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suppose I’d even go so far as to say that I yearn for it. I want it to be. Maybe that’s God. But I find it difficult to accept any statement as to his identity. And as for claims to be the sole interpreter of that force—the sort of claim made by religions that tell you that they have the sole answer—well, what can one say about such arrogance …”
    “Yet you say that we need religious belief?”
    Isabel did not answer immediately. The problem for her was the divisiveness of religion, its magical thinking, its frequent sheer nastiness. Yet all of that existed side by side with exactly that spirituality that she felt we could not do without; that feeling of awe, of immanence, which she knew was very real, and which enriched and sustained our lives so vitally.
    “Yes, we need it,” Isabel eventually replied. “Because otherwise we live in a world in which there is no real answer to evil.”
    Jane looked at her quizzically. “Not even a socio-biological one? An evolutionary basis to morality?”
    “No. And the point is that we don’t want to live in such a world. We would be unhappy if we thought there was no final justice. And so we have to tell ourselves that it exists.”
    Jane sensed a flaw. “Even if we think it doesn’t?”
    Isabel hesitated. “The fact that we want something to be the case—that we need it to be so—may be reason enough for saying that it actually does exist.”
    “Surely not … Surely it’s more honest to say that arbitrary biological drives compel us to create morality.”
    Isabel did not think so. Evil had to be combated, and we had to be motivated to engage in the battle. If we did not have a compelling intellectual reason to fight against evil, then it would have free play.
    Jane made a gesture of acceptance with her hands. “And so we need a theological perspective to cope with evil? A belief in God is just a tune we whistle to keep our spirits up in the face of something nasty?”
    “No,” said Isabel. “It’s not that simple.”
    Russell, the proprietor, was at their table, ready to take their orders. “And have you decided?”
    Isabel smiled. “About the nature of reality? Or about lunch?”
    They placed their order, and the subject of religion was tacitly set aside. It was a debate, Isabel thought, that had taken centuries and would require centuries more.
    Jane had an afterthought. “Talking of identity,” she said. “A culture requires territory, doesn’t it? Or most do. And lots of territory and lots of people make for influential cultures. Imagine if Sweden were massive—”
    “It is quite big,” suggested Isabel. “Look at a map.”
    “Population-wise.”
    “Rather small,” conceded Isabel.
    “Yes. But imagine that Sweden were the dominant power in the world today. Imagine what a difference it would make. All those wonderful, highly civilised ideas of social democracy and concern for others would have a great army behind them.”
    A Swedish world. The Swedish century
. Isabel had to admit that it sounded attractive, but there was a flaw in the argument, which she pointed out to Jane.
    “Of course, if Sweden were massive, and powerful too, then it wouldn’t be Sweden. It would behave in exactly the same way as any massive and powerful country behaves.”
    Jane nodded. “Yes, I suspect you’re right. And I suppose that at the end of the day things are the way they are and we have to accept them.”
    She paused, trying to recall something, then looked directly at Isabel. Her eyes, thought Isabel, have that curious quality of
depth
; eyes that drew you in. Unusual, intelligent eyes; a bit like Jamie’s, perhaps.
    Jane looked away. She had brought to mind what she wanted to remember. “When I was a young girl there was a poem that I loved—something from A. A. Milne.” She closed her eyes—the memory of poetry sometimes comes easier if eyes are closed—and recited:
    If Rabbit were bigger
    And stronger than Tigger
    Then Tigger’s bad