NICOLAS KLIM’S UNDERGROUND JOURNEY
by Ludvig Holbergtranslation © Dennis List, 2003
CHAPTER 8
In which the author discusses the academic practices of the Potuans, and some of their legal customs.
On their Academies
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In this empire there are three great universities: one at Potu, another at Keba, and a third at Nahami. The studies pursued there are history, economics, mathematics, and law. Theology is not studied, partly because it is prohibited by law to argue about the being or properties of God, but also because their Bible has only a couple of pages. It simply states that we ought to love Almighty God, creator of the universe, who in some future state of existence will reward virtue and punish vice.
Medicine, too, is not studied: since these trees all live sober lives, internal diseases are almost unknown. I shan’t mention metaphysics or transcendental learning, since it is been noted above that to argue about the essence of the divine Being, the qualities of angels, or the nature of souls incurs the punishment of the Arm, and confinement in their asylum.
The academic exercises are these. The young students, during the time of their probation, are obliged to give solutions to certain difficult questions, which are put at stated times. A reward is given to those who give the most ingenious and elegant explanations. In this way, the true genius of each student is discovered, along with the greatest reach of their capacities and in what branch of knowledge they are likely to excel.
Everyone is employed in only one science. A universal scholar is a rarity, and to pretend a wide knowledge is a mark of loose and unsettled genius. Thus the sciences, confined within these narrow bounds, are brought to perfection.
The several Doctors likewise give annual examples of their learning. The moral philosopher explains some obscure point. The historian compiles a history, or some part of one. The mathematician throws fresh light on his science by some ingenious new hypothesis. The lawyers are obliged to make some eloquent speech; they alone study rhetoric and oratory, because it is only to them that such study will be an advantage, when they come to be advocates.
When I told them that all our academics employed that oratorical style, they freely condemned such institutions, saying that if every artisan were forced to make shoes and exhibit them, it would be certain that only shoemakers would take the prize. I purposely did not speak about our scholastic disputes, because such exercises are more like dramatic performances.
Unlike the philosophers of our own world, their Doctors and teachers never deliver their lessons in a harsh, pedantic and imperious manner, but forming some agreeable fiction, they clothe the truth with all the charms of imagination.
It is surprising to see how solemnly the academic promotions are made. They take the greatest care not to allow anything that might be ridiculed, or to be guilty of any theatrical levity, rightly judging that a plain simplicity should distinguish the proceedings of a university from the diversions of the stage, so that the liberal arts will maintain their reputation. On this matter, I would not dare to mention a word about our own academic degrees and promotions, since what happened to me at Keba when I described this kind of ceremony was ample reason for my eternal silence on this matter.
As well as these academies, the great cities all have their seminaries or colleges, where a detailed examination is made into the talents of every scholar, what his particular capacity is, and in what kind of learning he gibes the most hope of excelling. During the time of my probation in the seminary at Keba, there were four sons of the high priest who were education in the art of war, four others of senatorial quality were instructed in trade, and two young women learned navigation. Here only the aptitude is considered, without respect to sex or upbringing. After the examinations, the governors of the seminaries give testimonials to the candidates with the honesty of have already mentioned. These testimonials are perfectly impartial, though personally I thought otherwise, since the testimonial they gave me seemed absurd, ridiculous, and unjust.
Nobody here is permitted to be an author until after 30 years of age, and till he is deemed by his judges to be fit for such an undertaking. Consequently, few books are published here, but they are well digested and full of meaning. Hence, though I had written five or six books while under age, I never admitted it to anybody for fear of ridicule.
Enough has now been said of the religion, policy and literature of this people. But there are also several things peculiar to them which are worthy of our observation. If one tree challenges another, the challenger is forever forbidden the use of arms. He is condemned, like a minor, to live under guardianship, because he does not know how to master his emotions. In our case it is different: appeals to the sword are marks of an heroic soul, specially in the north, where this abominable custom must have originated, since challenges and duels were entirely unknown among Romans, Greeks, and other ancient nations.
I noticed one strange custom in the way they administered justice. the names of the contesting parties are concealed from the judges. The case is decided not in the place where the dispute arose, but in a remote province. The reason for this strange custom is that experience taught them that judges were often corrupted by presents, or swayed by partiality. These temptations, they think, are removed if the names of the plaintiff and defendants, as well as the locations of the disputed estates are unknown. Only the reasons and the arguments are sent, at the discretion of the prince, to whatever court of justice he thinks fit, along with certain notes. For example: "Whether A, who is in possession of the Thing, ought to restore it to B, following B’s suit." I should rejoice to find such a custom introduced among us, given the frequent experience of corruption and partiality in the minds of our judges.
Justice in general is freely administered without respect to individuals. It is only against the prince that no action can be taken during his life, but after his death the public accusers or (as they are called) the Council For the Kingdom, may cite him for judgement. there in the full senate the actions of the late monarch are closely examined. Finally, sentence is pronounced, which according to the merit of the deceased is given in various terms, such as Laudably, Almost laudably, Well, Not poorly, Tolerably, or Indifferently.
These words are proclaimed aloud to the people, and afterwards engraved on the monument of the deceased. The Potuans explain this custom as follows: that a living prince cannot be proceeded against without great civil disturbance, since during his life he should be given perfect obedience, which is the very basis of government. But when that obligation is dissolved by death, the subjects are then at liberty to call his actions to account. Thus by this salutary though paradoxical law, the security of the sovereign is upheld, his authority not undermined, and the welfare of the people promoted. For these judgements, though given to the dead, are also spurs of virtue to the living.
The Potuan histories for 400 years mention only two princes awarded the last of those judgements, namely Indifferent. All others obtained the Laudable or Almost Laudable judgement, as shown by the inscriptions on their tombstones, which have escaped the ravages of time. The judgement of Indifferent, which in the Potuan language is called Rip-fac-fi, causes such grief in the royal family that the successor of the deceased prince, along with all his kin, mourn for six whole months. And so far are the heirs from resenting the odious judgement that it becomes a new incentive to them to distinguish themselves by noble and worthy actions, and to efface the infamy of the family by conduct full of virtue, prudence, justice, and moderation.
The reason for one of the two princes having the judgement of Indifferent made against him was this: though the Potuans are a brave and warlike people, they never declare war themselves. But if war is declared against them they pursue it with great vigour. By such means they are the umpires between contending nations, and the kingdoms of this globe subject themselves to this force for peace. But a prince named Mikleta, ambitious to extend his dominions, made war on a neighbouring kingdom and subdued it. But whatever the victorious Potuans gained by this conquest, they lost their ancient reputation. The regard of the bordering nations was changed into dread and jealousy, and the Potuan reputation for justice was destroyed. Thus the Potuans, to regain the affections of their angry neighbours, branded the memory of the deceased prince with this mark of infamy. It is not clear what the crime of the other "indifferent" prince was.
Their public Doctors and teachers are those who have attained the Third Age. Here I should explain that life is divided into three ages. In the first age, they are instructed in public affairs. In the second, they pursue what they have learned. And in the third, being retired from their employment, they instruct the young. Thus nobody has the right to teach in public except those who are grown old in the administration of public affairs, since none are so capable of laying down solid rules as those who have drawn their knowledge from long experience.
If anyone who is infamous for the immorality of his life give wholesome advice to the state, the name of that person is suppressed, lest it should lose its effect from the character of the author. In this case the advice is given under the name of some more honourable person. Thus the good opinion is known, and the bad author is concealed.
I was told that, with respect to religion it was prohibited to argue about the prime articles of faith, particularly about the essence and attributes of the Deity. But on any other topic everybody may offer their opinions and engage in controversy. For, they say, the inconveniences that arise from such arguments may be compared to storms, which may destroy houses but at the same time clear the air, and prevent the putrefaction that would arise from a stagnant atmosphere. The reason for their having few holidays is to avoid idleness creeping in among them. The Potuans believe that people worship God as well when employed in useful labour as when they make vows and prayers.
The study of poetry is not encouraged, but they do have some poets. Subterranean poetry differs from prose only in he sublimity of style, When I told them about our rhyme and metre, they reacted with great derision.
Some of the Potuan doctors are known as Professors of Taste. It is their task to ensure that the minds of youths are not employed in senseless controversies and useless thoughts. They take care that no trivial and vulgar writings are published, to debauch taste. They suppress from every book whatever is written in defiance of common sense. For this reason, certain persons are appointed to revise and censor books. This is very different from our world, where the licensors of books suppress the very best, perhaps only because they deviate from the reigning opinions, from the received manner of expression, or because they too sincerely or amusingly lash the vices of our age. By such means, great geniuses are stifled, and writings of good quality are buried.
As the Potuans have free trade with neighbouring nations, some poor and trivial books will find their way into the country. For this reason censors are appointed by the state, and from time to time visit the bookshops. These are called Syla-Macati or Bookshop Purgers. Just as, among us, there are men who clean our chimneys once a year, so these censors, who examine the books for sale, clean away the dregs - that is, the books, or parts of books, that would deprave taste - and toss them down the privy.
What cannot be praised enough is the care they take in bringing up their youth, in order to know what course of live they are most suited for. Just as a musical ear notices every little sound, in the same way these acute judges of the virtues and vices of the mind form their judgements from tiny hints: perhaps a cast of the eye, a frown, dejection, mirth, laughter, speech, or even silence. From these signs they easily know everyone’s propensities and weaknesses.
To return to my own concerns: I passed my time, as you may well imagine, in a most agreeable manner with these paradoxical trees, even though they treated me with disdain on account of the impetuosity they saw in me. I grew impatient under those scoffs that they were forever flinging out. They even went as far as giving me the nickname of Skabba, which in their language means "over-hasty." What annoyed me most was that even my laundress called me by that reproachful name - even though she was one of the dregs of the population, and one of the most miserable and indigent of trees.