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.