Hence even such, by the nature of their falsehood, support my position.
For in what forms are the colours of the paint laid upon the surface of
the material? Is it not in as near imitations of the real right human
feelings about oneself and others as the necessarily imperfect knowledge
of such an artist can produce? He will not encounter the labour of
polishing, for he does not believe in the divine depths of his own
nature: he paints, and calls the varnish polish.
"But why talk of polish with reference to such a character, seeing that
no amount of polishing can bring to the surface what is not there? No
polishing of sandstone will reveal the mottling of marble. For it is
sandstone, crumbling and gritty--not noble in any way."
Is it so then? Can such be the real nature of the man? And can polish
reach nothing deeper in him than such? May not this selfishness be
polished away, revealing true colour and harmony beneath? Was not the
man made in the image of God? Or, if you say that man lost that image,
did not a new process of creation begin from the point of that loss, a
process of re-creation in him in whom all shall be made alive, which,
although so far from being completed yet, can never be checked? If we
cut away deep enough at the rough block of our nature, shall we not
arrive at some likeness of that true man who, the apostle says, dwells
in us--the hope of glory? He informs us--that is, forms us from within.
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