Faith & Spirit Quote by Christopher Morley

Morley’s line stages a crisis of curiosity that collapses into something quieter: proximity. The first clause is all human swagger, the fantasy that existence is a cross-examination and God can be pinned down like a witness. “A million questions” is comic exaggeration with teeth; it flatters the modern mind’s belief that meaning is solvable if you just keep interrogating.

Then comes the turn: “when I met Him.” The certainty of that verb - met, not imagined, not sought - short-circuits theology and drags the sentence into the realm of encounter. The questions “fled” as if they were animals spooked by a larger presence. That choice is key: Morley doesn’t claim he nobly renounced inquiry; he suggests inquiry has its own self-preserving logic, and it panics when faced with what it can’t domesticate.

The final tag, “and it didn’t seem to matter,” is the slyest part. It’s not a triumphant conversion story, not even exactly reverent. It’s the unsettling admission that the craving for answers may be less about truth than about control, grievance, or the performance of being the one who sees through things. Morley, a wry observer of everyday life, smuggles a modern psychological insight into a near-mystical scene: some explanations feel urgent only at a distance. Up close, the need to litigate life can dissolve into acceptance - not because the questions were answered, but because the self that needed them loses its grip.