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,