uality (which of course involves plurality) must be something different from God, and therefore bad. Hence in these systems the highest form of mental activity is represented as a sort of swoon, in which the sense of personality is lost, and the individual spirit is absorbed into the divine.

Christ did not insist on self-denial from any such notions as these. He did not inculcate it because He thought less of the individual than others, but because He thought more. The preciousness of every human being was one of our Lord's most fundamental doctrines. "How think ye?" He said to His disciples. "If a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray? And if so be that he find it, verily I say unto you, He rejoiceth more over that sheep, than over the ninety and nine which. went not astray. Even so it is not the will of your Father which is in heaven, that one of these little ones should perish." His belief in the importance and infinite value of the individual may be traced throughout the whole of the Saviour's teaching.1

1 See 'Agnosticism, and other Sermons,' pp. 376-378.

In harmony with this is Christ's view of selfdenial. One kind of moral training uses selfdenial as a punishment or atonement. Because you have done so much which you ought not to have done, you shall surrender so much pleasure and suffer so much pain; or, if you will endure a certain number of fastings and flagellations, you may be allowed a certain amount of indulgence in your favourite vices. Another use to which self-denial is sometimes applied, is "to express the essential badness of the thing surrendered." Because the earth is inherently and altogether wicked, therefore, by all means in your power, endeavour to cultivate disgust for it. But with Jesus, self-sacrifice is always a necessary means to a reasonable end, and that end is self-developWe lose our life in order that we may truly gain it. This is what gives, it has been well said, to the self-denial which Christ demands of us, "a triumphant and enthusiastic air." "Not because you have not deserved to enjoy it, not because it is wicked to enjoy it, but because there is another enjoyment," or it may be something better than enjoyment, "more worthy of your nature, therefore let this inferior enjoyment go."

ment.

It is instructive to contrast the kingdom of

Christ with the Republic of Plato. In Plato's ideal State the individual was regarded as existing merely for the good of the community, and on behalf of the community he was entirely and ruthlessly sacrificed. All the details of his life-his prospects, his profession, his marriage, and so forth -were to be arranged for him by the state, just as the state thought best. The individual was to be allowed nothing which would not be directly conducive to the welfare of the society of which he was a member. But in the kingdom of Christ, on the other hand, nothing is demanded from the individual which is incompatible with his own wellbeing.

himself for others,

He is required to sacrifice

but only in such ways as indirectly conduce at the same time to his own highest good, only to such an extent as is absolutely necessary for his own complete development. Let us look at the rationale of this for a moment; let us try and see the part played by our fellow-men in maturing and perfecting our own individuality.

We have seen that a man is distinguished from an animal by the fact that he is able to regard his nature as a whole, and to gather up its passing experiences into the unity of a consistent life. But he is also, and still more strik

ingly, distinguished by the fact that he can live in the lives of others. He may so identify himself with others as to make their lives his own; and unless he does this he is not really human. The isolated individual is not (properly speaking) a man, but only a fragment of humanity, -as really dead as an amputated limb which, in being cut off from the organism, is virtually cut off from itself. A man cannot realise himself within himself, cannot come to perfection by himself, but only in and through communion with others. There are some parts of the individual's life which are always in his brethren's keeping, and which he can only receive from them. A deeper self-hood, a richer personality, comes to a man from communion with others and sacrifice for others, than he could possibly have gained by any amount of solitary contemplation or self-aggrandisement. It is only as our individual, narrow, exclusive, isolated self is developed into a larger, inclusive, sympathetic self, that we come to our highest life. To go forth out of self, to have all the hidden wealth of feeling of which I am capable called forth towards others, and to receive back again this wealth redoubled in reciprocated affection and increased power of loving, this is to live wisely and well. Not to do this

is to eliminate from life all that makes it most truly human, all that makes it most really valuable.

The capacity of love and self-sacrifice is the capacity to make the happiness of others my own, to identify my life with an ever-widening sphere of life beyond myself. As a rule, this capacity is called forth in early life; and when once it has been brought into exercise, it should grow with our growth and strengthen with our strength. In the home of our childhood we first began to learn that we were more than self-contained individuals; that we were capable of a larger and fuller life than such as pertains to mere isolated units; that our own happiness and wellbeing were enormously increased, when we contributed to the happiness and wellbeing of those with whom we lived. Then, as we grow older, we are brought into relationship with the community, the state, the race; and these more comprehensive relationships should develop in us more comprehensive affections. The members of the society in which I live may seem to be independent of me and foreign to me. But in reality they are not; they are part of myself; without them I have no real self, but merely the false self of a fragment taking itself for the whole.