The mother toiling for her child,
and neglecting for its sake most of what would render her own life
rich, can never know that this child will grow up to power. The day
may come when she will wish it had died in childhood. The glory of her
action is bound up with this darkness. Were the soldier, marching to
the field, sure that his side would be victorious, he would be only
half a hero. The consequences of self-sacrifice can never be certain,
foreseen, calculable. There must be risk. Omit it, and the sacrifice
disappears. Indeed nothing in life which calls forth high admiration
is free from this touch of faith and courage, this movement into the
unknown. It is at the very heart of self-sacrifice.
But besides the unknown character of the result there is usually
uncertainty as regards the cost. The sacrificer does not give
according to measure. I do not say I will attend to this sick person
up to such and such a point, but when that point is reached I shall
have done enough. This would hardly be self-sacrifice. I rather say,
"Here I am. Take me, use me to the full, spend of me whatever you
need. How much that will be, I do not know." So there is an element of
darkness in ourselves.
And possibly I ought to mention a third variety of these
incalculabilities of sacrifice. We do not plan the case.
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