Concupiscence has a kindred effect on our reason.  It is a consequence of our fallen nature by which we are prone to evil rather than to good, find it more to our taste and easier to yield to wrong than to resist it.  Call it passion, temperament, character, what you will,—­it is an inclination to evil.  We cannot always control its action.  Everyone has felt more or less the tyranny of concupiscence, and no child of Adam but has it branded in his nature and flesh.  Passion may rob us of our reason, and run into folly or insanity; in which event we are unconscious agents, and do nothing voluntary.  It may so obscure the reason as to make us less ourselves, and consequently less willing.  But there is such a thing as, with studied and refined malice and depravity, to purposely and artificially, as it were, excite concupiscence, in order the more intensely and savagely to act.  This is only a proof of greater deliberation, and renders the deed all the more voluntary.

A person is therefore more or less responsible according as what he does, or the good or evil of what he does, is more or less clear to him.  Ignorance or the passions may affect his clear vision of right and wrong, and under the stress of this deception, wring a reluctant yielding of the will, a consent only half willingly given.  Because there is consent, there is guilt but the guilt is measured by the degree of premeditation.  God looks upon things solely in their relation to Him.  An abomination before men may be something very different in His sight who searches the heart and reins of man and measures evil by the malice of the evil-doer.  The only good or evil He sees in our deeds is the good or evil we ourselves see in them before or while we act.

Violence and fear may oppress the will, and thereby prove destructive to the morality of an act and the responsibility of the agent.  Certain it is, that we can be forced to act against our will, to perform that which we abhor, and do not consent to do.  Such force may be brought to bear upon us as we cannot withstand.  Fear may influence us in a like manner.  It may paralyze our faculties and rob us of our senses.  Evidently, under these conditions, no voluntary act is possible, since the will does not concur and no consent is given.  The subject becomes a mere tool in the hands of another.

Can violence and fear do more than this?  Can it not only rob us of the power to will, not only force us to act without consent, but also force the will, force us to consent?  Never; and the simple reason is that we cannot do two contradictory things at the same time—­consent and not consent, for that is what it means to be forced to consent.  Violence and fear may weaken the will so that it finally yield.  The fault, if fault there be, may be less inexcusable by reason of the pressure under which it labored.  But once we have willed, we have willed, and essentially, there is nothing unwilling about what is willingly done.