Perhaps I feel also the want
of justifying myself before my own conscience. For instance, with the
great "I do not know" before me, I still observe the regulations of
the Church; yet do not consider myself a hypocrite. This would be the
case if, instead of the "I do not know," I could say "I know there is
nothing." But our scepticism is not an open negation; it is rather a
sorrowful, anxious suspicion that perhaps there is nothing,--a dense
fog around our minds that stifles the breath and hides from us the
light. I therefore stretch out my hands towards that sun that maybe
shines beyond the mist. I fancy that not I alone am in that position,
and that of all those who go to church and mass on Sundays the prayers
might be condensed in these words: "O God! lift the mist!"
I cannot write coldly or dispassionately about all this. I keep
religious observances for the simple reason that I long to believe,
and since the sweet teaching of my childhood tells me that faith is a
gift of grace, I am waiting for that grace. I am waiting that it may
be given unto me; that my soul may believe unquestioningly, even as it
believed in childhood. Those are my motives; no self-interest prompts
me; it would be much easier to be a cheerful, contented animal. Since
I am justifying my outward semblance of piety, I have some other less
noble and more practical reasons.
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