To see that even the most
passionate conviction may have been mistaken is to feel profound and
disquieting doubt of all that human faith may compass; it is to seem to
be helpless in the midst of baffling and sphinx-like perplexities.
Maurice was already at the point where he could hardly be regarded as
holding his old opinions, but he had not reached that of being ready to
confess that he had been wrong in a matter so vital that error in it
would involve the whole reordering of his life and leave him with no
standards of faith.
He was, moreover, noble in his impulses, and he had too long been bred
in introspection not to perceive now that he was greatly influenced by
his inclinations. He was too honest not to be aware that there was as
much passion as reason in his revulsion from the monastic life, and
that Berenice Morison's perfections weighed as heavily in the scale as
any shortcomings of theology. He reproached himself stoutly, in
thoroughly monkish fashion, and ended by resolving that obedience was a
duty; that the errand on which he was sent was one which would abase
his sinful pride and must be executed for the benefiting of his
spiritual condition.
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