Part 8 (2/2)

How is that habit of mind--that second nature--being acquired to-day and how will it be acquired in the future, among people who have ceased to respect the traditions of the past and are pleased to accept the idea of the freedom of the individual, the right to gratify yourself and every inclination, without fear or favor?

Must there be a return to the old-fas.h.i.+oned methods and beliefs? Nothing is more unlikely. As a reaction against the present tendency, there may be efforts on the part of some well-intentioned people to return to the regime of obedience, discipline and the fear of G.o.d. But such reactions do not usually last very long. The next step that will help toward the real solution of the problem must be forward, not backward. The underlying reason why the old formulas have been losing their prestige is probably because there were fallacies and crudities contained in them which humanity has outgrown.

You might look back with longing to the happy state you were in when you believed in Santa Claus, but after you have reached a certain age, all the king's horses and all the king's men cannot bring Santa Claus back to you again.

V

FAITH

If the life of man were confined to the exercise of his senses and material instincts, there would be no problems of conduct. There would be perceptions and sensations,--some pleasant, others disagreeable.

Appet.i.tes and desires would make themselves felt and he would seek to satisfy them.

The underlying motive of all his acts would be to prolong life, go toward pleasure and away from pain.

All about us are living things--plants, fish, animals--whose existence, as far as we know, seems limited to these simple considerations. They form part of man's life--one side of his nature--the animal side.

If, in addition to this life of the senses, we concede to man a brain, a thinking apparatus, which enables him to remember, compare, calculate, the question of his conduct at any given time is apt to become more complicated, through considerations of reason. As we have seen in our previous discussions, his brain may decide him to forego a present pleasure, in order to escape a future pain; or to endure a present pain, for the sake of a future pleasure.

Still, the mere addition of a reasoning mind, would in no way alter the nature of the underlying motive. The considerations would still remain purely animal--prolonging life, getting the greatest sum of pleasure, avoiding the greatest sum of pain.

It is not until we begin to take note of the sympathies, affections, generous emotions of which man is capable, that we recognize another and inner nature, which may be concerned and moved by considerations that don't depend upon sensations, or selfish instincts and are not, in their very essence, animal at all. In every day language, this is the heart and the heart-life of man. It is as far removed from the brain, as it is from the senses. The brainiest people may be the least affectionate and the least generous--just as the most sensual people may so be.

We have seen, in discussing this side of human nature, the bearing it has on the conduct of the individual. More delicate and more complicated motives and considerations are introduced into the problem through its influence. Its essence is sweeter, finer, less obvious and more elevating than the instincts which the brute beasts share with us.

But sensations, calculations and sympathetic emotions are still not enough to explain some of the most important questions and decisions that enter into the life of man. Above and beyond all these, deeper, vaguer, more complicated and more inspiring, is another function or quality--another side of his nature--which distinguishes him completely from all the other earthly creatures. This is the spiritual side, the soul,--the home of conscience, honor, responsibility, idealism.

Let us begin with some simple examples:

If a big bully kicks a little boy; or a man deserts his friend in the hour of need; or an innocent person is sent to prison;--a feeling of protest arises within me. It tells me such things ought not to be. They are not right, they are wrong.

My self-interest has nothing to do with it. As far as I am personally concerned, none of these things makes the slightest difference.

If I turn to my intellect, that offers me no explanation. It tells me that the bully is only obeying his natural instincts, in the same way a cat does when it springs on a mouse. It is logical and proper for each and every living thing to act in accordance with its impulses. As for the man who deserts his friend, he is merely looking out for himself--a perfectly reasonable thing for any one to do. When we come to the third case, my intellect tells me that the person sent to prison was given a fair trial in accordance with the laws--the evidence was against him--and he was adjudged guilty. Because I happen to know that he was innocent, does that make the occurrence any less reasonable? As I was not concerned in it, I cannot be held accountable, so what difference does it make to me?

My affections give me the same negative response as my self-interest and my reason. The bully, the small boy; the man and his friend; the innocent person--they are strangers to me; no personal attachment applies to any of them.

And yet the feeling within me is unmistakable. Where does it come from?

That other side of my nature, where dwells the sense of right and wrong.

It is just as vague and mysterious, but just as real as another kind of sense to which it may be compared. This other sense also baffles the intellect, but it is none the less generally recognized and accepted.

Certain kinds of music, sunsets, moonlight nights, paintings, arouse in me a delicate feeling of pleasure, mixed with admiration. It is not only my physical sensations which are involved--my eyes and my ears--but something deeper within me which seems to be quite apart from reason or intellect.

Also my interest and attention are by no means confined to the sensations which I am experiencing; I consider the things themselves and call them beautiful. Certain other sounds and sights strike me as discordant, or unpleasant, and I call them ugly. And the faculty within me which determines this, I call a sense of Beauty.

In the same way, this other sense within me is appealed to by certain deeds and qualities of men. That which is fine, just, generous, n.o.ble, I call right; another sort of thing, of a contrary tendency, I call wrong.

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