'And now having made my protest, let me say, my dear Father, that you were quite right in thinking that I am your sincere friend and brother. . . . You will never find any friends so true as the old ones [?] and it is to be regretted that you did not, in the dark hours of doubt and temptation, seek help from those whose prudence and experience might have saved you from wrecking your life by this false step. "Vae soli." You did not have recourse to those whom you were bound to consult, but relied upon yourself; or, if you took counsel, it was rather with unbelievers than with those of the Faith and of the Order.[1]
'You know well that other and greater intellects than yours have examined the same questions more deeply than you can possibly have done, and have come to an opposite conclusion' [the writer is, as usual, sweetly oblivious of the fact that, in this century, the number of authorities against him is equally high and brilliant, at least]; 'and this ought to have made you distrust your own judgment, doubt the infallibility of your own lights, and feel there was much you have not been able to see, which if you could see, would lead you the opposite way. I fear that this pride may have contributed to bring about the withdrawal of the light. What may also have
- ↑ The reader is already aware that both these statements are absolutely inaccurate. I never took counsel with an unbeliever, whereas I took counsel with the most competent friar we had for eight years, until his counsel was threadbare.
