all that. I want to explain to you
to-night somewhat more in detail what I mean by this, because the more
clearly we can see the truth the more clearly we can perceive sin to be
a soul's blunder. There are two tendencies discernible throughout
nature and in human history. These two tendencies are essentially
opposed, are ever in conflict, and ever will be until the whole world
is subdued to Christ, and God is all in all. I called them last Sunday
morning from the pulpit the deathward and the lifeward respectively.
The terms are not very satisfactory, because the deathward tendency
usually masquerades as the lifeward, and the lifeward often looks like
the deathward. That is why sin is ever possible. A man thinks to get
something by it, and though he finds out his mistake afterward, yet he
supposes it to be for him the lifeward road. On the other hand, the
utterly unselfish deed often looks as though it were a deed that would
bring destruction upon the doer. Not so. Jesus Christ saw right to
the heart of things when He said, "He that loveth his life shall lose
it, and he that loseth his life for My sake the same shall find it."
If you substitute for the words "for My sake," "for truth's sake," or
"for life's sake," you will get just the same meaning,--"he that keeps
back his life shall lose it, and he that gives forth his life shall
find it."

Here, then, are two tendencies sharply contrasted. Now observe their
operation in nature and in human experience. You are all aware of, and
frequently have been saddened, no doubt, by what you regard as the
cruelty of nature. There is a tragedy under every rose leaf, there is
unceasing conflict to the death going on in every hedgerow. Nature is
indeed cruel. I have often watched, during this winter which is now
drawing to a close, the little birds feeding outside the window of my
breakfast room in the morning. Like many of you, we put out a few
crumbs for these feathered friends who share the same garden with
ourselves, and I have always noticed that there is a battle royal
fought round those crumbs. There is enough for everyone, and yet the
instinct of these little creatures is to try and grab and keep all,
each one for itself. The instinct of the lower creation appears to be
that a form can only preserve itself, and only expand and express
itself, at the expense of other forms. It is a stern and terrible law,
as you well know. Forms, by a slow, upward progress