The drowned butterfly lay still. Presently the cat, emerging from some shelter, strode haughtily, with the mouse limp between its teeth.

But now the Christian, who had so patiently waited, was saying, "At last you are seeing (are you not?) that Christ redeems all suffering." I could not answer, except by a gesture of perplexity.

While I was searching for a reply, a starling alighted by the dead butterfly, cocked an eye in our direction, gobbled the prize, stood for a moment quizzically regarding me with its head on one side, squawked insolently and then took wing.

Suddenly I saw the Christian and myself as two large and solemn bipeds making strange noises at each other. The words that I had been using in my own mind echoed in my memory as poor animal calls labouring to signify things utterly beyond their range. How can the primitive grunts of any terrestrial animal ever signify truth about the depths and heights of reality? The little net of human discourse can sample only the ocean's surface, and all its harvest is flotsam. How should it possibly reach down to the beauties and horrors of the deep? Human reason, a fluttering moth, can never soar.

Then what, I asked myself, was the appropriate attitude to the dark-bright, hideous-lovely Whole? Fear? Proud rebellion? Obsequious worship? Rather, I told myself, a difficult blend of acceptance in the heart and cold scrutiny in the mind.

Acceptance, merely? For a moment the presence of the Whole, or of some greater thing beyond the Whole, seemed to bear down upon me in inconceivable majesty. My heart whispered, "Thou! Oh, Thou!"

But immediately another thought, another prayer, was wrung from me. "Oh, let my heart strongly feel that presence, but let my mind be utterly silent before it. For even if I say, 'Thou! Oh, Thou,' I say too much."

Praying in this strange way, I laughed.

*****

Thereupon the Christian, mistaking my long silence and final bark of laughter, slipped his arm in mine and said, "My friend you have won through. Merciful Christ has saved you."

But at his touch I had stiffened, and now his arm retreated. Our eyes met, and for a long moment each searched the other.

I was preparing to do battle against his proselytising, and to conquer his faith. But his eyes checked me. For his Christ had indeed saved him from his self-loving despair; and without his Christ he might be lost. In his present state of partial waking (so I told myself, perhaps complacently) he could not endure the severer vision.

So I said, "You have been very good to me, and very patient. But the upshot is that your way is not mine. You need belief; for me it is unnecessary. Without it I travel lighter, yes and perhaps farther. Strangely, in my unbelief I gain full peace, the peace that passes understanding. And joy too. I have found joy in the sheer given reality, with all its dark-bright beauty. Light has come to you in one way, to me in another. And though you have not won me, I am grateful to you. Let neither of us grudge the other his vision.

He was silent for some time. Then in a low voice he said, "I think you do not fully know what suffering is, and the illumination that it brings. May God take all joy from you, may he torment you as he tormented me, so that at last your eyes may be opened, and the true light may save you."

Smiling, I offered my hand in parting. He gripped it, and we stood in silence. Then, he said, "God works in a mysterious way. If ever you need me I will help you." And I, laughing, replied, "And if someday your faith fails you, remember there is another way, and perhaps I can help." I left him.

Looking back, I saw him standing between the two stone angels, his eyes downcast, under the grooved archway, under the great west front that bombs had marred.

*****

Well, I have told you. And in your presence my mind runs clearer. For now I see that, though on a certain level the truth was mainly on my side, it was marred by an unwitting complacency, an intellectual and perhaps a spiritual arrogance. I did not after all take deeply enough to heart my own mind's inadequacy.