Rowan Williams: Caution isn't the coward's way forward

I find it really difficult to look at the photos of the twin towers dissolving in flame and rubble. They bring back the memory of being, for a while, on the inside of the picture that day in New York, when I was trapped in a neighbouring building.

The image from outside is the single dramatic moment; but what we are going to remember from inside is the chaos, dark and dust; and the unexpected intimate conversations and touches of the hand between strangers. Photographs can't do justice to what we can't see, the thousands of lives ending dreadfully, the fear and agony, the anguish of those who lost friends, children, parents.

The terrorist is someone who's got to the point where they can only see from a distance: the distance from which you can't see a face, meet the eyes of someone, imagine who and what they love. There are no lives that are superfluous, no lives you can forget. One of the most disturbing things about religious faith is that it tells us that God never sees at a distance, never sees things only in general.

War may well be getting nearer; those who urge caution inevitably get accused of a sort of loss of moral nerve, a willingness to collude with evil. With the hi-tech military methods we've got used to, there's a greater temptation to take for granted the view from a distance. And this means that we should see the military option as something to be considered a lot further down the road than it would have been even 50 years ago.

If we don't see the point of this caution, which isn't a matter of squeamishness or cowardice, the nearer the terrorist comes to winning, because it means we're getting used to the view from outside – the distant view that spares us the real cost to our own humanity.