Heart and Soul by Maveric Post Part 8

None of these things affect her directly or personally, but sympathetically, through her love for you.

So it is in the case of the boy who, after promising not to drive over thirty miles an hour, goes speeding on the highway and gets arrested.

The fine which has to be paid by father is an infinitesimal part of the harm and hurt which is caused the parents.

You cannot sit in a draft and catch a heavy cold, without causing a certain amount of anxiety and distress to your sister, or your wife, who are devoted to you--if it runs into pneumonia, the hurt to them is greater; and if you happen to die of it, that may release you from further suffering, only to make theirs heaviest of all.

I went to a dance, last summer, at the home of a young married couple in a fas.h.i.+onable community. The hostess was rather an extreme example of the up-to-date school, with the well formed habit of looking at things from the point-of-view of her own inclinations.

After the dancing had been going on a short while, she found she was not in the humor for it; the men who asked her to dance didn't interest her, and she felt like going to bed. Being a firm believer in individualism and thinking only of herself, she quietly withdrew and went to bed.

A number of her guests had not yet arrived. When they did and sought to greet their hostess, inquiries were made and in the end everybody was apprised of her behavior. She imagined that it concerned only herself, whereas the sympathy, affection, the kindly att.i.tude which all those people were disposed to have for her suffered a shock. A touch of resentment and antipathy was left behind which would make itself felt in future relations. The sympathy and affection of those about us is a part of life too precious and necessary to our well-being to be lightly cast aside. The loss to us and to them, however trifling in any one instance, may in the course of time involve lasting consequences.

In the various examples we have cited so far, it has been a question of hurting or depriving others, through lack of consideration. A similar motive comes into play in prompting us to bestow pleasure upon others.

Human sympathy causes us to delight in the joy of those we love, just as their sorrow saddens us. We like to give them presents, prepare surprises for them, devise ways and means of adding to their happiness.

Such acts on our part are usually accompanied by a very sweet and lovely feeling of sentiment. Our hearts are warmed by the thought and sight of this good that is coming to those we love. Some cynical and shallow reasoners like to argue that such acts are only a disguised form of selfishness because, as we have a sympathetic share in the pleasure, we benefit by it, ourselves. Any such argument is usually found to be no more than a quibble on words and a pretense of cleverness. Nevertheless, as this sort of talk is liable to crop up at any time, in connection with human motives, and cause a confusion of idea, it may be just as well to pause for a moment and dispose of it.

If you find our little friend Harry sobbing on a tree stump because he has lost his apple, you feel sorry for him--because you understand and sympathize. If you had an apple in your pocket, you would give it to him. You are not thinking of yourself--you are thinking of him. If Jake comes along and restores the apple and Harry stops crying and offers Jake half, the feeling of gladness that comes to you has nothing selfish in it at all. There is no motive or calculation of self-gratification in the sentiments you have experienced. They are inspired, not by the thought of your own welfare, but the welfare of another. The essence of them is sympathy and affection.

So it is with countless acts of kindness which frequently involve the need of denying our selfish inclinations--depriving ourselves of personal gratifications--for the sake of helping others who are in trouble, or bringing pleasure to those we love. The first consideration--the true determining motive--is not any thought of the benefit to ourselves, but the benefit to them. In every-day language the word used to characterize such acts and feelings is generosity--and this is properly and popularly considered the exact opposite of selfishness.

Now because it has been observed by thoughtful people that acts of generosity are frequently accompanied by a feeling of satisfaction and gladness, this fact has been seized upon by a certain order of cold-blooded individuals as a pretext for distorting the truth. They argue that this feeling of satisfaction with yourself which comes from generosity is such a desirable thing in your eyes that you want it for yourself--consequently when you show kindness and sympathy for others you are obeying the same motive as the cynic, himself, who having small sympathy for others, prefers the frank gratification of his own ego.

This, of course, is pure sophistry. But if any mind is so kinked that it must reason that way, there is a simple answer which will suffice to bring it through the question to the main point. Whenever the pleasure to be derived by an individual comes to him through sympathy and affection and consideration for the feelings of another--that sort of pleasure is so different in its origin and its essence from the pleasure which comes from the gratification of personal appet.i.tes and desires that the ma.s.s of mankind has recognized the difference since the beginning of civilization.

One kind of pleasure flows from acts of sentiment for others' sake; the other kind is rooted in the indulgence of personal desires. The essence of one is usually characterized as generosity; the other, selfishness.

If the cynic will promise to keep the distinction clear in his head and stop confusing himself with quibbles or words, he may call the motives any names he likes.

This question of consideration for others is so important and far-reaching in its effect on human lives that no pains should be spared to keep it from being lost sight of or misunderstood. And yet, as we have observed, at the present time, among up-to-date individuals, it is apparently being lost sight of, more and more. In a general way, it is being bunched with those other old-fas.h.i.+oned notions and conventions that were wont to interfere with the freedom of the individual. Why should an emanc.i.p.ated ego, brought up in the modern way, be constantly bothered by the thought of others?

If we pause and examine this att.i.tude of mind, dispa.s.sionately, from another angle, a possible explanation suggests itself. There may be two reasons, of a distinct and different sort why any given person might fail to feel the significance of so vital a part of life.

In the first place, some natures may be rather lacking in the qualities of affection and sympathy. All people are not alike, in this respect, by any means. Some are instinctively warm-hearted and intense in their feelings--others are naturally inclined to coldness and indifference. To a cold nature, the woes or pleasures of others are of comparatively minor consequence. There is no rush of heart-felt sympathy, if the supply is so thin and weak that it hardly suffices for the needs of self.

That is one explanation of how certain natures, if left to their own resources, can be lacking in consideration.

But if we are right in a.s.suming that the general run of human nature is much the same to-day as it has always been, there ought to be the same instincts of sympathy and affection, the same kind of warm-hearts among our new generation, as there were in the time of our grandmothers. As consideration for others is founded on these, there must be some other explanation for the lack of consideration which is a growing tendency, obvious to all.

The truth of the matter seems to be that consideration for others is not a primitive instinct like hunger or thirst; nor is it a simple, inborn quality or impulse, like affection or sympathy. It requires a certain amount of thoughtfulness, reflection and control of self, in order to transfer one's attention from one's own inclination and interest to the welfare of another, especially when that other is not at hand to offer a reminder or make an appeal.

But under proper guidance, through enlightenment and constant exercise, this faculty is susceptible of such development that it may in time permeate the mind, become an essential part of the character, a sort of second nature, just as real and solid, and infinitely more lovely than the instincts which it dominates.

The capacity and capability necessary for this development are present to a greater or less extent in all human natures. But through neglect and mismanagement and lack of enlightenment and exercise, they may shrivel and fade and contribute very little to beauty of character, or the joy of living.

In the light of the foregoing observations, there is nothing in the att.i.tude of the new generation toward this whole question which remains incomprehensible, or even very puzzling. Their advanced ideas, when sifted down, would seem to signify no more than insufficient development of the finer and better side of their natures, and a lack of understanding concerning the important role which affection and sympathy are capable of playing in the search for happiness. This part of their training and education has been neglected, somehow, in the confusion arising from lost traditions and standards. An essential and beautiful part of their humanity has been allowed to shrivel away until it has been lost sight of in their calculations.

In all the past periods of our civilization, when obedience and discipline held sway, no such over-sight was likely to occur. One of the first lessons repeatedly and forcibly impressed upon every growing individual was the necessity of considering other people's wishes. There were three people at least, who had always to be considered--mother, father and G.o.d. Consideration of these would be rewarded and lack of consideration, sooner or later, was sure to bring punishment.

In this old-fas.h.i.+oned way--crudely, if you will, but nevertheless with relative effectiveness--a habit of mind, was established, involving self-control, which readily became second nature. It became almost instinctive to pause in the presence of temptation or selfish inclination, and consider the effect upon others. Once this habit was formed, the teachings of mother and father, of Sunday school, church and Bible all tended to develop it and extend its application--love your fellows, let your sympathy and affection flow out to them, consider their welfare, in all that you do, and you will be blessed and happy.

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.