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.