and after Christ, have agreed in recognising that this particular passion has been an instrument in the advancement of society, and hence has served a useful purpose. Before Christ the only alternative to this view seems to have been that of the duty of quiescence, and long after Christ the same theory has been very commonly held. As examples of the former view the reader has only to call to mind the sentiment of Homer's immortal epic, or the odes of Pindar, in order to see that ambition was regarded as the motor quality of heroism. Where this selfish passion was regarded as an evil and renounced in favour of a supposedly higher theory of life, the result nearly always took the form of asceticism or withdrawal from active service in the world. No via media was thought of as possible between thorough-going ambition and the

... fugitive and cloistered virtue,

which has exhibited to the world so different an ideal. In dreamy, mystical, Oriental cults we see this latter tendency carried to its extreme. Almost invariably the renunciation of ambition as an incentive to human action has meant the disuse of many noble human powers and gifts. So much has this been the case that even in our own day, with the Christian ideal in our possession, ambition has been regarded as an indispensable ingredient in most strenuous human efforts put forth on behalf of humanity. Edmund Burke classifies sympathy, imitation and ambition together as motors in the progress of the community.[1] Professor Lecky, in his great work, "The History of European Morals," seems to regard it as indispensable to a vigorous national life. This great thinker, accustomed to habits of exact observation, is, no doubt, right in the assumption that this position receives abundant confirmation in the field of history; but have we so "learned Christ"?

The fact is that in giving to the world a higher ethical ideal in regard to the sanction of service Jesus must have well understood the difficulties that lay before Him. Perhaps this is why He was so patient with the selfish hopes of His followers in regard to their personal preferment. He must have known that the whole trend of history was against the new teaching. It is easy for us now to say that the intrusion of self-interest in any good work vitiates its value to a great extent; but must we not reflect that we owe this conception to Christ? Society is now saturated with the ethical teaching of the Man of Nazareth. We are confronted with the observation that in its moral tendencies Society is moving toward an ideal which was exhibited to the world nearly nineteen hundred years ago. We are not reaching forward to an indeterminate something in the region of morals, we are moving toward a standard exhibited in a life. Further, it is easy for us, reading the New Testament, to hastily judge and condemn the obtuseness and unspirituality of the little band that surrounded Jesus. The arrogance of Peter and the selfish intrigues of the sons of Zebedee move us to impatience. How much worthier and kinder the attitude of our Divine Master! He knew that a moral revolution could not be effected in an hour. His object was to train the men who should transform the world. If He could possibly influence the twelve men whom His Father had given Him so that they could know what they ought to feel and do, He could afford to be content. The gates of Hades should not prevail against the advancing Gospel.

What, then, was His ideal? It was nothing less than complete renunciation of all self-interest without any diminution of energy and effort in service for the good of the world. Jesus repudiated ambition in any form as the dynamic of human aspiration and endeavour. He required from His disciples the completest self-renunciation, combined with enthusiastic self-devotion to the duty of making the world better. To give up self was not to give up service, it was simply the substitution of a higher motive for a lower. This explains in a measure why Christianity came to replace the Stoic and Epicurean philosophies. Stoicism is exhibited at its best, perhaps, in the nobly active life of the greatest of the Antonines. Its ideal was rigid devotion to duty, that of Christ was service inspired by love. Ambition is a mode of self service, yet if we may so expand the meaning as to make it include the Christian principle we might say that in the place of ambition for the sake of self Christianity substitutes ambition for the sake of God. In each case it is love for a person that supplies the motive for the highest human endeavours. But how incomparably grander and stronger is the Christian principle than that which it replaced! All useful or desirable things that men are accustomed to do for themselves Christianity requires them to do for God. When the apostles finally came to understand this new commandment their Gospel became a resistless force, and whenever since their day the Church has succeeded in doing the same Christianity has arisen in newness of life.

[1] Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful. Sect. xii.

VI.

Peter Thinks His Sacrifice Complete.

His Consequent Expectations.

In the three synoptical Gospels we have an account of a remarkable conversation between Peter and his Lord in regard to the reward promised to those who took service in the Kingdom of God. The occasion was one of special interest. A rich young ruler came to Jesus to ask the momentous question, "What shall I do to inherit eternal life?" The disciples appear to have been much impressed by the incident—Peter, perhaps, most of all, for in Mark's Gospel we have the best account of the matter. Jesus, he says, was attracted by the simplicity, humility and earnestness of one who certainly ran the risk of incurring odium by stooping to ask advice of the new Teacher. Peter has preserved for us in one vivid sentence something of the very aspect of the Master in His final reply, "Jesus, looking upon him, loved him, and said unto him, 'One thing thou lackest; go, sell whatsoever thou hast and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven, and come, follow me.'" This test was too much for the seeker; he turned and "went away sorrowful, for he was one that had great possessions." In the discourse that followed, the Master, doubtless in a vein of mingled sadness and solemnity, observed, "How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the Kingdom of God!" Peter accepting his Master's words in their most literal sense, in the light of the foregoing incident, spoke out in his impulsive way, "Lord, we have left all and followed Thee. What, then, shall we have?"

Two things in regard to this question have a certain significance for us. The first, Peter's inadequate sense of the extent of the renunciation he had made, and secondly, our Lord's patient and wise reply. Peter evidently considered his renunciation and that of his companions to have been complete. They had abandoned their fishing nets, and to a certain extent their homes. They had done so on the understanding that He who summoned them was the promised Messiah and future King of Israel, and therefore would be able in the future to compensate all who associated themselves with Him to their own loss. We must not suppose that this was the leading motive which attracted Simon and the sons of Zebedee to the new Prophet, but it is very clear that after they had been associated with Jesus for some time ambitious hopes for place and power began to take possession of their hearts. Of this we have already considered an example. Up to the present they