imperfect phase of a single universal being, so that in strictness we
must own that there is none good but one, that is God? These and
kindred questions naturally oppress the thought of our time. Yet all
are but so many attempts to push the formula of self-realization into
entire clearness. The considerable agreement in ethical formulae
everywhere noticeable shows that at least so much advance has been
made: morality has ceased to be primarily repressive, and is now
regarded as the amplest exhibit of human nature, free from every
external precept, however sacred. Man is the measure of the moral
universe, and the development of himself his single duty.

But when we thus accept self-realization as our supreme aim, we bring
ourselves into seeming conflict with one of our profoundest moral
instincts. It is self-sacrifice that calls forth from all mankind, as
nothing else does, the distinctively moral response of reverence.
Intelligence, skill, beauty, learning--we admire them all; but when we
see an act of self-sacrifice, however small, an awe falls on us; we
bow our heads, fearful that we might not have been capable of anything
so glorious. We thus acknowledge self-sacrifice to be the very
culmination of the moral life. He who understand it has comprehended
all righteousness, human and divine. But how does self-sacrifice
accord with self-development? Will he who is busy cultivating himself
sacrifice himself? Is there not a kind of conflict between the two?
Yet can we abandon either? And if not, must not the formula of self-
realization accept modification?

This, then, is the problem to which I must now turn: the possible
adjustment of these two imperative claims,--the claim to realize one's
self and the claim to sacrifice one's self. And I shall most easily
set my theme before my readers if I state at once the four historic