What I aspired to be,
And was not, comforts me....
All instincts immature,
All purposes unsure....
All I could never be,
All, men ignored in me:
This, I was worth to God.[1]
If all this helps to prove the autonomy of man and his independent power of decision, it does not mean the dissociation of man from all inner cohesion. This freedom only becomes possible by the revelation within him of a new world. There could be no spontaneity of action in single cases, if a world of independent and spontaneous life did not exist and embrace us from within. Thus the individual appertains to the whole, even in the exercise of freedom. That of which he is capable by himself alone, is only his ability to bring his own will into accordance with higher laws. All deep thinkers have seen, in the grasp of the essence of life and the development of its possibilities by means of this individual capacity, not an achievement of man alone, but the manifestation of a higher power, a gift of grace. Life did not seem to them to be so divided between grace and freedom, that one of these factors could only be enriched by what was taken from the other; they considered both to be so indissolubly united, that freedom and the power of inner growth appeared to them to be the highest sign of grace. The most energetic natures, if possessed of any spirituality, have generally felt themselves to be instruments of a higher power and compelled by an inner necessity. This feeling gave them the strength and self-confidence indispensable for their work. In the case of achievement for the visible world, this higher power was mostly looked upon as a dark fate, which protects man as long as it needs him, and abandons him as soon as he ceases to be useful. But in the case of inner change and regeneration, this fate was superseded by a power of love and mercy, which sustains man even in the midst of the greatest dangers. In religion especially, the consciousness of complete dependence on a superior power has not led to a suspension or restriction of activity. This is clearly proved by such men as St. Paul, St. Augustine, and Calvin. They were not the soulless vessels of a truth committed to them; they grasped, by their own recognition and decision, what seemed to them to be the truth. Yet in their own consciousness, achievement was of small value compared to what they revered as a gift of grace. "Quid habemus quod non accepimus?" (St. Augustine). "What have we that we have not received?"
Hitherto we have been concerned with refuting widespread objections to the possibility of morality. We must now consider the violent opposition against the appreciation which morality demands—and must demand. It seems impossible for morality to be unquestionably superior to everything else in life, and to demand absolute obedience to its requirements, since it does not fill the whole of life, but must share men's allegiance with other obligations, and must seek some compromise with them. This objection could only be valid, if our whole life were a homogeneous structure,—if one single aim dominated all activity, and achievement in this direction could alone determine the value of our action. But the case is very different. Even the one fact that two planes unite in our life makes it impossible to apply the same standard to all the variety we encounter. The various values determined by these two planes are too different to be compared with one another. How could we judge sensuous enjoyment and outer success in the same way as we judge values like truth and honour?
Further, morality is not concerned merely with single values appertaining to the higher plane, but with the recognition and appropriation of this higher plane itself: it is a movement from a whole and to a whole. Once the conviction obtains that the spiritual phase of life is something entirely different to nature, the acquisition of it becomes the chief problem of life, and the claim of morality—which upholds the principle of such acquisition—can assert its supremacy over all other claims. Wherever this was contested, the new world revealed by the spiritual life was not fully recognised. The experience of history shows that no artistic or intellectual achievement could prevent a rapid abatement and deterioration of the spiritual life, if the ethical task was not fully recognised. Morality is like religion: neither can take a secondary or even a co-ordinate place; they must be valued more than everything else in life, or else they will inevitably come to mean less.