out something.
Maybe civilizations have been destroyed like that before. History covers too
small a fragment of life on earth for anyone to say it’s unthinkable. After
all, we know the Greeks excelled us in several of the arts and perhaps in one
of the sciences, that of human government—why not some earlier
civilization in engineering or medicine? Anyhow, it’s a beguiling
thought—that all the great discoveries have been made and remade over
and over again throughout the ages. What do you say, Jane? You’re the
historian.”
I said it all sounded very pessimistic and somewhat Spenglerian.
“Personally I find it more agreeable than what the last century called
progress.”
“It’s worse than pessimism,” Brad said. “It’s a sort of nihilism.”
“Coo … listen to ‘im! Sech lengwidge!” Julian mimicked banteringly.
My father, who had taken little part in the argument and had seemed to be
listening in a detached way, now intervened almost irritably. “Nihilism … nihilism … just a word. At various times in my life I’ve been called
an economic royalist, a communist, a fascist, and a merchant of death … so
don’t let nihilist floor you, Julian.”
“I won’t,” Julian retorted, though he looked as if my father’s sudden
support had rather startled him.
Brad was hanging on to the argument. “But at least, Mr. Spee, the peak of
each civilization could be higher than the one before?”
“Why should it? We don’t know. Perhaps there’ve been vast cycles of
civilizations—some upward in trend, others downward—and these
cycles, in turn, may have belonged to even vaster movements. All pure
speculation, of course. You can argue about it endlessly, just as—” and
he turned deferentially to my father—“just as your Dow-Jones theorists
do when stocks drop and they try to figure out whether it’s a real bear
market or just a dip in a boom. Wait and see’s the only solution, but if the
waiting means a few million years, what can you do? Even Spengler won’t go
that far.”
Julian laughed, but as if he had become already uneasy about the argument.
He was extremely sensitive to timing and atmosphere, and soon afterwards he
made rather abrupt excuses and left us. Brad stayed, and my father rallied
himself into an appearance of affability. But I was still at odds with his
mood; I couldn’t quite understand it, and his totally unnecessary mention of
having once been called a merchant of death was especially strange. It was
true, he had been called that, but it wasn’t true that he had been
unconcerned about it; on the contrary he had been much hurt at the time and
would have prosecuted somebody for libel if his lawyers had let him.
I also noticed that he was refilling his glass rather oftener than usual.
“Well, Brad,” he said, switching over to his side. “We certainly had him on a
soapbox, didn’t we? I hope you weren’t too impressed.”
Brad laughed. “So long as I don’t have to agree, that’s the main thing.
I’d like to think over what he said in terms of the Second Law of
Thermodynamics. Might be interesting.”
“What beats me,” my father said, “is the way that fellow knows other
people’s business…. Yours … and mine … the Dow-Jones theory … how
does he get that way?”
“Probably most of what he knows is on the surface,” Brad answered,
entirely without malice.
It was late and he looked at his watch. I think we were all a little
tired. Just before he left my father called me to the library. “Henry can
drive him back,” he said. “Why don’t you go with him for the ride?”
I was surprised at the suggestion and wondered if he thought there was
anything emotional between Brad and me—that would have been too
ridiculous.
“He’d probably rather take the tube,” I said.
“No, let Henry bring the car round.”
“He’d hate to think he’d been keeping Henry up. He’s fussy about those
Maybe civilizations have been destroyed like that before. History covers too
small a fragment of life on earth for anyone to say it’s unthinkable. After
all, we know the Greeks excelled us in several of the arts and perhaps in one
of the sciences, that of human government—why not some earlier
civilization in engineering or medicine? Anyhow, it’s a beguiling
thought—that all the great discoveries have been made and remade over
and over again throughout the ages. What do you say, Jane? You’re the
historian.”
I said it all sounded very pessimistic and somewhat Spenglerian.
“Personally I find it more agreeable than what the last century called
progress.”
“It’s worse than pessimism,” Brad said. “It’s a sort of nihilism.”
“Coo … listen to ‘im! Sech lengwidge!” Julian mimicked banteringly.
My father, who had taken little part in the argument and had seemed to be
listening in a detached way, now intervened almost irritably. “Nihilism … nihilism … just a word. At various times in my life I’ve been called
an economic royalist, a communist, a fascist, and a merchant of death … so
don’t let nihilist floor you, Julian.”
“I won’t,” Julian retorted, though he looked as if my father’s sudden
support had rather startled him.
Brad was hanging on to the argument. “But at least, Mr. Spee, the peak of
each civilization could be higher than the one before?”
“Why should it? We don’t know. Perhaps there’ve been vast cycles of
civilizations—some upward in trend, others downward—and these
cycles, in turn, may have belonged to even vaster movements. All pure
speculation, of course. You can argue about it endlessly, just as—” and
he turned deferentially to my father—“just as your Dow-Jones theorists
do when stocks drop and they try to figure out whether it’s a real bear
market or just a dip in a boom. Wait and see’s the only solution, but if the
waiting means a few million years, what can you do? Even Spengler won’t go
that far.”
Julian laughed, but as if he had become already uneasy about the argument.
He was extremely sensitive to timing and atmosphere, and soon afterwards he
made rather abrupt excuses and left us. Brad stayed, and my father rallied
himself into an appearance of affability. But I was still at odds with his
mood; I couldn’t quite understand it, and his totally unnecessary mention of
having once been called a merchant of death was especially strange. It was
true, he had been called that, but it wasn’t true that he had been
unconcerned about it; on the contrary he had been much hurt at the time and
would have prosecuted somebody for libel if his lawyers had let him.
I also noticed that he was refilling his glass rather oftener than usual.
“Well, Brad,” he said, switching over to his side. “We certainly had him on a
soapbox, didn’t we? I hope you weren’t too impressed.”
Brad laughed. “So long as I don’t have to agree, that’s the main thing.
I’d like to think over what he said in terms of the Second Law of
Thermodynamics. Might be interesting.”
“What beats me,” my father said, “is the way that fellow knows other
people’s business…. Yours … and mine … the Dow-Jones theory … how
does he get that way?”
“Probably most of what he knows is on the surface,” Brad answered,
entirely without malice.
It was late and he looked at his watch. I think we were all a little
tired. Just before he left my father called me to the library. “Henry can
drive him back,” he said. “Why don’t you go with him for the ride?”
I was surprised at the suggestion and wondered if he thought there was
anything emotional between Brad and me—that would have been too
ridiculous.
“He’d probably rather take the tube,” I said.
“No, let Henry bring the car round.”
“He’d hate to think he’d been keeping Henry up. He’s fussy about those
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