or the Mormon, or the immigrant question comes up for discussion. It is possible to realize the far-off, and yet quite ignore the near-by self. Whenever we identify "Christendom" with the Western nations only, or confine "heathendom" to the Orient we have failed.

Perhaps nowhere more than in prayer do we see the meagerness of the self we have attained. "Bless me and my wife, my son John and his wife, us four and no more," is the classic embodiment of the microscopic self. On the other hand, we find a beautiful example of an expanding self in the simple Panjabi Christian, Gulu. Once a desperate character amongst the outcastes, he is now known as one of God's great intercessors. One day Gulu came to his American friend and said: "Sahib, teach me some geography." "Why, Gulu, what do you want with geography at your age?" "Sahib, I wish to study geography so that I may know more about which to pray." Shall not we examine our prayer life-that for which we care enough to intercede-as one index of our growth?

First Week, Seventh Day: A Prayer for Human Solidarity

As thou didst send me into the world, even so sent I them into the world. And for their sakes I sanctify myself, that they themselves also may be sanctified in truth. Neither for these only do I pray, but for them also that believe on me through their word; that they may all be one; even as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be in us: that the world may believe that thou didst send me. And the glory which thou hast given me I have given unto them; that they may be one, even as we are one; I in them, and thou in me, that they may be perfected into one; that the world may know that thou didst send me, and lovedst them, even as thou lovedst me.-John 17:18-23.

We often read these words with no larger application in mind than the abolition of lamented denominational differences. The union of such Christian sects as have come within our range is as far as our longing goes with this prayer of Christ's. Many of us do not include in conscious thought in connection with these verses such great com

munions as the Roman Catholic, the Greek Orthodox, and the Syrian Church in India.

But can any interpretation of these words be complete that confines its thought to European man, or Anglo-Saxon man, or even to white man? When between the Western and the Eastern, barriers fall down, and each sees that he cannot be the man he ought to be without the other; when "for their sakes" we sanctify ourselves, and include in the word, "their," other peoples as well as other individuals; when reciprocity, mutuality, and true oneness mark interracial relationships, will not this go far toward answering Christ's prayer for evidence, in order "that the world may believe that thou didst send me"? In no place do we have the social character of personality more vividly brought out than here. Our social environment is one that includes not only our closer circle but the whole world of peoples and God himself. Anything that makes for isolation, makes for poverty of personality.

How is this potential solidarity of all peoples and of mankind with God to be made actual? When "the love wherewith. thou lovedst me may be in them, and I in them." It is love as inspired by Christ that binds together.

COMMENT FOR THE WEEK
I

If a child is asked to tell us where his "self" is, he will probably point to his body. In fact, in answer to the question as to what constitutes the self many of us might naïvely reply that it is that of which a photograph can be taken. We say, “That is I,” pointing toward the picture or to our reflection in the mirror. But no man can be wholly found between his hat and his boots. And yet some of us keep on thinking of the self as in some way enclosed within, one's skin. If we have not stopped to reflect, this conception of an epidermal self may never be displaced.

Every new interest, however, is an addition to one's self. Each new activity, each new enterprise that calls forth our cooperation constitutes an expansion of the self. If Red Cross work really moves me, it actually becomes a factor in my self. If my impulses find satisfaction in helping Baillie save the Yangtze valley by reforesting Pearl Mountain, then this interest, by very virtue of this fact, becomes a part of my ego.

If I have accustomed myself to act in such ways that the recital of Belgian or Armenian misery makes me restless until I go forth in some sort of aid, then this interest in relief is a part of myself. On the other hand, if what really moves me is the turning of my tens of dollars into hundreds and my hundreds into thousands, then that interest is the measure of myself. Just because my powers find satisfaction in these ends or purposes they comprise a part of the "me." Psychologically then, the self is as wide and large or as small and narrow as one's interests.

Now although in reality the self is thus expanded, there is a tendency in all of us to identify the self with a part only of its whole range. Of necessity most of our activities are narrowed down to a pretty small range. There is the daily round of dressing, breakfasting, and securing the means for shelter and the sustenance of life. Just because we generally are acting for this more narrow and limited range of self, we tend to identify the self with these habitual interests. For the law of habit is at work in all of us. Since most of our activities center about a narrow range of personal interests, we overlook the fact that we are really larger-or may be larger-than this realm. One may be interested in buying a new automobile for one's family or in welfare work in the slums, but in either case it is the self going out to a particular object. One may aspire to securing a half-pint bottle of cream each morning for one's oatmeal, or may go out to Higginbottom's agricultural work for India's farmers. It is the self, however, that goes forth in either case. The real question is as to the kind of self you have.

II

It will help us to answer this question if we catch the real significance of such words as "selfish" and "unselfish." We use them to describe the behavior of men. But strictly speaking, if what we have just said is true, there is no such thing as absolute selflessness. (It is only because people have formed the habit of going forth to a rather narrow range of interests that this more narrow range prevents their full conception of what constitutes the self, so that any interest outside this range is said to be un-selfish. To the hard familiar round to which habitual response is made, the word "selfish" is applied. Similarly from this point of view it is possible to

say that there is really no such thing as absolute self-denial. The conception underlying its use implies a limitation of the self to the more personal immediate interests. If we were not in the habit of having a petty expression of ourselves, the word never would have been used.

What then is the real significance lying back of such words as "unselfish" and "self-denial"? Of course they have their value in common speech, but one should realize the confusion into which they may lead one's thinking. "Unselfishness" does not mean lack of self, for all that we do must be in response to some satisfaction our self gets in the act, but it refers to the kind of self that gets the satisfaction; it signifies a truer sense of values. "Selfish" is used to describe a person who centers on only a part of his whole possible self and who mani- . festly works for this smaller so-called self. What makes selfishness selfish is not that certain activities or interests secure the welfare of the self, but that the self that is served is a small and narrow self in comparison with what it might be.

What has just been said enables us to realize that there is a perfectly natural psychological reason why we are rather vexed to have the cause of child labor, or the mountain whites, or the Mormons, or a school in Africa brought before us. Such things make demands not only upon our pocketbooks, but primarily upon our capacity for expanding our range of interests. They may easily require a readjustment of what constitutes our self. These causes may involve the renouncing of the old self and making a new adjustment in the light of the new possibilities of activity. Now the breaking of any habit is more or less unpleasant. We tend, therefore, to resist any ideal expansion of the self beyond the customary range. If it requires rather unpleasant concentration and effort to acquire a new stroke in swimming or to learn tennis at fifty, it is just as natural that there should be something taxing about altering the habitual trend of our interests. If you are not used to such readjustments, if you have not kept yourself flexible through habitual response to public and national and international spirit, such rearrangements are likely to be very trying.

The process of readjustment is the only kind of selfrenunciation that is moral. Renunciation is not a dying to the real self but only to the sin of narrowness. It is really

an enlargement of the self-a realignment, with the new data taken into consideration. (But the ideal world citizen is alive to the demand for a constant readjustment of the self.) In each case of choice the decision ought to be for the highest largest purpose that can be visioned. This may mean proceeding with activities that will secure you a college education, or will make the comfort of your wife and family secure. Or it may mean launching out for a bank position in South America or a big task under some mission board in China. Whether the decision is selfish or unselfish depends on whether you have enlarged the circle of your real self to include those other wider demands upon your consideration, and whether you act for the common good of this new circle. The obligation is not for any particular act, whether geographically near or far, but for an expanding self which will in each new enlargement act on the highest purpose that can express the greater self.

From our daily study this week we want to catch the duty and the joy of expansion. For we must be like God in this as well as in other respects. He did not merely love, but he loved "the world"-the largest possible circle as far as we are concerned. "Ye are the salt of the earth," Jesus said -not merely of Palestine. "Ye are the light of the world"— not merely of your small circle. (We rejoice to think that infinite reaches are ahead of us; that God has set no limit to the development of this capacity of going out to larger and larger ranges of interests and of entering into wider and wider relations with human beings. Part of the process of becoming perfect as he is perfect is to attain range of love as well as quality of love. If any man would save his life, that is, if any one is going to hold on to his small self and try to wall in what he is at any point in his development, then Christ says he will lose the only thing that can be called life. But if any man will lose his self--if any man for Christ's sake will break through the crust that habit is ever forming about a given self, he will find a newer, richer, larger self-he will save his life.

The attainment of the larger self should therefore be a matter of immense importance to everyone. It is a part of the saved life. One may not sit lightly back and say that he has no interest in the world outreach of his church, any more than he may say lightly that he is not interested in