had sat for a long time paralysed with self-loathing because of his new perception of the spirit which his whole life had violated.

Presently (he said) he found himself kneeling with his face bowed in his hands and tears breaking from his closed eyes. His lips formed the silent words, "Oh God, unmake me, destroy me! I have ruined the soul that you created."

At last, he said, the miracle was completed. Christ took full possession of him. His old self-absorbed self fainted into nothingness (or so he believed) and in its place awoke a new self, wholly directed to God. He knew, of course, that he would sin a thousand times daily, through inveterate frailty; but he knew that he was saved.

Yet in a way, he said, he cared little that he was a saved soul, for he was wholly intent upon the loveliness of the spirit that possessed him. He had in a manner outgrown even the desire for salvation. "Strange," he said, "that, although the unregenerate self violently craves immortality, yet when it is killed and reborn, and assured of fulfillment in eternity, it counts this a negligible fact. Its whole beatitude is that now, without any thought of self, it sees God and adores him, and wills only to perform God's will of it." I quickly interposed, "Then why, if you no longer craved eternal life, must you still believe that we do in fact live on eternally as individuals?" He paused, smiling. "That was a shrewd question," he said. There was silence before he answered, "I can say only that I see our immortality, I see our eternal reality. Also, if God should neglect to save his creatures, he would be less than the divine lover, and so not worshipful."

Ignoring my wry face, he pursued his story of his conversion in the cathedral. For a while he had continued kneeling in inarticulate worship, but presently he allowed his gaze and his thoughts to range happily over the cool stonework and the listless, vaguely groping sightseers. It became clear to him that, since Christ had saved him, he must in gratitude fit himself to be a servant of Christ. He must equip himself to the utmost of his power with the traditional wisdom of Christ's Church. So he diffidently approached a priest and begged for guidance. For many weeks he read the scriptures and the records of the saints; and every day he came into the cathedral to pray alone or to take part in the services.

"And now," he said, "I began to discover meaning in all the well-worn doctrines of the Church that formerly had seemed so silly or incredible. For instance, the doctrine of the Trinity began to be intelligible to me. How clear it is that, while God must be thought of as indivisibly one, he must also be three-fold! He must, of course, be the omnipotent Creator; but also he must be the divine Lover, distinct from omnipotence so as to suffer the whole depth of pain and misery; but also he must be the Holy Spirit, emanating from the Creator, inspiring the Lover, and beckoning all of us."

Triumphantly the Christian's eyes sought mine, demanding assent. When my brows puckered, he smiled, as though to a dull child whom one must not discourage. Then, reverting to a simpler matter, more suited to my halting intelligence, he said, "And think again of immortality! When at last my heart was opened to receive the full light and warmth of Christ's divinity, it became clear to me that, though indeed the evil in us must be utterly destroyed, the essential and particular spirit that each of us is must be secured of eternal life through Christ's love. I saw that my sister, generous soul, must (since God is love) find bliss in eternity, and with her, all of us must be destined for salvation; save perhaps some few who irrevocably damn themselves through impenetrable hardness of heart. But for my part I have faith that even these are won by the Love that is all-powerful."

"But how can you know," I protested, "how can you possibly know that Love is God, is an almighty being who rules the universe?" He replied fervently, "I tell you, my heart sees unmistakably that it is so."

Searching my unlit face, he added, "You also shall see. Through me, Christ will save you." We both fell silent.