“But when did you ever find that any thing like true religion generally existed?” inquired the captain, in a tone approaching sarcasm. “Since the memory of man the faith of the majority has been unvaryingly orthodox, and sticks, like a lobster to its shell, to the old proverb, ‘Every one for himself, and the devil take the hindmost,’—and more absurd conduct doesn’t exist than some people exhibit, who, after having made money a standard of excellence, condemn to infamy not only those who are not possessed of it, but they who gain it by means not in exact accordance with their notions of the way it should be obtained. Scrunch me, if it don’t make one ready to heave one’s ballast overboard, when I see the homage paid to a mean-spirited scoundrel, who by chicanery, hypocrisy, avarice, and a horde of other contemptible vices, robs his fellows of a pretty handsome share of plunder; and hear the execrations heaped upon the bolder and better villain, who lays society under contributions in a more open, manly, and daring manner. They pretend to notions of honesty, too, that’s the joke. Why a fish would laugh at a thing so ridiculous. The government in their necessity take from the people, and those who can’t afford to pay they send to prison—an individual in his necessity takes from another, and the very government who set the example of appropriation punish the appropriator as an offender. Then governments plunder each other, or rather the people of each other; but when any of the people attempt to rob their governments, they judge, hang, draw and quarter the poor wretches without the slightest mercy. Honesty, forsooth! If the whole world were asked what the meaning of the word was, every man would give a different definition, and not only would each contradict the other, but every one would contradict himself. Honesty appears to be of all shapes and all sizes: it will suit all complexions—it will flavour every dish. Honesty is every thing, and yet it is nothing. It is neither fish, flesh, nor fowl—will neither sink nor swim—and is not to be touched, seen, or tasted. Honesty is every where—the greatest rogue is honest to his chosen associates—and yet it is no where, for the desire of appropriation is universal. It is a sort of ghost that only exists in the minds of the superstitious—a mirror that shows any reflection thrown upon it—a sky that all over the world can take every variety of colour. Some call it truth, and lay claim to its possession, although their lives are a continual deceit; some call it justice, and fancy themselves exceedingly just, although they would consign to eternal perdition all not exactly of their way of thinking; and some call it conscientiousness, and are satisfied with their own dealings, when, at the same time, their first thought is for their own personal gratification. But we are entering the bay, and these fellows require looking after.” So saying, he suddenly left the group, and began shouting to the crew some orders about the ship.
“Captain Compass has singular notions,” remarked the professor: “I should not feel particularly comfortable if I thought he entertained the opinions he expresses. There would be an end to all sense of moral obligations if such ideas became general.”
“Oh there is no harm in him,” replied Oriel. “He is too frank, too careless, too bold to have any evil intention. It has often appeared to me, though, that the principle we call honesty does not exist either in ourselves or in society to the extent we imagine; and believing such a state of things an evil, I have often wished, but never been able, to find a way in which it could be remedied.”
“It is an evil, undoubtedly,” here observed Doctor Tourniquet, who had for some time been an attentive but silent listener—“and there is but one way in which it can be completely removed.”
“And how is that way to be found?” inquired Oriel Porphyry.
“The cause of this want of a definite unvarying character in our notion of honesty,” said the Doctor, “may be traced to the present and past construction of society, where each individual has a separate interest, exists in a state of competition with the others, and must always be endeavouring to shape his own notions of right to his own exclusive advantage: were property a fund in common from which each might be allowed to take what he pleased—there being no individual interests, the world would be one family, and there could be no dishonesty in openly appropriating that to which he had an acknowledged right, don’t you see.”
“Preposterous!” exclaimed Fortyfolios.
“An impossible state of things, I should think,” added his pupil.
“Nothing more reasonable, and nothing more easy,” replied the Doctor. “Let every one in a community labour equally according to his physical or mental powers—every kind of labour being productive will produce every thing in abundance—this abundance having been produced must supply every want—every want being gratified at the suggestion of the inclination, there remains nothing to desire—and as all have an equal right to appropriate as much as they require for the gratification of their inclinations, by having equally, according to their abilities, assisted in producing the abundance they enjoy, no desire in which they might think fit to indulge could ever take the appearance of an act of dishonesty, don’t you see.”