The religious view of the world is based
upon the religious experience of the soul. We have no other means of
getting at reality. I know that there is Something-more than me and
Something-more than the nature outside of me, because we know that
there is Something which is not me and is not nature, inside of me. So
the man of religion, like any other poet, artist, seer, looks in his
own heart and writes. What he finds there is real, or else, as far
as he is concerned, there is no reality. He does not assert that
this reality is the final and utter truth. But he knows it is his
trustworthy mediator of that truth.
Here, then, is an immense separation between religionist and both
humanist and naturalist; a separation so complete as to come full
circle. We are convinced of the secondary value, both of natural
appearances and of the mortal, temporal consciousness. So we
substitute for impertinent familiarity with Nature, a reverent regard
for what she half reveals, half hides. We interpret her by ourselves.
We are the same compound of identity and difference. We acknowledge
our continuity with the natural world, our intimate and tragic
alliance with the dust, but we also know that we, within ourselves,
are Something-Else as well. And it is that Something-Else in us which
makes the significant part of us, which sets our value and place in
the scale of being.
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