It was a history of the Italian Renaissance, recently published.
'Where does this phrase come from?' he continued, pointing to a scrap of paper, used as a book-mark, on which Godwin had pencilled a note. The words were: 'Foris ut moris, intus ut libet.'
'It's mentioned there,' Peak replied, 'as the motto of those humanists who outwardly conformed to the common faith.'
'I see. All very well when the Inquisition was flourishing, but sounds ignoble nowadays.'
'Do you think so? In a half-civilised age, whether the sixteenth or the nineteenth century, a wise man may do worse than adopt it.'
'Better be honest, surely?'
Peak stood for a moment as if in doubt, then exclaimed irritably:
'Honest? Honest? Who is or can be honest? Who truly declares himself? When a man has learnt that truth is indeterminable, how is it more moral to go about crying that you don't believe a certain dogma than to concede that the dogma may possibly be true? This new morality of the agnostics is mere paltry conceit. Why must I make solemn declaration that I don't believe in absolute knowledge? I might as well be called upon to inform all my acquaintances how I stand with regard to the theories of chemical affinity. One's philosophy has nothing to do with the business of life. If I chose to become a Church of England clergyman, what moral objection could be made?'
This illustration was so amusing to Moxey, that his surprise at what preceded gave way to laughter.
'I wonder,' he exclaimed, 'that you never seriously thought of a profession for which you are so evidently cut out.'