No one, on his own, thinks he’s wrong. He may have been wrong in the past, but now – even if just now, just as you’ve convinced him to change his position – he’s enlightened and no longer wrong. Therefore he says ‘I was wrong,’ not ‘I am wrong.’ This is especially true of me: it’s alright to say I was wrong in that forsaken past, but it’s the hardest of things to say I am wrong. And in confession and seeking of forgiveness, no less: the temptation is to believe that by believing the right thing we’re already right, though we were wrong when we were indisposed to penitence. But then:
Not the labour of my hands
Can fulfil Thy law’s demands;
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears forever flow,
All for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and Thou alone.
The only hope I have is in God to appear before me and to show that, even here, even now, I am wrong in myself, and only he is right. The only hope I have is in God to illuminate me with the fire of Pentecost dwelling in me and thus make me part of the Light. The only hope I have is in God to make me a member of him, that in his being All-Knowing and All-Holy and All-Righteous I, too, may be found righteous.
‘Restoration from Heresy’, on the inadequacy of believing the right propositions.