By mutuality, then, I mean the recognition of another and myself as inseparable elements of one another, each being essential to the welfare of each. This duality of giving has always been recognized as ennobling. Even Jesus did not seek simply to give, but to induce in those to whom he gave a similar disposition. Rightly is it counted higher than simple giving, including, as it does, all which that contains and more. Such mutuality is most familiar to us in certain cases which for convenience I group together under the name of partnership. In a partnership a specific field is marked out within which persons agree to consider certain of their interests common. When Brown and I form a firm for the sale of shoes it is understood that thenceforth he and I have no separate interest so far as shoes are concerned. The stock in the store does not belong to him or to me; and if some one seeing money in the drawer should ask whose it was, I should have to answer, “It is not mine,” and Brown would similarly disown it. It would be ours. All his would be mine and mine his. Usual thought and speech would require considerable readjustment to fit a condition so new. “I” and “he” would pass largely out of use as no longer of practical significance, “we” taking the place of these separate symbols. “Together” would acquire a more intimate and compulsive meaning. Accordingly, if on some bright morning I were inclined to go shooting instead of appearing at the office at my usual hour, I should know I had no right to the sport without Brown’s concurrence, my time being no longer mine. Mutuality would everywhere supersede private control. All this is familiar enough. Nobody finds it hard to comprehend. But when the moralist urges that higher life is possible only as the separate self becomes merged in a conjunct, it sounds mysterious and seems little likely to occur.