eye cannot see, is truly a
very small matter, and helpless to comfort a sorrow whose cause the
eyes never cease to behold. Out of small matters like these are all
moral joys built up, and these are profounder far than intellectual or
physical joys. Translate into words the feeling that spurs on the hero,
and how trivial it seems! Insignificant too does the idea of duty
appear that Cato the younger had formed, when compared with the
enormous disturbance it caused in a mighty empire, or the terrible
death it brought on. And yet, was not Cato's idea far greater than the
disturbance, or death, that ensued? Do we not feel, even now, that Cato
was right? And was not his life rendered truly and nobly happy, thanks
to this very idea, that the reason of man will not even consider, so
unreasonable does it appear? All that ennobles our life, all that we
respect in ourselves, the mainsprings of our virtue, the limits that
feeling will even impose upon vices or crimes--all these appear veriest
trifles when viewed by the cold eye of reason; and yet do they fashion
the laws that govern every man's life. Would life be endurable if we
did not obey many truths that our reason rejects? The wretchedest even
obeys one of these; and the more truths there are that he yields to,
the less wretched does he become. The assassin will tell you, "I
murder, it is true, but at least do not steal." And he who has stolen
steals, but does not betray; and he who betrays would at least not
betray his brother. And thus does each one cling for refuge to his last
fragment of spiritual beauty. No man can have fallen so low but he
still has a retreat in his soul, where he ever shall find a few drops
of pure water, and be girt up anew with the strength that he needs to
go on with his life. For here again reason is helpless, unable to
comfort; she must halt on the threshold of the thief's last asylum,
even as she must halt on the threshold of Job's resignation, of the
love of Marcus Aurelius, of the sacrifice made by Antigone. She halts,
is bewildered, she does not approve; and yet knows full well that to
rise in revolt were only to combat the light whereof she is shadow; for
amidst all this she is but as one who stands with the sun full upon
him. His shadow is there at his feet; as he moves, it will follow; as
he rises or stoops, its outline will alter; but this shadow is all he
commands, that he masters, possesses, of the dazzling light that
enfolds him. And so