The Senior Common Room was enjoying a particularly civil afternoon.
Professor Quillibrace had nearly reached the end of an essay without wishing to annotate it.
He regarded this as an encouraging sign.
The tranquillity ended with the arrival of Mr Blottisham.
He entered carrying a small brass bell.
Professor Quillibrace looked at it with measured concern.
"My dear Blottisham."
"Professor."
"You appear to have become an instrument."
"I've brought one."
"I was hoping the distinction might prove significant."
Miss Stray entered carrying the teapot.
She looked at the bell.
"What is today's experiment?"
Blottisham placed it carefully upon the table.
"I've been thinking about arguments."
Professor Quillibrace nodded.
"The bell is because..."
"I thought someone ought to ring it..."
"...whenever the discussion was over."
A long silence followed.
Miss Stray smiled.
"I wonder who would decide."
Blottisham looked pleased.
"The winner."
Professor Quillibrace slowly removed his spectacles.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"What exactly does one win?"
"The argument."
"And what does one receive?"
Blottisham hesitated.
"I hadn't reached that stage."
"I rather suspected as much."
Miss Stray poured the tea.
"I've noticed something."
"What?"
"We often speak as though conversations were races."
Blottisham nodded.
"The first to the finish."
"Or battles."
"The last person standing."
Professor Quillibrace looked thoughtfully at the bell.
"And both metaphors have rather unfortunate consequences."
Blottisham frowned.
"How so?"
"If a race..."
"...one wishes to arrive first."
"And if a battle?"
"...one wishes to eliminate the opposition."
Blottisham looked mildly alarmed.
"Neither sounds much like learning."
"No."
"They sound rather like administration."
Miss Stray laughed.
"A regrettably accurate observation."
The fire crackled quietly.
Outside, students wandered across the quadrangle, occasionally stopping to continue conversations they had apparently intended to finish several minutes earlier.
Eventually Blottisham spoke again.
"I've been watching debates."
Professor Quillibrace smiled.
"My condolences."
"Everyone wanted the final word."
"A familiar ambition."
"Nobody seemed interested..."
"...in asking the final question."
The room became unexpectedly quiet.
Professor Quillibrace looked genuinely pleased.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"I believe you've rung the bell rather early."
Blottisham looked puzzled.
"Have I?"
"You've already reached the interesting part."
Miss Stray stirred her tea.
"I wonder whether the last word is really the point at which curiosity stops."
Blottisham considered this.
"I've always thought it was the point at which certainty begins."
"Perhaps."
"And perhaps not."
Professor Quillibrace leaned back.
"There is a curious temptation."
"What is it?"
"To mistake silence..."
"...for agreement."
Blottisham blinked.
"But if nobody replies..."
"Yes?"
"...haven't they accepted the argument?"
The Professor smiled.
"Or they may simply have gone home."
Miss Stray laughed.
"I have occasionally adopted precisely that strategy."
Blottisham made a note.
Silence is an ambiguous achievement.
For a while they drank their tea.
The little brass bell sat quietly upon the table.
Eventually Blottisham asked,
"Professor?"
"Yes?"
"How do you know when a conversation has finished?"
Quillibrace thought for a long time.
Finally he replied,
"I don't."
"You don't?"
"I know when people stop speaking."
"And that's different?"
"Frequently."
Miss Stray nodded.
"I've had conversations continue for several days..."
"...entirely inside my own head."
"So have I."
Professor Quillibrace smiled.
"I suspect that is where the better half of philosophy occurs."
Outside, the College clock struck four.
Neither of them reached for the bell.
Blottisham noticed.
"Aren't we finished?"
The Professor looked surprised.
"I hope not."
"But we've answered several questions."
"Indeed."
"And surely that means we've arrived."
Quillibrace looked gently amused.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"When explorers reach the top of a hill..."
"Yes?"
"...what do they usually discover?"
Blottisham thought for a moment.
"Another hill."
"Precisely."
Miss Stray looked towards the window.
"I sometimes think understanding is rather like that."
"No final destination?"
"No."
"Only wider horizons."
The room settled into one of those comfortable silences that seemed perfectly content to exist without explanation.
After a while Blottisham looked again at the bell.
"I think I understand."
"Do you?"
"I brought it because I imagined the purpose of a conversation..."
"...was to discover who should ring it."
"And now?"
"I think the important thing..."
He paused.
"...is whether anyone leaves..."
"...with a better question than the one they brought."
Professor Quillibrace slowly lifted his teacup.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"I believe you have just rendered the bell unnecessary."
Blottisham smiled.
"I rather liked it."
"So do I."
Miss Stray reached across the table and gently picked it up.
"What shall we do with it?"
Professor Quillibrace considered.
"Leave it on the mantelpiece."
"As a reminder?"
"No."
"What, then?"
He smiled.
"So that whenever one of us becomes convinced we have spoken the final word..."
"...we may remember..."
He nodded towards the silent brass bell.
"...that wisdom rarely announces its own conclusion."
The afternoon light slowly faded across the old carpet.
Outside, evening gathered over St Anselm's.
Inside, the conversation wandered elsewhere, as good conversations always seemed to do.
The little bell remained upon the mantelpiece.
Many visitors assumed it had once been used to summon tea.
Only three people in the College knew its true purpose.
It waited quietly...
...for the day someone believed they had spoken the last word.
So that it might remind them...
...that the finest conversations do not end with an answer.
They continue...
...inside the people who have taken part in them.
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