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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
other occasion, a strong emotion of fear should be awakened, this
would probably recall a conception of the wood with which it had
formerly been united. It is no uncommon fact in our experience to
have circumstances about us that recall unusually sad and mournful
feelings, for which we are wholly unable to account. No doubt, at
such times, some particular objects, or some particular combination
of circumstances which were formerly united with painful emotions,
again recur, and recall the emotions with which they were once
connected, while the mind is wholly unable to remember the fact of
their past coexistence. In like manner, pleasurable emotions may be
awakened by certain objects of perception when the mind is equally
unable to trace the cause.
Objects of perception recall the emotions connected with them
much more vividly than objects of conception can do. Thus, if we
revisit the scenes of our childhood, the places of the sorrows and the
joys of early days, how much more vividly are the emotions recalled
which were formerly connected with these scenes than any
conception of these objects could awaken.
Certain perceptions will be found to produce emotions similar to
those awakened by the intellectual operations of mind. Thus the
entrance of light produces an emotion similar to the discovery of
some truth, and the emotion felt while in a state of doubt and
uncertainty resembles that experienced when shrouded in darkness.
Great care and anxiety produce a state of mind similar to what is felt
when the body is pressed down by a heavy weight. The upward
spring of an elastic body awakens feelings resembling those that
attend the hearing of good news, and thus with many other
perceptions. From this fact originates much of the figurative
language in common use; such as when knowledge is called light,
and ignorance darkness, and care is called a load, and joy is said to
make the heart leap.
It has previously been shown that the discovery of certain
operations and emotions of mind affords much more pleasure than
attends mere perceptions of material objects. Those who have
experienced the exciting animation felt at developments of splendid
genius, and the pure delight resulting from the interchange of
affection, can well realize that no sensitive gratification could ever be
exchanged for them. Whatever objects, therefore, most vividly recall
those emotions which are awakened when such qualities are
apprehended will be most interesting to the mind.
Now it will appear that there are no modes by which one mind can
learn the character and feelings of another but by means of the eye
and ear. A person both deaf and blind could never, except to an
exceedingly limited extent, learn either the intellectual operations or
the emotions of another mind. Of course, it is by means of certain
forms, colors, motions, and sounds that we gain those ideas which
are most interesting and animating to the soul. It is by the blush of
modesty, the paleness of fear, the flush of indignation, that color
aids in giving an idea of the emotions of the mind. The pallid hue of
disease, the sallow complexion of age, the pure and bright colors of
childhood, and the delicate blendings of the youthful complexion,
have much influence in conveying ideas of the qualities of mind in
certain particulars. The color and flashing expressions of the eye
also have much to do with our apprehensions of the workings of
mind.
As it regards motion as aiding in imparting such ideas, it is by the
curl of the lip that contempt is expressed, by the arching brow that
curiosity and surprise are exhibited, by the scowling front that anger
and discontent are displayed, and by various muscular movements
of the countenance that the passions and emotions of the mind are
portrayed. It is by the motions of the body and limbs also that
strong emotions are exhibited, as in the clasped hand of
supplication, the extended arms of affection, and the violent
contortions of anger.
Form and outline also have their influence. The sunken eye of
grief, the hollow cheek of care and want, the bending form of
sorrow, the erect position of dignity, the curvature of haughtiness
and pride, are various modes of expressing the qualities and
emotions of mind.
But it is by the varied sounds of voice chiefly that intellect glances
abroad, and the soul is poured forth at the lips. The quick and
animated sounds of cheerfulness, joy, and hope; the softer tones of
meekness, gentleness, and love; the plaintive notes of sympathy,
sorrow, and pain; the firm tone of magnanimity, fortitude, patience,
and self-denial, all exhibit the pleasing and interesting emotions of
the soul. Nor less expressive, though more painful, are the harsh
sounds of anger, malice, envy, and discontent.
Not only are certain forms, colors, motions, and sounds the
medium by which we gain a knowledge of the intellectual operations
and emotions of other minds, but they are the means by which we
discover and designate those material objects which are causes of
comfort, utility, and enjoyment. Thus it is by the particular form and
color that we distinguish the fruits and the food which minister to
our support. By the same means we discriminate between noxious
and useful plants and animals, and distinguish all those
conveniences and contrivances which contribute to the comfort of
man. Of course, certain forms and colors are connected in the mind
with certain emotions of pleasure that have attended them as causes
of comfort and enjoyment.
In what precedes, it appears that it is those emotions which are
awakened by the apprehension of certain intellectual operations and
emotions of intelligent minds which are most delightful; that all our
ideas of such operations and emotions are gained by means of
certain forms, colors, motions, and sounds; that we designate
objects of convenience and enjoyment to ourselves by the same
mode; that perceptions can recall the emotions which have been
connected with them, even after the mind has forgotten the
connection, and that perceptions recall associated emotions much
more vividly than conceptions.
In consequence of these considerations, the inference seems
justifiable that the emotions of beauty and sublimity are not owing
either simply to the perceptions produced, nor to the conceptions
recalled by the principle of association. But they are accounted for in
a great degree by the fact that certain colors, forms, motions, and
sounds have been so often connected with emotions awakened by
the apprehension of qualities in other minds, or of emotions which
arise in view of causes of enjoyment to ourselves, that the
perception of these colors, sounds, forms, and motions recall such
agreeable emotions, even when the mind can not trace the
connection in past experience.
As an example of this, the emotion of pleasure has been so often
connected with the clear blue of the sky and with the bright verdure
of the foliage, that the sight of either of these colors recalls the
emotions, though we may not be able to refer to any particular time
when this previous connection existed. In like manner, the moaning
sound of the wind in a storm, or the harsh growl which sometimes
attends it, has so often been united with sorrowful or disagreeable
emotions, that the sounds recall the emotions.
But there is another important fact in regard to the causes of the
emotions of taste. It is found that the character of the combination
of sounds, forms, colors, and motions has as much to do with the
existence of such feelings as the nature of these objects of
perception. The very same colors and forms, in certain combination,
are very displeasing, when in others they are beautiful. Thus, also,
certain motions in certain circumstances are very beautiful or
sublime, and in others very displeasing. The very same sounds, also,
may be made either very disagreeable or very delightful, according
to their combination.
To account for this, it is necessary to understand that objects
which tend to awaken emotions of a directly opposite nature can not
both operate on the mind without causing disagreeable feelings. If
we are surrounded by objects of awe and solemnity, it is painful to
notice objects that are mean or ludicrous. If we are under the
influence of sprightly and humorous feelings, it is painful to
encounter solemn and pensive scenes, with which, perhaps, at other
times, we should be pleased. In order, therefore, to awaken
emotions of beauty and sublimity, there must exist a congruity in the
arrangement and composition of parts which will prevent the
operation of causes that would awaken incongruous emotions.
But there is another principle which has a still more powerful
operation in regard to the effect of combination and composition.
We are always accustomed to view objects with some reference to
their nature and use. We always feel that every effect must have a
cause, and that every contrivance has some design which it was
made to accomplish.
There is no intellectual attribute of mind which is regarded with
more admiration than wisdom, which is always shown in selecting
the best means for accomplishing a given end; and the more
interesting or important is the object to be secured, the more is the
mind pleased with discovering the wisdom exhibited in adapting
means to secure this end. Almost every construction of nature or of
art is regarded by the mind as having some use and design. No
mind, except one bereft of its powers, would ever employ itself in
designing any thing which has no possible use, either in benefiting
or pleasing the designer or others; and should any such object be
found, it would cause only disgust, as exhibiting the fatuity of a mind
which spent its powers in contriving so useless a thing.
There are many objects which meet the eye of man for which he
in vain seeks the use and design; but such objects are never
attended with the conviction that there is no possible use to which
they can be applied; on the contrary, they more frequently provoke
curiosity, and awaken desire to discover their nature and their use.
There is a never-failing conviction attending all our discoveries of
new objects in nature that there is some design or contrivance of
which they form a link in the chain.
Whenever the object of any design is ascertained, immediately
there commences an examination of the modes by which this object
is to be effected. If every thing is found to harmonize—if a relation
of fitness and propriety is discovered in every part, the mind is
satisfied with the exhibition of wisdom which is thus discovered. But
if some parts are found tending to counteract the general design of
the contrivance, the object is displeasing. Every work of art, then,
depends, for the pleasure it affords, not alone on the various forms,
colors, sounds, and motions which are combined to affect the
senses, but on the nature of the design intended, and on the skill
which is shown in so composing and arranging the several parts that
each shall duly aid in effecting this design. This is the particular in
which the genius of the painter, the sculptor, the architect, the
musician, and the poet is especially exhibited.
Another particular to be noticed in reference to this subject is the
implanted principle of curiosity, or the desire which the mind feels to
discover what is new. After we have discovered the object for which
a thing is contrived, and the fit adjustment of every part to this
object, one cause of interest in it ceases. And objects which have
been the subjects of repeated observation and inspection never yield
so much interest as those which afford to the mind some fresh
opportunity to discover new indications of design, and of fitness in
the means for accomplishing the design. The love of novelty, then, is
a powerful principle in securing gratification to the mind. Of course,
the genius of the artist is to be displayed, not only in arranging the
several parts so as to accomplish a given design, but in the very
effort to secure a design which is new, so that the mind will have a
fresh object for exercising its powers in detecting the fitness of
means for accomplishing a given end.
From the preceding, we recapitulate the following causes for the
pleasurable emotions which are felt in view of certain objects of
sight, and in certain combinations of sound: They recall emotions
which, in past experience, have been connected with the conception
of operations and emotions of other minds, or with material objects
that were regarded as the causes of pleasurable emotions to
ourselves; they recall emotions that are congruous in their nature;
they cause emotions of pleasure from the discovery of fitness in
design and composition; and, finally, they awaken emotions of
novelty.
 Emotions of taste that are painful are caused by the presence of
objects that recall painful emotions with which they have formerly
been connected; by objects that recall incongruous emotions; by
objects that exhibit a want of fitness and design; and by objects that
are common, when the mind has been led to expect novelty.

OBJECTS, MOTIONS, AND SOUNDS THAT CAUSE

EMOTIONS OF TASTE.
The causes which produce emotions of taste have now been
pointed out. An inquiry as to which are the objects, motions, and
sounds, and their various combinations, that, in our experience,
have awakened such emotions, may lead to facts that will establish
the position assumed.
Emotions of taste generally are divided into two classes, called
emotions of sublimity and emotions of beauty. Emotions of sublimity
resemble those which exist in the mind at the display of great
intellectual power, and at exhibitions of strong passion and emotions
in another mind. Emotions of beauty resemble those which are
experienced at the exhibition of the more gentle emotions of mind,
such as pity, humility, meekness, and affection.

Of Sounds.
All sounds are sublime which in past experience have been
associated with the strong emotions of fear and terror. Such sounds
are heard in the roar of artillery, the howling of a storm, the roll of
thunder, and the rumbling of an earthquake. Sounds are sublime,
also, which convey an idea of great power and might. This is
illustrated in the emotions felt at the uprooting of trees and the
prostration of nature before a whirlwind; in the force of the rolling
waves, as they dash against the cliffs; and in art, by the working of
some ponderous and mighty engine, that astonishes with the
immense resistance it can overcome.
 Other sounds, also, are sublime which have often been associated
with emotions of awe, solemnity, or deep melancholy. Such are the
tolling of a heavy bell and the solemn notes of the organ.
There may be certain circumstances that render a sound, that
otherwise would be very gentle and beautiful, more strongly sublime
than even those sounds that are generally most terrific. Gray
describes such a combination of circumstances in a letter to a friend.
"Did you never observe," said he, "while rocking winds are piping
loud, that pause, as the gust is recollecting itself, and rising upon the
ear in a shrill and plaintive note, like the swell of the Æolian harp? I
do assure you there is nothing in the world so like the voice of a
spirit."
We have another example in Scripture: "And behold, the Lord
passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and
brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in
the wind; and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in
the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was
not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice. And it was so,
when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in a mantle." In both these
cases, the sudden silence and the still small voice, so contrasted
with the tumult around, would awaken the most thrilling emotions of
the sublime. In some cases it is the sense which these sounds
awaken of the presence of some awful and powerful Being that
causes such emotions.
There are a great variety of sounds that are called beautiful. Such
are the sound of a distant waterfall, the murmur of a rivulet, the
sighing of the wind, the tinkling of the sheepfold, the lowing of
distant kine, and the note of the shepherd's pipe. But it must be
remarked that it is always a combination of circumstances that make
sounds either sublime or beautiful. If we know, by the source from
which they originate, that they are caused by no display of power or
danger, or if necessarily they have low and mean associations
connected with them, the emotions of the sublime or beautiful,
which would otherwise recur, are prevented. Thus the rumbling of a
cart is sublime when it is believed to be thunder, and loses this
character when its true cause is discovered. The sound of the lowing
of kine in certain circumstances is very beautiful, and in others very
vulgar and displeasing.
Music seems to owe its chief power over the mind to the fact that
it can combine all kinds of sounds that have ever been associated
with any emotions, either of dignity, awe, and terror; or of joy,
sprightliness, and mirth; or of tenderness, melancholy, and grief. Its
power depends on the nature of the particular sounds, and also on
the nature of their combination and succession in relation to time,
and in relation to a certain sound which is called the fundamental or
key note.
The art of a musical composer consists in the ability with which he
succeeds in producing a certain class of emotions which he aims to
awaken. The more finished productions of this art are never relished
till long observation and experience enable the listener to judge of
the nature of the design, and with how much success the composer
has succeeded in effecting it. Music, when adapted to certain words,
has its nature and design more clearly portrayed, and in such
productions it is easier to judge of the success of the composer.

Of Color.
There are no colors which ordinarily excite so strong an emotion
as to be called sublime. The deep black of mourning and the rich
purple of royalty approach the nearest to this character. That colors
acquire their power in awakening agreeable or disagreeable
emotions simply from the emotions which have ordinarily existed in
connection with them, appears from the fact that the associations of
mankind are so exceedingly diverse on this subject. What is
considered a dignified and solemn color in one nation is tawdry and
vulgar in another. Thus, with us, yellow is common and tawdry, but
among the Chinese it is a favorite color. Black, with us, has solemn
and mournful associations, but in Spain and Venice it is an agreeable
color. White, in this country, is beautiful, as the emblem of purity and
innocence, but in China it is the sorrowful garb of mourning.

Of Forms.
Forms that awaken emotions of sublimity are such as have been
associated with emotions of danger, terror, awe, or solemnity. Such
are military ensigns, cannon, the hearse, the monument of death,
and various objects of this kind. Those forms which distinguish
bodies that have great strength, or which are enduring in their
nature, awaken the same class of emotions. Thus the Gothic castle,
the outline of rocks and mountains, and the form of the oak, are
examples. Bodies often appear sublime from the mere circumstance
of size, when compared with objects of the same kind. Thus the
pyramids of Egypt are an example where relative size, together with
their imperishable materials, awakens emotions of sublimity. The
ideas of beauty of form depend almost entirely on their fitness to the
object for which they are designed, and on many casual associations
with which they are connected.

Of Motion.
All motion that awakens sublime ideas is such as conveys the
notion of great force and power. Motions of this kind are generally in
straight or angular lines. Such motions are seen in the working of
machinery, and in the efforts of animal nature. Quick motion is more
sublime than slow. Motions that awaken ideas of beauty are
generally slow and curving. Such are the windings of the quiet
rivulet, the gliding motion of birds through the air, the waving of
trees, and the curling of vapor.
In regard to the beauty and sublimity of forms and color, it is
equally true, as in reference to sound, that the alteration of
circumstances will very materially alter the nature of the emotions
connected with them. If they are so combined as to cause
incongruous emotions, or if they do not harmonize with the general
design of any composition, emotions of the sublime or beautiful are
not awakened. For example, if the vivid green, which is agreeable in
itself from the pleasing emotions which have been connected with it,
is combined with a scene of melancholy and desolation, where the
design of the artist is to awaken other than lively emotions, it
appears incongruous and displeasing.
The art of the poet consists in the use of such language as
awakens emotions of beauty and sublimity, either by recalling
conceptions of various forms, colors, and motions in nature, which
are beautiful and sublime, or the strong and powerful, or the soft
and gentle emotions of mind.
Emotions of moral sublimity are such as are felt in witnessing
exhibitions of the force of intellect or of strong feelings.
Emotions of moral beauty are those that are felt in witnessing the
exhibition of the gentler and tender emotions of mind. These
emotions are much more powerful and delightful than when they are
more faintly recalled by those objects of perception which are called
sublime and beautiful.
The taste is improved by cultivating a love for intellectual
endowments and moral qualities. It is also cultivated by gaining an
extensive knowledge of objects and scenes which, either in history,
or in poetry, or in any compositions of the fine arts, have been
associated with emotions. It is also cultivated by learning the rules
of fitness and propriety, by studying works of taste, by general
reading, by intercourse with persons of refinement and taste, and by
a nice observation of the adaptation and fitness of things in the daily
intercourse and pursuits of life.
The highest efforts of taste are exhibited in the works of artists
who make such pursuits the express object of their profession.
But in ordinary life the cultivation of taste is chiefly exhibited in
the style, furniture, and decoration of private dwellings, and in the
dress and ornaments of the person. In reference to these, there is
the same opportunity for gratifying the eye as there is in the
compositions of the fine arts. On these subjects there are rules in
regard to color, outline, and combination, and also rules of fitness
and propriety, of which every person of taste sensibly feels the
violation. In the construction of dwelling-houses, in the proportion of
rooms, in the suitableness of colors, in the fitness of all
circumstances to the spot of location, to the habits and
circumstances of the proprietor, to ideas of convenience, and to
various particulars which may be objects of regard, in all these
respects the eye of taste ever is prepared to distinguish beauties or
defects.
As it regards dress, every individual will necessarily exhibit, to a
greater or less extent, the degree in which taste has been cultivated.
A person of real refinement of taste will always have the dress
consistent with the circumstances of fortune, the relative rank in life,
the station and character, the hour of the day, the particular pursuit
or profession, and the period of life.
If a person is dressed with a richness and elegance which fortune
does not warrant, if the dress is either inferior or superior to that of
others of the same rank and station, if it is unfitted to the hour or
the pursuit, if youth puts on the grave dress of age, or age assumes
the bright colors and ornaments of youth, in all these cases the eye
of taste is offended.
In the adaptation of colors to complexions, and the style of dress
to the particular form of the person; in avoiding the extremes of
fashion, the excesses of ornament, and all approaches to immodesty
—in all these respects a good taste can be displayed in dress, and
thus charm us in every-day life. A person of cultivated taste, in all
that relates to the little arrangements of domestic life, the
ornaments of the exterior and interior of a dwelling, the pursuits of
hours of relaxation and amusement, the modes of social intercourse,
the nice perception of proprieties in habits, manners, modes of
address, and the thousand little every-day incidents of life, will throw
an undefined and nameless charm around, like the soft light of
heaven, that, without dazzling, perpetually cheers.
 Emotions of the Ludicrous.
There is a certain class of feelings called emotions of the
ludicrous, which are the causes of laughter. These are generally
pleasurable in their nature, though there are times when the
emotions which produce laughter are painful. Emotions of this kind
are usually caused by the sudden union of certain ideas in our
conceptions when the laws of association appear to be violated.
Such ideas are called incongruous, because, according to the
ordinary experience of our minds, they would not naturally have
appeared together.
In order to awaken this emotion, it is not only necessary that the
mind should discover ideas united which have not ordinarily been so
in past experience, but those which are united in direct opposition to
the laws of association. Thus, if there has been a union of certain
qualities in an object which have uniformly tended to produce
emotions of a dignified and solemn kind, and some particular is
pointed out which is mean, little, or low, the unexpected incongruity
occasions mirth.
In like manner, when an object in past experience has uniformly
united ideas which awakened emotions of contempt, if some
particular is pointed out in association with these which is grand or
sublime, this incongruity occasions an emotion of the ludicrous. This
is the foundation of the amusement produced by bombastic writings,
where objects that are grand and sublime have low and mean
conceptions connected with them, or where qualities that are
insignificant or mean are connected with those which are grand and
sublime.
The following example of the union of such incongruous ideas will
illustrate:
"And now had Phœbus in the lap
Of Thetis taken out his nap,
And, like a lobster boiled, the morn
From black to red began to turn."
 The sublime ideas connected with the sun, and the classical
associations united with the name of Thetis, would not naturally
have recalled the idea of so insignificant an animal, nor the changes
produced in cooking it, and these connections violate the ordinary
laws of association.
Emotions of the ludicrous are also produced by the sudden
conception of some association in ideas which has never before been
discovered. Thus, if ideas have been united in the mind on some
other principle of association than that of resemblance, the sudden
discovery of some unexpected resemblance will produce mirth. This
is the foundation of the merriment produced by puns, where the
ideas which the words represent would never have been united by
the principles of association, but the union of these ideas is effected
on the principle of resemblance between the sounds of the words
which recall these ideas. When the mind suddenly perceives this
unexpected foundation for the union of ideas that in all other
respects are incongruous, an emotion of the ludicrous is produced.
This is also the foundation of the pleasure which is felt in the use of
alliteration in poetry, where a resemblance is discovered in the initial
sound of words that recall ideas which in all other respects are
incongruous.
All minds enjoy the excitement of this class of emotions, but some
much more than others. Laughter, which is the effect of this class of
emotions, is enjoyed more or less by all mankind, and is regarded as
not only an agreeable, but as a healthful exercise.
 CHAPTER XVII.
THE MORAL SUSCEPTIBILITIES.

A brief reference has been made to those susceptibilities which are

the subject of this chapter. These, from their importance, are
entitled to a more enlarged consideration.
Before proceeding, however, it is desirable to refer to the uses of
the term moral, inasmuch as it often is employed with a vague
comprehension of its signification. In its widest sense it signifies
whatever relates to the regulation of mind by motives in distinction
from those influences that produce involuntary results.
In a more limited sense, it signifies whatever relates to the
regulation of mind in reference to the rules of right and wrong.
In the preceding pages it has been assumed that the grand object
for which the Creator formed mind and all things is to produce the
greatest possible happiness with the least possible evil, and that this
design is so impressed on the human mind that the needless
destruction of happiness is felt to be wrong—that is, contrary or
unfitted to the design of all things; while all that tends to promote
happiness is felt to be right, or consistent with this plan.
In order to a more clear view of this part of the subject, it is
important to inquire as to the manner in which the ideas of right and
wrong seem to originate.
The young child first notices that certain actions of its own are
regarded with smiles and tones of love and approval, while other
acts occasion frowns and tones of displeasure.
Next, it perceives that whatever gives pleasure to itself and to
others is called good and right, while whatever causes unpleasant
feelings is called bad and wrong. Moreover, it notices that there is a
right and wrong way to hold its spoon, to use its playthings, to put
on its clothes, and to do multitudes of other things. It thus
perceives, more and more, that there is some rule to regulate the
use and action of all things, both animate and inanimate, and that
such rules always have reference to some plan or design.
As its faculties develop and its observation enlarges, the general
impression is secured that all plans and contrivances of men are
designed to promote enjoyment or to prevent discomfort, and are
called good and right just so far as this is done. At the same time, all
that tend to discomfort or pain are called bad and wrong.
In all the works of nature around, too, every thing that promotes
enjoyment is called good and right, and the opposite is called evil
and wrong.
At last there is a resulting feeling that the great design of all
things is to secure good and prevent evil, and that whatever is
opposed to this is wrong, and unfitted to the object for which all
things exist. The question whether this impression is owing solely to
observation or partly to mental constitution is waived as of little
practical consequence.
But, in the experience of infancy and childhood, the law of
sacrifice is speedily developed. It is perceived that much of the good
to be gained, if sought to excess, occasions pain, so that there must
be a certain amount of self-denial practiced, which, to the young
novice, sometimes involves disappointment and discomfort. It is also
seen that frequently two or more enjoyments are offered which are
incompatible, so that one must be relinquished to gain the other. It
is perceived, also, that there is a constant calculation going on as to
which will be the best—that is, which will secure the most good with
the least evil. And the child is constantly instructed that it must avoid
excess, and must give up what is of less value to secure the greater
good. All this training involves sacrifices which are more or less
painful, so that a young child will sometimes cry as it voluntarily
gives up one kind of pleasure as the only mode of securing what is
preferred.
 It is perceived, also, that there is a constant balancing of good
and evil, so that a given amount of enjoyment cancels or repays for
a certain amount of evil. When a great amount of enjoyment is
purchased by a small degree of labor or trouble, the compound
result is deemed a good, and called right; on the contrary, when the
evil involved exceeds a given amount in comparison to the good, the
compound result is called evil and wrong.
Thus is generated the impression that there is a law of sacrifice
instituted requiring the greatest possible good with the least possible
evil, and that this is the great design of all things.
The impression is, not merely that we are to seek enjoyment and
avoid pain, but that we are to seek the greatest possible good with
the least possible evil, and that in doing this we are to obey the law
of sacrifice and suffering, by which the greatest possible good is to
be bought by a certain amount of evil voluntarily assumed.
In regard to this great law of sacrifice, the highest part of it is
discerned in the earliest experiences of life. The young child very
soon perceives that its mother and its other friends are constantly
making sacrifices for its own good, and bearing inconveniences and
trouble for the good of those around. And those who perform such
acts of benevolent self-sacrifice are praised, and their conduct is
called good and right. Voluntary suffering to promote the welfare of
others is discerned to be the highest kind of good and right conduct
in the estimation of all.
The first feature, then, in our moral nature is that impression of
the great design of our Creator which furnishes us the means of
deciding on the rectitude of all voluntary action.
The second feature of our moral constitution is what is ordinarily
called the sense of justice. It is that susceptibility which is excited at
the view of the conduct of others as voluntary causes of good or
evil.
In all cases where free agents act to promote happiness, an
emotion of approval arises, together with a desire of reward to the
author of the good. On the contrary, when there is a voluntary
destruction of happiness, there is an emotion of disapproval and a
desire for retributive pain on the author of the wrong.
These emotions are instinctive, and not at all regulated by reason
in their inception. When an evil is done, an instant desire is felt to
discover the cause; and when it is found, an instant desire is felt to
inflict some penalty. So irrational is this impulse, that children will
exhibit anger and deal blows on inanimate objects that cause pain.
Even mature minds are sometimes conscious of this impulse.
It is the office of the intellect to judge whether the deed was a
voluntary one, whether the agent intended the mischief, and
whether a penalty will be of any use. The impulse to punish is never
preceded by any such calculations.
That this impulse is an implanted part of our constitution, and not
the result of reason and experience, is seen in the delight
manifested by young children in the narration of the nursery tale
where the cruel uncle who murdered the Babes in the Wood receives
the retributions of Heaven.
Another feature in this sense of justice is the proportion
demanded between the evil done and the penalty inflicted. That this
also is instinctive, and not the result of reason, is seen in the
nursery, where children will approve of slight penalties for slight
offenses, and severe ones for great ones, but will revolt from any
very great disproportion between the wrong act and its penalty. As a
general rule, both in the nursery and in the great family of mature
minds, the greater the wrong done, the stronger the desire for a
penalty, and the more severe the punishment demanded.
Another very important point of consideration is the universal
feeling of mankind that the natural penalties for wrong-doing are not
sufficient, and that it is an act of love as well as of justice to add to
these penalties. Thus the parent who forbids his child to eat green
fruit will not trust to the results of the natural penalty, but restrain
by the fear of the immediate and more easily conceived penalty of
chastisement.
So, in the great family of man, the natural penalties for theft are
not deemed sufficient, but severe penalties for the protection of
property are added.
This particular is the foundation of certain distinctions that are of
great importance, which will now be pointed out.
We find the terms "reward and punishment" used in two different
relations. In the first and widest sense they signify not only the
penalties of human law, but those natural consequences which, by
the constitution of nature, inevitably follow certain courses of
conduct.
Thus an indolent man is said to receive poverty as a punishment,
and it is in this sense that his children are said to be punished for
the faults of their father.
The violations of natural law are punished without any reference
to the question whether the evil-doer intended the wrong, or
whether he sinned in ignorance, or whether this ignorance was
involuntary and unavoidable. The question of the justice or injustice
of such natural penalties involves the great question of the right and
wrong of the system of the universe. Is it just and right for the
Creator to make a system in which all free agents shall be thus led
to obedience to its laws by penalties as well as rewards, by fear as
well as by hope? This question will not be discussed here.
Most discussions as to just rewards and penalties ordinarily relate
to the added penalties by which parents, teachers, and magistrates
enforce obedience to natural or to statute law.
In these questions reference is always had to the probable results
of such rewards and penalties in securing obedience. If experience
has shown that certain penalties do secure obedience to wise and
good laws, either of nature or of human enactment, then they are
considered just. If they do not, they are counted unwise and unjust.
 So, if certain penalties are needlessly severe—that is to say, if a
less penalty will secure equal obedience, then this also decides so
severe a penalty to be unjust.
In deciding on the rectitude of the penalties of human
enactments, it is always assumed to be unjust to punish for any lack
of knowledge and obedience when the subject had no power to
know and to obey. If a choice to obey will not secure the act
required of a free agent, then a penalty inflicted for disobedience is
always regarded as unjust. The only seeming exception to this is the
case where a person, by voluntary means, has deprived himself of
ability to obey. But in such cases the punishment is felt to be right,
not because he does not obey when he has no power, but because
he has voluntarily deprived himself of this power. And he is punished
for destroying his ability to obey, and not for violating the law.
These things in human laws, then, are always demanded to make
a penalty appear just to the moral sense of mankind, namely, that
the subject have power to obey, and that he has opportunity to
know the law, and is not ignorant by any voluntary and improper
neglect.
In all questions of justice, therefore, it is important to discriminate
between those penalties that are inherent as a part of the great
system of the universe, and for which the Creator alone is the
responsible cause, and those which result from voluntary institutions
of which men are the authors.
In connection with this subject, it is important to recognize the
distinction that exists in regard to two classes of right and wrong
actions. The first class includes those which are wrong in their
nature and in all supposable cases, such, for example, as the wanton
infliction of needless pain, or the breach of plighted faith, or the
returning of love and kindness with ungrateful treatment. In all
possible suppositions, the mind revolts from such actions as wrong
and deserving of penalties. It is this class of actions which, without
any reasoning, the mind never fails to disapprove, and to desire
should be visited with retributive penalties.
 The other class of right and wrong acts derive their estimate solely
from the circumstances in which they occur. For example, a man is
angry and beats a little child. Now the question whether his feelings
and action are right or wrong depends entirely on circumstances. If
the child has done no evil and the person knew it, his feelings and
actions are wrong. But if the person is a father correcting his child
for some heinous fault and with only a suitable degree of anger, then
the feeling and action are right.
There is another mode of estimating conduct by which the same
act may have two opposite characters, according to the relation in
which it is regarded. For example, a good parent may give wrong
medicine to his child, or punish an innocent one, believing him to be
guilty.
In such cases the act is right as it respects the motive or intention,
and wrong as it respects the nature of the action. It is sometimes
the case that a man may do a right action with a bad motive, and a
wrong action with a good motive.
Thus the same act is right in one relation, and wrong in another. It
is important that this distinction should be borne in mind.
The next feature in our moral constitution is the susceptibility
which is excited by the intellectual judgment of our own feelings and
conduct as either right or wrong.
In case we decide them to be right, we experience an emotion of
self-approval which is very delightful; but if we decide that they are
wrong, we experience an immediate penalty in a painful emotion
called remorse. This emotion is always proportioned to the amount
of evil done, and the consciousness that it was done knowingly and
intentionally. No suffering is more keen than the highest emotions of
this kind, while their pangs are often enduring and unappeasable.
Sometimes there is an attending desire to inflict retribution on one's
self as a mode of alleviating this distress.
This susceptibility is usually denominated conscience. Sometimes
this word is used to include both the intellectual judgment of our
conduct as right or wrong, and the consequent emotions of approval
or remorse; sometimes it refers to the susceptibility alone. Either use
is correct, as in the connection in which it is employed the distinction
can ordinarily be easily made.
This analysis of our moral constitution furnishes means for a clear
definition of such terms as obligated, ought, ought not, and the like.
A person is obligated or ought to do a thing when he has the
intellect to perceive that it is right, and the moral susceptibilities just
described. When he is destitute either of the intellect or of these
susceptibilities, he ceases to be a moral and accountable being. He
can no longer be made to feel any moral obligations.
 CHAPTER XVIII.
THE WILL.

It is the power of choice which raises man to the dignity of an

intellectual and moral being. Without this principle, he would be a
creature of mere impulses and instincts. He would possess
susceptibilities of happiness to be excited, and intellect to devise and
discover the modes of securing enjoyment; but without governing
principle, the soul would be led captive with each successive desire,
or be the sport of chances whenever conflicting desires were
awakened.
He who formed man in his own perfect image left not his work
without this balance-power to regulate the complicated springs of so
wonderful an existence. Man is now not only the image of his
Creator as lord of this lower world, but is, like him, the lord and
master of his own powers.
It has been shown that the constitution, both of mind and of the
world, is such that it is impossible in the nature of things to gain
every object which is the cause of enjoyment. There is a constant
succession of selections to be made between different modes of
securing happiness. A lesser good is given up for a greater, or some
good relinquished altogether to avoid some consequent pain. Often,
also, some painful state of mind is sought as the means of securing
some future good, or of avoiding some greater evil. Thus men
endure want, fatigue, and famine to purchase wealth. Thus the
nauseous draught will be swallowed to avoid the pains of sickness;
and thus the pleasures of domestic affection will be sacrificed to
obtain honor and fame. The whole course of life is a constant
succession of such decisions between different modes of securing
happiness and of avoiding pain.
 Specific and Generic Volitions.
In noticing the operation of mind, it will be seen that there is a
foundation for two classes of volitions or acts of choice, which may
be denominated specific and generic.
A specific volition is one that secures some particular act, such as
the moving of the arm or turning of the head. Such volitions are
ordinarily consequent on some more general purpose of the mind,
which they aid in accomplishing, and which is, therefore,
denominated a generic volition. For example, a man chooses to
make a certain journey: this is the generic volition, and, in order to
carry it out, he performs a great variety of acts, each one of which
aids in carrying out the generic decision. These specific acts of will,
which tend to accomplish a more general purpose, may also be
called subordinate, because they are controlled by a generic volition.
It can be seen that the generic volitions may themselves become
subordinate to a still more comprehensive purpose. Thus the man
may decide to make a journey, which is a generic volition in
reference to all acts subordinate to this end. But this journey may be
a subordinate part of a more general purpose to make a fortune or
to secure some other important end.
It is frequently the case that a generic purpose, which relates to
objects that require a long time and many complicated operations,
exists when the mind seems almost unconscious of its power. For
example, a man may form a generic purpose to enter a profession
for which years will be required to prepare. And while his whole
course of action is regulated by this decision, he engages in pursuits
entirely foreign to it and which seem to engross his whole attention.
These pursuits may sometimes be such as are antagonistic to his
grand purpose, so as at least to imperil or retard its accomplishment.
And yet this strong and quiet purpose remains, and is eventually
carried out.
It is the case, also, that a generic volition may be formed to be
performed at some particular time and place, and then the mind
becomes entirely unconscious of it till the appointed period and
circumstances occur. Then the decision becomes dominant, and
controls all other purposes.
Thus a man may decide that, at a specified hour, he will stop his
studies and perform certain gymnastic exercises. This volition is
forgotten until the hour arrives, and then it recurs and is carried out.
This phenomenon sometimes occurs in sleep. Some persons, in
watching with the sick, will determine to wake at given hours to
administer medicines; then they will sleep soundly till the appointed
time comes, when they will waken and perform the predetermined
actions.
In regard to the commencement of a generic purpose, we find
that sometimes it is so distinct and definite as to be the subject of
consciousness and memory. For example, a spendthrift, in some
moment of suffering and despondency, may form a determination to
commence a systematic course of thrift and economy, and may
actually carry it out through all his future life. Such cases are often
to be found on record or in everyday life.
In other cases, this quiet, hidden, but controlling purpose seems
to be formed by unconscious and imperceptible influences, so that
the mind can not revert to the specific time or manner when it
originated. For example, a child who is trained from early life to
speak the truth, can never revert to any particular moment when
this generic purpose originated.
It is sometimes the case, also, that a person will contemplate
some generic volition before it occurs, while the process of its final
formation seems almost beyond the power of scrutiny. For example,
a man may be urged to relinquish one employment and engage in
another. He reflects, consults, and is entirely uncertain how he shall
decide. As time passes, he gradually inclines toward the proposed
change, until, finally, he finds his determination fixed, he scarcely
knows when or how.
 Thus it appears that generic volitions commence sometimes so
instantaneously and obviously that the time and influences
connected with them can be recognized. In other cases, the decision
seems to be a gradual one, while in some instances the process can
be traced, and in others it is entirely unnoticed or forgotten.
It is in reference to such generic purposes that the moral
character of men is estimated. An honest man is one who has a
fixed purpose to act honestly in all circumstances. A truthful man is
one who has such a purpose to speak the truth at all times.
In such cases, the degree in which such a purpose controls all
others is the measure of a man's moral character in the estimate of
society.
The history of mankind shows a great diversity of moral character
dependent on such generic volitions. Some men possess firm and
reliable moral principles in certain directions, while they are very
destitute of them in others.
Thus it will be seen that some have formed a very decided
purpose in regard to honesty in business affairs, who yet are
miserable victims to intemperance. Others have cultivated a principle
called honor, that restrains them from certain actions regarded as
mean, and yet they may be frequenters of gambling saloons and
other haunts of vice.
In the religious world, too, it is the case that some who are very
firm and decided on all points of religious observances and in the
cultivation of devotional emotions, are guilty of very mean actions,
such as some worldly men of honor would not practice at the
sacrifice of a right hand.

On Causes of Volition.
It becomes, then, a most interesting subject of inquiry as to the
causes which decide these diversities of moral purposes, and also
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