money, and it is better to do good with money than not to do good at all. The giving of money may even be, in certain instances, the best available symbol of self-denial and love. What seems to be less obvious, however, is the fact that there is much which money cannot do, either for the rich or the poor; that there are desires and demands which cannot be bought or sold; that behind the external and material experiences of life there are profounder needs which can be satisfied only by the spiritualization of giving.

One of the most surprising experiences which meets many well-intentioned givers is the sense of their insufficiency and helplessness. Their alms seem wasted; their advice is repelled; they cannot bridge the chasm which lies between their kindly giving and its unresponsive recipients. What is the meaning of this curious impotency? It means that a spiritual relation has been mistaken for a material relation, that the needs to be supplied have seemed to be money, food, and clothing, when they were, even more primarily, courage, self-control, and hope. Material needs may be easy to supply, but spiritual giving is possible for those only who have these blessings themselves. Charity, that is to say, is inseparable from character. To give, one must have. There is much good which one cannot do without being good himself. "Bear ye one another's burdens," wrote the apostle Paul, but almost in the same sentence he added, "For

every man shall bear his own burden.' To help another in the deeper experiences of his life, one must have been helped himself. Inexperience of hardness leaves the kindest philanthropist impotent before the mystery of lives that are hard. Only the bearer of his own burdens is strong enough to lay on his shoulder the added burden of other lives. Among the deep sayings of Jesus Christ none is more searching than that which defines the nature of his own consecration. "For their sakes," he

"For their sakes,"

says, "I sanctify myself." that was the end of his mission, the giving of life a ransom for many; but the beginning of that service of others was in the sanctifying of himself. Having found the strength of communion with God, he could apply that strength to the helping of man. That is his gospel of giving. "If any man will come after me," he says, "let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. Efficiency comes of experience. Self-denial equips for service. It is only the bearers of their own crosses who can be the saviours of other souls.

How far-reaching, then, become these principles of the uses of money! Whether one make it, or spend it, or give it away, he is, in fact, dealing with a material symbol of the spiritual life. His scrutiny and his detachment in spending, the individualization and education of his giving, are tests of his own character. The problems of The problems of expenditure and of philanthropy are not separable from the

problems of bearing one's own burdens and carrying one's own cross. Are such uses of money inconsistent with the conditions of the modern world? On the contrary, the more closely they are examined, the more obvious it becomes that they are principles which stand like supporting arches under the whole structure of modern life. The humanization of industry is the last word of financial sagacity and economic foresight; the scrutinizing of spending is the only barrier which stands between Western civilization and the flood of gross materialism which swept away the splendor of ancient Rome; and the individualizing and spiritualizing of giving are the only terms on which charity may cease to be an offence and insult, and remain consistent with fraternalism and self-respect. It is no easy task in days like these to use money well. It is hard for a rich man, either as spender or as giver, to enter the Kingdom of God. Yet social evolution has, at least, reached that dramatic point where the mechanism of modern life is waiting for the influx of Christian power, and where the hope of social stability and peace depends on the practicability of the Christian life in the modern world.

VI

THE CHRISTIAN LIFE AND THE MODERN STATE

ONE of the most curious characteristics of the modern world is the limited range in which the social conscience appears to operate. If, as has been suggested, the area of social relationships is pictured as a series of concentric circles surrounding the individual life, then it becomes evident that the sense of duty slackens as the radius of responsibility is prolonged. Within the interior circle of the Family, for example, in spite of many tragedies of instability and disruption, there remains a prevailing tradition of self-forgetfulness and sacrifice which keeps the normal home uninfected by the poison of inconstant love. As one enters the larger area of the industrial world, he is met by many signs of the times which encourage the belief that, in spite of the strategies and brutalities of trade, the moralization of business is not impossible. When, however, he passes to the more comprehensive circle of social relations, where both families and industries are associated in a political Commonwealth, and considers the motives which control either local or national politics, he may easily be

led to conclude that moral idealism has spent its force before radiating so far, and that political life is little else than a scene of intrigue, plundering, and treachery.

What, for example, could be more disheartening to one who looks for the purification of politics than the prevailing condition of city-government in the United States, with its scramble of party politicians for the spoils of office, and its cynical contempt for both economy and efficiency, a situation which has provoked one of the most distinguished of Americans to remark: "I would desire for my country three things above all others to supplement our existing American civilization from Great Britain her administration of criminal justice, from Germany her theatre, and from any European country, save Russia, Spain and Turkey, its government of cities." Or what, again, can be said of the principles and practices of national politics which appear to be approved by the most favored countries of the modern world? Is legislation habitually guided by a comprehensive and far-sighted idealism, or is it, in the main, a balancing of temporary expediencies, a promotion of party interests, not to speak of its baser uses to promote personal ambition or gain? Is not an English observer justified in remarking that while patriotic sentiment is conspicuous in the United States, the "sense of public spirit . .

1 Andrew D. White, "Autobiography," 1905, II, p. 226.