There is such a thing as supremely selfish self-denial. A man retires
into the monk's pietic seclusion; he isolates himself from interest in
the world battles; he shuts himself from sympathy with the struggles of
business, civil, and even social life. To him these things are carnal.
He is engrossed with the complication of interpretations of languages
long dead, or with visions of an unknown heaven, and this, he thinks,
is living the life of self-denial.
The denial of self is not the death of self; it is the leading of the
best self into larger life. It is not the dwarfing of the life; it is
its development into usefulness. It is not the emasculation of
character; it is the submission and discipline of the life to new and
nobler motives.
He best denies himself who best develops himself with the purpose of
serving his fellows. What Jesus meant was that if any man would be one
of His he must cease to make his own selfish pleasures, ambitions, and
passions the end of his living; he must make the most of himself that
he might have the more to give to the service of mankind; he must make
the one motive and end of his life the benefit and help of every other
man.
That kind of a life means a change of centre. Instead of regarding the
universe as revolving about itself it sees that self as but part of the
great machinery of life, planned and operating for the good of all. A
man begins to deny himself as soon as he begins to love another. Even
a yellow dog may act to deflect the heart from its old self-centre.
The love of kin and family, of friends, and associates all serve to
strengthen the habit of self-denial.
The fewer people a man takes into his plan of life the more likely is
he to be selfish. But some lives are but the more selfish because they
take in all mankind and look on them as designed to contribute to their
single enriching. That kind of a life commits suicide; ever grasping
and never giving it dies of plethora. It had never learned that
strange secret of the best self-development, sacrificing service.
We need to guard ourselves against the delusion that the denial of
oneself means the impoverishment of the life. There can be no true
giving of the life in service unless there is a wise enriching of the
self, a thorough fitting for that service. The more of a man you are,
the brighter your intellect, the broader your sympathies, the better
your service to the world may be. The sloth that sinks the soul in
indifference to its own development is the most sinful of all forms of
selfishness.
This way of denial is more, the Master tells His disciples, than an
emptying of the life. If some of the cares of self are cast out the
burdens of others more than take their place. It is a full life,
overflowing with the interests, the fears, loves, hopes, and longings
of other lives. It bears the cross, not of an ornamental,
vanity-serving glory, but the cross of a world's sin and sorrow.
Each man must carry his cross not on his breast but on his heart and
brain. It is what he can do, what he can plan, suggest, undertake
towards saving this world. The cross of discipleship will be to some
statesmanship, to others science, to others the daily service of a home
or the work in the shop; it is the kindly word, the cheering look, the
lift by the way; it is whatever is done in unselfish desire to make
life better, to bring men nearer to one another and to the Father of
all.
You have only to look at the great Teacher to know what self-denial and
cross bearing really mean, and you have only to follow Him to fully
carry out their principles. To Him they meant the life of doing good,
of seeking the sorrowing, befriending the forsaken, helping the
helpless. They who follow Him lead the world; they who seek to
minister instead of being ministered to are the world's masters. The
value of every life must be measured at last not by what it has
gathered to itself but by what it has given for the enriching and help
of the whole life of the world.