'Who is He to whom you ask me to turn? You talk to me of Him as my Father; but you talk of Him to men of your own creed as The Father. You have mysterious dogmas of a Three in One. I know them . . . I have admired them. In all their forms--in the Vedas, in the Neo- Platonists, in Jacob Boehmen, in your Catholic creeds, in Coleridge, and the Germans from whom he borrowed, I have looked at them, and found in them beautiful phantasms of philosophy, . . . all but scientific necessities; . . . but--' 'But what?' 'I do not want cold abstract necessities of logic: I want living practical facts. If those mysterious dogmas speak of real and necessary properties of His being, they must be necessarily interwoven in practice with His revelation of Himself?' 'Most true. But how would you have Him unveil Himself?' 'By unveiling Himself.' 'What? To your simple intuition? That was Semele's ambition. . . . You recollect the end of that myth. You recollect, too, as you have read the Neo-Platonists, the result of their similar attempt.' 'Idolatry and magic.' 'True; and yet, such is the ambition of man, you who were just now envying Tregarva, are already longing to climb even higher than Saint Theresa.' 'I do not often indulge in such an ambition. But I have read in your Schoolmen tales of a Beatific Vision; how that the highest good for man was to see God.' 'And did you believe that?' 'One cannot believe the impossible--only regret its impossibility.' 'Impossibility? You can only see the Uncreate in the Create--the Infinite in the Finite--the absolute good in that which is like the good. Does Tregarva pretend to more? He sees God in His own thoughts and consciousnesses, and in the events of the world around him, imaged in the mirror of his own mind. Is your mirror, then, so much narrower than his?' 'I have none. I see but myself, and the world, and far above them, a dim awful Unity, which is but a notion.' 'Fool!--and slow of heart to believe! Where else would you see Him but in yourself and in the world? They are all things cognisable to you. Where else, but everywhere, would you see Him whom no man hath seen, or can see?' 'When He shows Himself to me in them, then I may see Him. But now-- ' 'You have seen Him; and because you do not know the name of what you see--or rather will not acknowledge it--you fancy that it is not there.' 'How in His name? What have I seen?' 'Ask yourself. Have you not seen, in your fancy, at least, an ideal of man, for which you spurned (for Mellot has told me all) the merely negative angelic--the merely receptive and indulgent feminine-ideals of humanity, and longed to be a man, like that ideal and perfect man?' 'I have.'