CHAPTER XXVII.

AN EFFECT OF LOGARITHMS ON MORALS—AN OBSCURATION, A DISSERTATION, AND A

CALCULATION.

The house had not long adjourned before Captain Poke and myself were

favored with a visit from our colleague Mr. Downright, who came on an

affair of absorbing interest. He carried in his hand a small pamphlet;

and the usual salutations were scarcely over, before he directed our

attention to a portion of its contents. It would seem that Leaplow was

on the eve of experiencing a great moral eclipse. The periods and dates

of the phenomenon (if that can be called a phenomenon which was of too

frequent occurrence) had been calculated, with surprising accuracy, by

the Academy of Leaphigh, and sent, through its minister, as an especial

favor, to our beloved country in order that we should not be taken by

surprise. The account of the affair read as follows:—

“On the third day of the season of nuts, there will be the commencement

of a great moral eclipse, in that portion of the monikin region which

lies immediately about the pole. The property in eclipse will be the

great moral postulate usually designated by the term Principle; and the

intervening body will be the great immoral postulate, usually known as

Interest. The frequent occurrence of the conjunction of these two

important postulates has caused our moral mathematicians to be rather

negligent of their calculations on this subject of late years; but, to

atone for this inexcusable indifference to one of the most important

concerns of life, the calculating committee was instructed to pay

unusual attention to all the obscurations of the present year, and this

phenomenon, one of the most decided of our age, has been calculated

with the utmost nicety and care. We give the results.

“The eclipse will commence by a motive of monikin vanity coming in

contact with the sub-postulate of charity, at 1 A. M. The postulate in

question will be totally hid from view, in the course of 6 h. 17 m.

from the moment of contact. The passage of a political intrigue will

instantly follow, when the several sub-postulates of truth, honesty,

disinterestedness, and patriotism, will all be obscured in succession,

beginning with the lower limb of the first, and ending with all the

limbs of the whole of them, in 3 h. 42 m. from the moment of contact.

The shadow of vanity and political intrigue will first be deepened by

the approach of prosperity, and this will be soon succeeded by the

contact of a great pecuniary interest, at 10 h. 2 m. 1s.; and in

exactly 2 m. and 3-7 s., the whole of the great moral postulate of

Principle will be totally hid from view. In consequence of this early

passage of the darkest shadow that is ever cast by Interest, the

passages of the respective shadows of ambition, hatred, jealousy, and

all the other minor satellites of Interest, will be invisible.

“The country principally affected by this eclipse will be the Republic

of Leaplow, a community whose known intelligence and virtues are

perhaps better qualified to resist its influence than any other. The

time of occultation will be 9 y. 7 m. 26 d. 4 h. 16 m. 2 s. Principle

will begin to reappear to the moral eye at the end of this period,

first by the approach of Misfortune, whose atmosphere being much less

dense than that of Interest, will allow of imperfect views of the

obscured postulate; but the radiance of the latter will not be

completely restored until the arrival of Misery, whose chastening

colors invariably permit all truths to be discernible, although through

a sombre medium. To resume:

“Beginning of eclipse, 1 A. M.

Ecliptic opposition, in 4 y. 6 m. 12 d. 9 h. from beginning of eclipse.

Middle, in 4 y. 9 m. 0 d. 7 h. 9 m. from beginning of eclipse.

End of eclipse, 9 y. 11 m. 20 d. 3 h. 2 m. from beginning.

Period of occultation, 9 y. 7 m. 26 d. 4 h. 16 m. 2 s.”

I gazed at the brigadier in admiration and awe. There was nothing

remarkable in the eclipse itself, which was quite an every-day affair;

but the precision with which it had been calculated added to its other

phenomena the terrible circumstance of obtaining a glimpse into the

future, I now began to perceive the immense difference between living

consciously under a moral shadow, and living under it unconsciously.

The latter was evidently a trifle compared with the former. Providence

had most kindly provided for our happiness in denying the ability to

see beyond the present moment.

Noah took the affair even more at heart than myself. He told me, with a

rueful and prognosticating countenance, that we were fast drawing near

to the autumnal equinox, when we should reach the commencement of a

natural night of six months’ duration; and although the benevolent

substitute of steam might certainly in some degree lessen the evil,

that it was a furious evil, after all, to exist for a period so weary

without enjoying the light of the sun. He found the external glare of

day bad enough, but he did not believe he should be able to endure its

total absence. “Natur’ had made him a ‘watch and watch’ critter. As for

the twilight of which so much was said, it was worse than nothin’,

being neither one thing nor the other. For his part, he liked things

‘made out of whole cloth.’ Then he had sent the ship round to a distant

roadstead, in order that there might be no more post-captains and

rear-admirals among the people; and here had he been as much as four

days on nothing but nuts. Nuts might do for the philosophy of a monkey,

but he found, on trial, that it played the devil with the philosophy of

a man. Things were bad enough as they were. He pined for a little

pork—he cared not who knew it; it might not be very sentimental, he

knew, but it was capital sea-food; his natur’ was pretty much pork; he

believed most men had, in some way or other, more or less pork in their

human natur’s; nuts might do for monikin natur’, but human natur’ loved

meat; if monikins did not like it, monikins need not eat it; there

would be so much the more for those who did like it—he pined for his

natural aliment, and as for living nine years in an eclipse, it was

quite out of the question. The longest Stunnin’tun eclipses seldom went

over three hours—he once knew Deacon Spiteful pray quite through one,

from apogee to perigee. He therefore proposed that Sir John and he

should resign their seats without delay, and that they should try to

get the Walrus to the north’ard as quick as possible, lest they should

be caught in the polar night. As for the Hon. Robert Smut, he wished

him no better luck than to remain where he was all his life, and to

receive his eight dollars a day in acorns.”

Although it was impossible not to hear, and, having heard, not to

record the sentiments of Noah, still my attention was much more

strongly attracted by the demeanor of the brigadier, than by the

jeremiad of the sealer. To an anxious inquiry if he were not well, our

worthy colleague answered plaintively, that he mourned over the

misfortune of his country.

“I have often witnessed the passage of the passions, and of the minor

motives, across the disc of the great moral postulate, Principle; but

an occultation of its light by a pecuniary Interest, and for so long a

period, is fearful! Heaven only knows what will become of us!”

“Are not these eclipses, after all, so many mere illustrations of the

social-stake system? I confess this occultation, of which you seem to

have so much dread, is not so formidable a thing, on reflection, as it

at first appeared to be.”

“You are quite right, Sir John, as to the character of the eclipse

itself, which, as a matter of course, must depend on the character of

the intervening body. But the wisest and best of our philosophers hold

that the entire system of which we are but insignificant parts, is

based on certain immutable truths of a divine origin. The premises, or

postulates, of all these truths, are so many moral guides in the

management of monikin affairs; and, the moment they are lost sight of,

as will be the case during these frightful nine years that are to come,

we shall be abandoned entirely to selfishness. Now selfishness is only

too formidable when restrained by Principle; but left to its own

grasping desires and audacious sophisms, to me the moral perspective is

terrible. We are only too much addicted to turn our eyes from

Principle, when it is shining in heavenly radiance, and in full glory,

before us; it is not difficult, therefore, to foresee the nature of the

consequences which are to follow its total and protracted obscuration.”

“You then conceive there is a rule superior to interest, which ought to

be respected in the control of monikin affairs?”

“Beyond a doubt; else in what should we differ from the beasts of

prey?”

“I do not exactly see whether this does, or does not accord with the

notions of the political economists of the social-stake system.”

“As you say, Sir John, it does, and it does not. Your social-stake

system supposes that he who has what is termed a distinct and prominent

interest in society, will be the most likely to conduct its affairs

wisely, justly, and disinterestedly. This would be true, if those great

principles which lie at the root of all happiness were respected; but

unluckily, the stake in question, instead of being a stake in justice

and virtue, is usually reduced to be merely a stake in property. Now,

all experience shows that the great property-incentives are to increase

property, protect property, and to buy with property those advantages

which ought to be independent of property, viz., honors, dignities,

power, and immunities. I cannot say how it is with men, but our

histories are eloquent on this head. We have had the property-principle

carried out thoroughly in our practice, and the result has shown that

its chief operation is to render property as intact as possible, and

the bones, and sinews, and marrow of all who do not possess it, its

slaves. In short, the time has been, when the rich were even exempt

from contributing to the ordinary exigencies of the state. But it is

quite useless to theorize on this subject, for, by that cry in the

streets, the lower limb of the great postulate is beginning to be

obscured, and, alas! we shall soon have too much practical

information.”

The brigadier was right. On referring to the clocks, it was found that,

in truth, the eclipse had commenced some time before, and that we were

on the verge of an absolute occultation of Principle, by the basest and

most sordid of all motives, pecuniary Interest.

The first proof that was given of the true state of things, was in the

language of the people. The word Interest was in every monikin’s mouth,

while the word Principle, as indeed was no more than suitable, seemed

to be quite blotted out of the Leaplow vocabulary. To render a local

term into English, half of the vernacular of the country appeared to be

compressed into the single word “dollar.”

“Dollar—dollar—dollar”—nothing but “dollar! Fifty thousand

dollars—twenty thousand dollars—a hundred thousand dollars”—met one at

every turn. The words rang at the corners—in the public ways—at the

exchange—in the drawing-rooms—ay, even in the churches. If a temple had

been reared for the worship of the Creator, the first question was, how

much did it cost? If an artist submitted the fruits of his labors to

the taste of his fellow-citizens, conjectures were whispered among the

spectators, touching its value in the current coin of the republic. If

an author presented the offspring of his genius to the same arbiters,

its merits were settled by a similar standard; and one divine, who had

made a strenuous, but an ill-timed appeal to the charity of his

countrymen, by setting forth the beauties as well as the rewards of the

god-like property, was fairly put down by a demonstration that his

proposition involved a considerable outlay, while it did not clearly

show much was to be gained by going to heaven!

Brigadier Downright had good reasons for his sombre anticipations, for

all the acquirements, knowledge, and experience, obtained in many years

of travel, were now found to be worse than useless. If my honorable

colleague and covoyager ventured a remark on the subject of foreign

policy, a portion of politics to which he had given considerable

attention, it was answered by a quotation from the stock market; an

observation on a matter of taste was certain to draw forth a nice

distinction between the tastes of certain liquors, together with a

shrewd investigation of their several prices; and once, when the worthy

monikin undertook to show, from what struck me to be singularly good

data, that the foreign relations of the country were in a condition to

require great firmness, a proper prudence, and much foresight, he was

completely silenced by an antagonist showing, from the last sales, the

high value of lots up town!

In short, there was no dealing with any subject that could not resolve

itself into dollars, by means of the customary exchanges. The

infatuation spread from father to son; from husband to wife; from

brother to sister; and from one collateral to another, until it pretty

effectually assailed the whole of what is usually termed “society.”

Noah swore bitterly at this antagonist state of things. He affirmed

that he could not even crack a walnut in a corner, but every monikin

that passed appeared to grudge him the satisfaction, small as it was;

and that Stunin’tun, though a scramble-penny place as any he knew, was

paradise to Leaplow, in the present state of things.

It was melancholy to remark how the lustre of the ordinary virtues grew

dim, as the period of occultation continued, and the eye gradually got

to be accustomed to the atmosphere cast by the shadow of pecuniary

interest. I involuntarily shuddered at the open and undisguised manner

in which individuals, who might otherwise pass for respectable

monikins, spoke of the means that they habitually employed in effecting

their objects, and laid bare their utter forgetfulness of the great

postulate that was hid. One coolly vaunted how much cleverer he was

than the law; another proved to demonstration that he had outwitted his

neighbor; while a third, more daring or more expert, applied the same

grounds of exultation to the entire neighborhood. This had the merit of

cunning; that of dissimulation; another of deception, and all of

success!

The shadow cast its malign influence on every interest connected with

monikin life. Temples were raised to God on speculation; the government

was perverted to a money-investment, in which profit, and not justice

and security, was the object; holy wedlock fast took the aspect of

buying and selling, and few prayed who did not identify spiritual

benefits with gold and silver.

The besetting propensity of my ancestor soon began to appear in

Leaplow. Many of those pure and unsophisticated republicans shouted,

“Property is in danger!” as stoutly as it was ever roared by Sir Joseph

Job, and dark allusions were made to “revolutions” and “bayonets.” But

certain proof of the prevalence of the eclipse, and that the shadow of

pecuniary interest lay dark on the land, was to be found in the

language of what are called the “few.” They began to throw dirt at all

opposed to them, like so many fish-women: a sure symptom that the

spirit of selfishness was thoroughly awakened. From much experience, I

hold this sign to be infallible, that the sentiment of aristocracy is

active and vigilant. I never yet visited a country in which a minority

got into its head the crotchet it was alone fit to dictate to the rest

of its fellow-creatures, that it did not, without delay, set about

proving its position, by reviling and calling names. In this particular

“the few” are like women, who, conscious of their weakness, seldom fail

to make up for the want of vigor in their limbs, by having recourse to

the vigor of the tongue. The “one” hangs; the “many” command by the

dignity of force; the “few” vituperate and scold. This is, I believe,

the case all over the world, except in those peculiar instances in

which the “few” happen also to enjoy the privilege of hanging.

It is worthy of remark that the terms, “rabble,” “disorganizers,”

“jacobins,” and “agrarians,” [Footnote: It is scarcely necessary to

tell the intelligent reader there is no proof that any political

community was ever so bent on self-destruction as to enact agrarian

laws, in the vulgar sense in which it has suited the arts of

narrow-minded politicians to represent them ever since the revival of

letters. The celebrated agrarian laws of Rome did not essentially

differ from the distribution of our own military lands, or perhaps the

similitude is greater to the modern Russian military colonies. Those

who feel an interest in this subject would do well to consult Niebuhr.

NOTE BY THE EDITOR.] were bandied from one to the other, in Leaplow,

under this malign influence, with precisely the same justice,

discrimination, and taste, as they had been used by my ancestor in

London, a few years before. Like causes notoriously produce like

effects; and there is no one thing so much like an Englishman under the

property-fever, as a Leaplow monikin suffering under the same malady.

The effect produced on the state of parties by the passage of the

shadow of Pecuniary Interest, was so singular as to deserve our notice.

Patriots who had long been known for an indomitable resolution to

support their friends, openly abandoned their claims on the rewards of

the little wheel, and went over to the enemy; and this, too, without

recourse to the mysteries of the “flapjack.” Judge People’s Friend was

completely annihilated for the moment—so much so, indeed, as to think

seriously of taking another mission—for, during these eclipses, long

service, public virtue, calculated amenity, and all the other bland

qualities of your patriot, pass for nothing, when weighed in the scale

against profit and loss. It was fortunate the Leapthrough question was,

in its essence, so well disposed of, though the uneasiness of those who

bought and sold land by the inch, pushed even that interest before the

public again by insisting that a few millions should be expended in

destroying the munitions of war, lest the nation might improvidently be

tempted to make use of them in the natural way. The cruisers were

accordingly hauled into the stream and converted into tide-mills, the

gun-barrels were transformed into gas-pipes, and the forts were

converted, as fast as possible, into warehouses and tea-gardens. After

this, it was much the fashion to affirm that the advanced state of

civilization had rendered all future wars quite out of the question.

Indeed, the impetus that was given, by the effects of the shadow, in

this way, to humanity in gross, was quite as remarkable as were its

contrary tendencies on humanity in detail.

Public opinion was not backward in showing how completely it was acting

under the influence of the shadow. Virtue began to be estimated by

rent-rolls. The affluent, without hesitation, or, indeed, opposition,

appropriated to themselves the sole use of the word respectable, while

taste, judgment, honesty, and wisdom, dropped like so many heirlooms

quietly into the possession of those who had money. The Leaplowers are

a people of great acuteness, and of singular knowledge of details.

Every considerable man in Bivouac soon had his social station assigned

him, the whole community being divided into classes of

“hundred-thousand-dollar monikins”—“fifty-thousand-dollar

monikins”—“twenty-thousand-dollar monikins.” Great conciseness in

language was a consequence of this state of feeling. The old questions

of “is he honest?” “is he capable?” “is he enlightened?” “is he wise?”

“is he good?” being all comprehended in the single interrogatory of “is

he rich?”

There was one effect of this very unusual state of things, that I had

not anticipated. All the money-getting classes, without exception,

showed a singular predilection in favor of what is commonly called a

strong government; being not only a republic, but virtually a

democracy, I found that much the larger portion of this highly

respectable class of citizens, were not at all backward in expressing

their wish for a change.

“How is this?” I demanded of the brigadier, whom I rarely quitted; for

his advice and opinions were of great moment to me, just at this

particular crisis—“how is this, my good friend? I have always been led

to think trade is especially favorable to liberty; and here are all

your commercial interests the loudest in their declamations against the

institutions.”

The brigadier smiled; it was but a melancholy smile, after all; for his

spirits appeared to have quite deserted him.

“There are three great divisions among politicians,” he said—“they who

do not like liberty at all—they who like it, as low down as their own

particular class—and they who like it for the sake of their

fellow-creatures. The first are not numerous, but powerful by means of

combinations; the second is a very irregular corps, including, as a

matter of course, nearly everybody, but is wanting, of necessity, in

concert and discipline, since no one descends below his own level; the

third are but few, alas, how few! and are composed of those who look

beyond their own selfishness. Now, your merchants, dwelling in towns,

and possessing concert, means, and identity of interests, have been

able to make themselves remarkable for contending with despotic power,

a fact which has obtained for them a cheap reputation for liberality of

opinion; but, so far as monikin experience goes—men may have proved to

be better disposed—no government that is essentially influenced by

commerce has ever been otherwise than exclusive, or aristocratic.”

I bethought me of Venice, Genoa, Pisa, the Hanse Towns, and all the

other remarkable places of this character in Europe, and I felt the

justice of my friend’s distinction, at the same time I could not but

observe how much more the minds of men are under the influence of names

and abstractions than under the influence of positive things. To this

opinion the brigadier very readily assented, remarking, at the same

time, that a well-wrought theory had generally more effect on opinion

than fifty facts; a result that he attributed to the circumstance of

monikins having a besetting predisposition to save themselves the

trouble of thinking.

I was, in particular, struck with the effect of the occultation of

Principle on motives. I had often remarked that it was by no means safe

to depend on one’s own motives, for two sufficient reasons; first, that

we did not always know what our own motives were; and secondly,

admitting that we did, it was quite unreasonable to suppose that our

friends would believe them what we thought them to be ourselves. In the

present instance, every monikin seemed perfectly aware of the

difficulty; and, instead of waiting for his acquaintances to attribute

some moral enormity as his governing reason, he prudently adopted a

moderately selfish inducement for his acts, which he proclaimed with a

simplicity and frankness that generally obtained credit. Indeed, the

fact once conceded that the motive was not offensively disinterested

and just, no one was indisposed to listen to the projects of his

friend, who usually rose in estimation, as he was found to be

ingenious, calculating, and shrewd. The effect of all this was to

render society singularly sincere and plain-spoken; and one

unaccustomed to so much ingenuousness, or who was ignorant of the

cause, might, plausibly enough, suppose, at times, that accident had

thrown him into an extraordinary association with so many ARTISTES,

who, as it is commonly expressed, lived by their wits. I will avow

that, had it been the fashion to wear pockets at Leaplow, I should

often have been concerned for their contents; for sentiments so purely

unsophisticated, were so openly advanced under the influence of the

shadow, that one was inevitably led, oftener than was pleasant, to

think of the relations between meum and tuum, as well as of the

unexpected causes by which they were sometimes disturbed.

A vacancy occurred, the second day of the eclipse, among the

representatives of Bivouac, and the candidate of the Horizontals would

certainly have been chosen to fill it, but for a contretemps connected

with this affair of motives. The individual in question had lately

performed that which, in most other countries, and under other

circumstances, would have passed for an act of creditable national

feeling; but which, quite as a matter of course, was eagerly presented

to the electors, by his opponents, as a proof of his utter unfitness to

be intrusted with their interests. The friends of the candidate took

the alarm, and indignantly denied the charges of the Perpendiculars,

affirming that their monikin had been well paid for what he had done.

In an evil hour, the candidate undertook to explain, by means of a

handbill, in which he stated that he had been influenced by no other

motive than a desire to do that which he believed to be right. Such a

person was deemed to be wanting in natural abilities, and, as a matter

of course, he was defeated; for your Leaplow elector was not such an

ass as to confide the care of his interests to one who knew so little

how to take care of his own.

About this time, too, a celebrated dramatist produced a piece in which

the hero performed prodigies under the excitement of patriotism, and

the labor of his pen was incontinently damned for his pains; both pit

and boxes—the galleries dissenting—deciding that it was out of all

nature to represent a monikin incurring danger in this unheard-of

manner, without a motive. The unhappy wight altered the last scene, by

causing his hero to be rewarded by a good, round sum of money, when the

piece had a very respectable run for the rest of the season, though I

question if it ever were as popular as it would have been, had this

precaution been taken before it was first acted.

The Monikins · 第 27 / 30 章