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My dear Wiltwing,
Imagine my surprise (I do not say “delight”) to learn of your requested transfer to my division. You must pardon me if I suspect it was for reasons other than the affection due an uncle from his… distant… nephew. The word is that you rather failed to keep your last few charges safe in their cocoons of blithe believing. I gladly admit that you probably should not have been so soon assigned to our Moroni division, where the absurdities we must keep them believing are so titanic. Sacred underwear! How I would love to know whose mischievous invention that was! But then no one would claim credit for it then and no one is likely to do so now.
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And the greater and more frequent these maneuverings, the stronger and fatter we grow! Follow my avuncular counsel, Wiltwing my lad, and you will soon see the truth of the matter.
Yes, I think you overestimate the importance of the moral sphere, vital as it undoubtedly is. At least its equal is the intellect. Our best creative writers and inventors have been constantly busy spinning new rationalizations to feed our charges, I mean basically excuses to reassure them that they are justified in believing the very things they want most to believe. The improbable convenience of this arrangement never seems to dawn on them, I am happy to say. I mean, most of them do not even think to question the luck of being born in the section of the vast earth where the “true” religion prevails! After that, you might suppose we have but little to do. But in fact, the implausibilities of the creeds we feed them are so strong, and there is such a barrage of them in a typical Sunday sermon, coming fast and thick between invocation and benediction, that sooner or later even the take-it-for-granted believer begins to wonder—like a child beginning to doubt Santa Claus. We have to be ready with a counter-argument. And they need not be very cogent (how could they be?), seeing that the believer is not looking for the truth but for reconfirmation of what he already dearly wants to believe.
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