War in Heaven

An hour's conversation on literature between two ardent minds with a common devotion to a neglected poet is a miraculous road to intimacy.

Why was this bloody world created?" "As a sewer for the stars," a voice in front of him said. "Alternatively to know God and to glorify Him forever." " [...] The two answers are not, of course, necessarily alternative.

The telephone bell was ringing wildly, but without result, since there was no-one in the room but the corpse.

but it was a religion which enabled him to despise himself and everyone else without despising the universe, thus allowing him at once in argument or conversation to the advantages of the pessimist and the optimist.

There is no possible idea," Kenneth thought as he came onto the terrace, "to which the mind of man can't supply some damned alternative or other. Yet one must act.

[...] the war between good and evil existed no longer, for the thing beneath the Graal was not fighting but vomiting.

. . . but something awaits him surely of ruin and of despair.” “It may be,” the stranger said, “but perhaps a happy ruin and a fortunate despair. These things are not evil in themselves, and I think you fear them over much.” “I fear all things,” Lionel answered, “and I do not understand how it is that men do not fear them more. In the town it is bad enough, but there one is deafened and blinded by people and things. But here everything is so still and meditative, and I am afraid of what those meditations are. . . . Can’t you see that when life is most pleasant one suspects it most? Unless one can drug oneself with the moment and forget.” “I do not think you drug yourself much, the stranger said, smiling. “Are you sure you do not love your fears?

The Archdeacon gripped it (the chalice) more firmly, and, keeping his eyes on it, turned to face the others. Something is going on, he said, almost harshly. I do not know what. It may be that God is dissolving it-but I think there is devilry. Make yourselves paths for the Will of God . . .” “Pray,” the Archdeacon cried out, “pray, in the name of God. They are praying against him tonight. . . .” “Against what shall we pray?” The Duke cried. “Against nothing,” the Archdeacon said. “Pray that he who made the universe may sustain the universe, that in all things there may be delight in the justice of His will.” . . . The tower was indeed a tower of defence, though it offered no aggression, and resisted whatever there was to be resisted merely by its own immovable calm.

How can you insult God?” the Archdeacon asked. “About as much as you can pull his nose. . . . for him to have done it in order to avenge God would have been silly.

Mornington suspected his Christianity of being the inevitable result of having moved for some time as a youth of eighteen in circles which were, in a rather detached and superior way, opposed to it; but it was a religion which enabled him to despise himself and everyone else without despising the universe, thus allowing him at once in argument or conversation the advantages of the pessimist and the optimist.

Go to church? Yes, if you like, I’m afraid”, she added, blushing rather more deeply as she looked at the stranger again, “that we don’t go as regularly as we should.” “It is a means,” he answered, “one of the means. But perhaps the best for most, and for some almost the only one. I do not say that it matters greatly, but the means cannot both be and not be. If you do not use it, it is a pity to bother about it; if you do, it is a pity not to use it.

All that day, since he had talked with Gregory in the morning, he had been conscious that the power to which he had slowly taught himself to live in obedience was gradually withdrawing and abandoning him. Steadily and continuously that process went on, till now, as he faced his enemies, he felt the interior loss which had attacked him at other stages of his pilgrimage grow into a final overwhelming desolation. He said to himself again, as he so often said, “This also is Thou,” for desolation as well as abundance was but a means of knowing That which was All. But he felt extraordinarily lonely in the darkness . . .

For his - it doesn’t at all matter - mercy endureth forever,” the Archdeacon concluded, with a genial smile. He seemed to be rising moment by moment into a kind of delirious delight. His eyes moved from one to the other, changing from mere laughter as he looked at the Colonel into an impish and teasing mischief for Persimmons, and showing a feeling of real affection as they rested on Kenneth, between whom and himself there had appeared the beginnings of a definite attraction and friendship. Gregory looked at him with a certain perplexity. He understood Sir Giles’ insolent rudeness, though he despised it as Giles despised his own affectation of smoothness. But he saw no reason in the Archdeacon’s amusement, and began to wonder seriously whether Ludding’s blow had affected his mind.