c in what previously had been
regarded as outside the domain of theology and more properly the concern
of the preacher. The beauty, the solace, the adaptation to our higher
needs of Christian teaching had been one thing; its truth, quite
another. By dilating eloquently on the first, men might be won to the
love of such an ideal, to wish that it might be true; and then disposed
to profit by the distinct and independent labours of the apologist whose
theme was, not the utility or beauty of the Catholic religion, but
solely its truth.

But now that the "scholastic" [1] apologetic was in disgrace with all
but those who stood least in need of it, some more acceptable method had
to be sought out, and amongst many others there was that of
Chateaubriand, which strove to find an argument for the intellect in the
very appeal which Christianity made to the will and affections. Because
a religion is fair and much to be desired, because, if true, it would
give unity and meaning to man's higher cravings, and turn human life
from a senseless chaos into an intelligible whole, therefore, and for
this reason, it _is_ true.

It is hardly wonderful that such a method should incur the charge of
sentimentalism. "It would be so nice to believe it, therefore it must be
true," sounds like a shameless abandonment of reasonableness. The fact
that a belief is "consoling," quite independently of its truth or
falsehood, creates a bias towards its acceptance. That it is pleasant to
believe oneself very clever and competent will incline one to that
belief until something important depends, not on our thinking ourselves
so, but on our being so. Before an examination, the wish to succeed will
make me sceptical about my prospects, much as I should like to think
them the brightest; afterwards, when self-deception can only console and
can do no harm, I shall be credulous of any flattery that is offered me.
In one case, my interest depends upon the facts, and therefore the wish
to believe makes me critical and even sceptical; in the other, on my
belief concerning the facts, and the wish to believe, makes me
uncritical and credulous.

It was seemingly a bold and hazardous venture to justify this same
credulity, and to affirm that an argument could be drawn from the wish
to believe in just those cases where its influence would seem most
suspicious; yet this was practically what the new apologetic amounted
to. It was an argument from the utility of beliefs