I am about, in other words, to invite attention to

what is called self-sacrifice. Goodness is the

realization by an individual of his own perfection, and

that perfection consists, as we have seen, in both

harmony and extent. And provisionally these two features

will not quite coincide. To reduce the raw material of

one's nature to the highest degree of system, and to use

every element from whatever source as a subordinate

means to this object, is certainly one genuine view of

goodness. On the other hand to widen as far as possible

the end to be pursued, and to realize this through the

distraction or the dissipation of one's own

individuality, is certainly also good. An individual

system, aimed at in one's self, and again the

subordination of one's own development to a wide-

embracing end, are each an aspect of the moral

principle. So far as they are discrepant, these two

pursuits may be called, the one, self-assertion, and the

other, self-sacrifice. And, however much these must

diverge, each is morally good; and, taken in the

abstract, you cannot say that one is better than the

other.

I am far from suggesting that in morality we are

forced throughout to make a choice between such

incompatible ideals. For this is not the case, and, if

it were so, life could hardly be lived. To a very large

extent by taking no thought about his individual

perfection, and by aiming at that which seems to promise

no personal advantage, a man secures his private

welfare. We may, perhaps, even say that in the main

there is no collision between self-sacrifice and self-

assertion, and that on the whole neither of these, in

the proper sense, exists for morality. But, while

admitting or asserting to the full the general identity

of these aspects, I am here insisting on the fact of

their partial divergence. And that, at least in some

respects and with some persons, these two ideals seem

hostile no sane observer can deny.

In other words we must admit that two great divergent

forms of moral goodness exist. In order to realize the

idea of a perfect self a man may have to choose between

two partially conflicting methods. Morality, in short,

may dictate either self-sacrifice or self-assertion, and

it is important to clear our ideas as to the meaning of

each. A common mistake is to identify the first with the

living for others, and the second with living for

oneself. Virtue upon this view is social, either

directly or indirectly, either visibly or invisibly. The

development of the individual, that is, unless it reacts

to increase the welfare of society, can certainly not be

moral. This doctrine I am still forced to consider as a

truth which has been exaggerated and perverted into

error. There

are intellectual and other accomplishments, to which I

at least cannot refuse the title of virtue. But I cannot

assume that, without exception, these must all somehow

add to what is called social welfare; nor, again, do I

see how to make a social organism the subject which

directly possesses them. But, if so, it is impossible

for me to admit that all virtue is essentially or

primarily social. On the contrary, the neglect of social

good, for the sake of pursuing other ends, may not only

be moral self-assertion, but again, equally under other

conditions, it may be moral self-sacrifice. We can even

say that the living "for others," rather than living

"for myself," may be immoral and selfish.

And you can hardly make the difference between self-

sacrifice and self-assertion consist in this, that the

idea pursued, in one case, falls beyond the individual

and, in the other case, fails to do so. Or, rather, such

a phrase, left undefined, can scarcely be said to have a

meaning. Every permanent end of every kind will go

beyond the individual, if the individual is taken in his

lowest sense. And, passing that by, obviously the

content realized in an individual's perfection must be

also above him and beyond him. His perfection is not one

thing apart from the rest of the universe, and he gains

it only by appropriating, and by reducing to a special

harmony, the common substance of all. It is obvious that

his private welfare, so far as he is social, must

include to some extent the welfare of others. And his

intellectual, ‘sthetic, and moral development, in short

the whole ideal side of his nature, is clearly built up

out of elements which he shares with other souls. Hence

the individual's end in self-advancement must always

transcend his private being. In fact, the difference

between self-assertion and self-sacrifice does not lie

in the contents which are used, but in the diverse uses

which are made of them; and I will attempt to explain

this.

In moral self-assertion the materials used

may be drawn from any source, and they may belong to any

world. They may, and they must, largely realize ends

which visibly transcend my life. But it is self-

assertion when, in applying these elements, I am guided

by the idea of the greatest system in myself. If the

standard used in measuring and selecting my material is,

in other words, the development of my individual

perfection, then my conduct is palpably not self-

sacrifice, and may be opposed to it. It is self-

sacrifice when I pursue an end by which my individuality

suffers loss. In the attainment of this object my self

is distracted, or is diminished, or even dissipated. I

may, for social purposes, give up my welfare for the

sake of other persons; or again I may devote myself to

some impersonal pursuit, by which the health and harmony

of my self is injured. Wherever the moral end followed

is followed to the loss of individual well-being, then

that is self-sacrifice, whether I am living "for others"

or not. But self-sacrifice is also, and on the

other hand, a form of self-realization. The wider end,

which is aimed at, is, visibly or invisibly, reached;

and in that pursuit and that attainment I find my

personal good.

It is the essential nature of my self, as finite,

equally to assert and, at the same time, to pass beyond

itself; and hence the objects of self-sacrifice and of

self-advancement are each equally mine. If we are

willing to push a metaphor far beyond its true and

natural limits, we may perhaps state the contrast thus.

In self-assertion the organ considers first its own

development, and for that purpose it draws material from

the common life of all organs. But in self-sacrifice the

organ aims at realizing some feature of the life larger

than its own, and is ready to do this at the cost of

injury to its own existence. It has foregone the idea of

a perfection, individual, rounded, and

concrete. It is willing to see itself abstract and

mutilated, over-specialized, or stunted, or even

destroyed. But this actual defect it can make up

ideally, by an expansion beyond its special limits, and

by an identification of its will with a wider reality.

Certainly the two pursuits, thus described, must in the

main coincide and be one. The whole is furthered most by

the self-seeking of its parts, for in these alone the

whole can appear and be real. And the part again is

individually bettered by its action for the whole, since

thus it gains the supply of that common substance which

is necessary to fill it. But, on the other hand, this

general coincidence is only general, and assuredly there

are points at which it ceases. And here self-assertion

and self-sacrifice begin to diverge, and each to acquire

its distinctive character.

Each of these modes of action realizes the self, and

realizes that which is higher; and (I must repeat this)

they are equally virtuous and right. To what then should

the individual have any duty, if he has none to himself?

Or is it, again, really supposed that in his perfection

the whole is not perfected, and that he is somewhere

enjoying his own advantage and holding it apart from the

universe? But we have seen that such a separation

between the Absolute and finite beings is meaningless.

Or shall we be assured, upon the other side, that for a

thing to sacrifice itself is contrary to reason? But we

have found that the very essence of finite beings is

self-contradictory, that their own nature includes

relation to others, and that they are already each

outside of its own existence. And, if so, surely it

would be impossible, and most contrary to reason, that

the finite, realizing itself, should not also transcend

its own limits. If a finite individual really is not

self-discrepant, then let that be argued and shown. But,

otherwise, that he should be compelled to follow two

ideals of perfection which diverge, appears

natural and necessary. And each of these pursuits, in

general and in the abstract, is equally good. It is only

the particular conditions which in each case can decide

between them.

Now that this divergence ceases, and is brought

together in the end, is most certain. For nothing is

outside the Absolute, and in the Absolute there is

nothing imperfect. And an unaccomplished object,

implying discrepancy between idea and existence, is most

surely imperfection. In the Absolute everything finite

attains the perfection which it seeks; but, upon the

other hand, it cannot gain perfection precisely as it

seeks it. For, as we have seen throughout, the finite is

more or less transmuted, and, as such, disappears in

being accomplished. This common destiny is assuredly the

end of the Good. The ends sought by self-assertion and

self-sacrifice are, each alike, unattainable. The

individual never can in himself become an harmonious

system. And in the wider ideal to which he devotes

himself, no matter how thoroughly, he never can find

complete self-realization. For, even if we take that

ideal to be perfect and to be somehow completely

fulfilled, yet, after all, he himself is not totally

absorbed in it. If his discordant element is for faith

swallowed up, yet faith, no less, means that a jarring

appearance remains. And, in the complete gift and

dissipation of his personality, he, as such, must

vanish; and, with that, the good is, as such,

transcended and submerged. This result is but the

conclusion with which our chapter began. Goodness is an

appearance, it is phenomenal, and therefore self-

contradictory. And therefore, as was the case with

degrees of truth and reality, it shows two forms of one

standard which will not wholly coincide. In the end,

where every discord is brought to harmony, every idea is

also realized. But there, where nothing can be lost,

everything, by addition and by re-arrangement,

more or less changes its character. And most

emphatically no self-assertion nor any self-sacrifice,

nor any goodness or morality, has, as such, any reality

in the Absolute. Goodness is a subordinate and,

therefore, a self-contradictory aspect of the universe.

And, with this, it is full time that we went forward;

but, for the sake of some readers, I will dwell longer

on the relative character of the Good. Too many English

moralists assume blindly that goodness is ultimate and

absolute. For as regards metaphysics they are

incompetent, and that in the religion which probably

they profess or at least esteem, morality, as such, is

subordinate--such a fact suggests to them nothing. They

are ignorant of the view for which all things finite in

different degrees are real and true, and for which, at

the same time, not one of them is ultimate. And they

cannot understand that the Whole may be consistent, when

the appearances which qualify it conflict with one

another. For holding on to each separate appearance, as

a thing absolute and not relative, they fix these each

in that partial character which is unreal and untrue.

And such one-sided abstractions, which in coming

together are essentially transformed, they consider to

be ultimate and fundamental facts. Thus in goodness the

ends of self-assertion and of self-sacrifice are

inconsistent, each with itself and each with the other.

They are fragmentary truths, neither of which is, as

such, ultimately true. But it is just these relative

aspects which the popular moralist holds to, each as

real by itself; and hence ensues a blind tangle of

bewilderment and error. To follow this in detail is not

my task, and still less my desire, but it may be

instructive, perhaps, briefly to consider it further.

There is first one point which should be obvious, but

which seems often forgotten. In asking whether

goodness can, in the end, be self-consistent and be

real, we are not concerned merely with the relation

between virtue and selfishness. For suppose that there

is no difference between these two, except merely for

our blindness, yet, possessing this first crown of our

wishes, we have still not solved the main problem. It

will certainly now be worth my while to seek the good of

my neighbour, since by no other course can I do any

better for myself, and since what is called self-

sacrifice, or benevolent action, is in fact the only

possible way to secure my advantage. But then, upon the

other hand, a mere balance of advantage, however

satisfactory the means by which I come to possess it, is

most assuredly not the fulfilment of my desire. For the

desire of human beings (this is surely a commonplace)

has no limit. Goodness, in other words, must imply an

attempt to reach perfection, and it is the nature of the

finite to seek for that which nothing finite can

satisfy. But, if so, with a mere balance of advantage I

have not realized my good. And, however much virtue may

be nothing in the world but a refined form of self-

seeking, yet, with this, virtue is not one whit the less

a pursuit of what is inconsistent and therefore

impossible. And goodness, or the attainment of such an

impossible end, is still self-contradictory.

Further, since it seems necessary for me not to be

ashamed of platitude, let me call the attention of the

reader to some evident truths. No existing social

organism secures to its individuals any more than an

imperfect good, and in all of them self-sacrifice marks

the fact of a failure in principle. But even in an

imaginary society, such as is foretold to us in the New

Jerusalem of Mr. Spencer, it is only for thoughtless

credulity that evil has vanished. For it is not easy to

forget that finite beings are physically subject to

accident, or easy to believe that this their natural

essence is somehow to be removed. And, even so

and in any case, the members of an organism must of

necessity be sacrificed more or less to the whole. For

they must more or less be made special in their

function, and that means rendered, to some extent, one-

sided and narrow. And, if so, the harmony of their