The Law of Unintended Consequences

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Adam Smith, cobra effect, deferred gratification, fakir, First Minister, Julius Caesar, Law of Unintended Consequences, mongoose, Pied Piper, Robert k Morton, Salmond

Sir, wasn’t it originally a concept of Adam Smith’s?

That Boothroyd-Smythe kid was really getting on his nerves.  He was such

a smart-a**.

Nigel had swapped hats and was standing in for the History teacher.  He

swallowed and counted three elephants.

Well, Robert K Morton, the sociologist, popularised it.

My dad said sociology is an easy option at A-level, butted in the irrepressible

one.  I was talking to him about this topic and he said it was akin to Murphy’s

Law.

Right.  Good for him.  As I was saying… We can exhibit hubris when we try

to act.  Who knows what ‘hubris’ is?

Nigel tried to avoid eye contact with B-S, as the staff liked to call him, but

the brat answered without putting up his hand.

My dad says it is what that Salmond man shows.

Enough!  Take a detention for calling out without raising your hand.

Nigel was breaking out in a sweat.  He’d been trying to have a class

discussion on something topical, but hadn’t been able to transmit his key

points about corollaries and-one he’d thought the boys would enjoy- the

cobra effect.  That was the ensuing consequence of paying Indians a

bounty for every cobra that they brought in.  The so-and-sos started

breeding the reptiles big time.

He’d imagined himself as some kind of fakir, mesmerising the class and

drawing them out of their collective basket by the entrancing flute notes

that he’d intone above their heads; instead, one of the deadlier and more

toxic blighters had struck him down fatally, like Julius Caesar in the Forum.

No, that wasn’t a just analogy: he wasn’t among friends…  He would never

hold an audience like that Pied Piper, the First Minister of Scotland.  His own

charges regarded him as a basket case.  But, maybe with hindsight,

that might also be the judgement the people of Scotland might dish out to

their erstwhile hero in five years’ time.  If he, Nigel, was a fakir, what did that

make Salmond?  Some people said ‘a snake oil merchant‘.  Nigel didn’t want to

go that far.  His wee sidekick could be said to share some similarities with a

mongoose, though.

Was Alex a leader who could handle deferred gratification?  Nigel doubted it.

He remembered the experiment where a child was rewarded with two

sweeties if they opted to restrain themselves from consuming one for a few

minutes.

Somehow he felt that if Alex was put in a room with a pie, he wouldn’t be able

to resist it.  Whereas if Adam Smith was to be subjected to the same

experiment, he felt sure that his self-control would result in sausage rolls

all round.

And now he’d have to waste time at the end of the day supervising the

wretched boy.  From now on, the only cobras he’d be getting involved

with would be the alcoholic variety.

The Lion and the Unicorn

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Acorn Antiques, Adam Smith, Aesop, Bishop of Rochester, David Cameron, Edmund Spenser, heraldic beasts, Lewis Carroll, Lion and Unicorn, Mrs Overall, narwhal, Orwell, plum cake, sovereignty, Through the Looking Glass, White King

Murgatroyd was contemplating the crest over his lintel.  As in so many Border

areas, it featured a lion and a unicorn.  Pity the unicorn was losing its gilding.

The lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown;

the lion beat the unicorn all round about the town.

Some gave them white bread and some gave them brown;

some gave them plumb [sic] cake and drummed them out of town.

recited Diana.

Murgatroyd’s curiosity was aroused.  What’s all that about?

Oh, it’s an old nursery rhyme.  I think it refers to the fact that the Union was

less than amicable.  There are various stories about which animal achieved

ascendency.  Like a certain First Minister, the unicorn believed its horn-oil?-

was a universal panacea.  I think it was the poet, Edmund Spenser, who

relayed how the unicorn was trapped in a tree and impaled itself by its horn

when it made a rash assault on the lion.

Murgatroyd looked thoughtful: I think that George Orwell published

something called ‘The Lion and the Unicorn’, come to think of it.  He thought

that the conflict between them would create a new kind of democratic

socialism.  I seem to remember that he wanted to retain the Royal Family,

though, and he cautioned that everyone considers themselves British, as

soon as the need for defence arises.

Hmm, interesting, replied Diana.  Lewis Carroll in ‘Through the Looking

Glass’ referred to the rhyme.  Both heraldic beasts belong to the same

king and are supposed to be on the same side, making their rivalry

absurd.  The Unicorn, like the Adam Smith wannabe, the Great Narwhal-

-cum Pinocchio porky pie eater, nay porcine teller himself, appeals to Alice,

aka the electorate, for mutual trust.  David Cameron seems to be positively

leonine, as he asks for the cake to be handed round first and cut in slices

afterwards.

Oh, I remember that, enthused Murgatroyd.  The cake kept returning to its

unified whole, didn’t it?  Even when divided into three.

Mrs Connolly came out into the garden carrying a tray, very much in the

manner of Mrs Overall from Acorn Antiques.  A pot of tea and a fine plum

cake was sliding precariously to one side.

What do you know about the lion and the unicorn, Mrs C? asked

Murgatroyd, relieving her of the weight of the comestibles.

Weel now, my understanding is that they represented the union of two

warring nations and they showed that the natural order was supported

by the balanced forces of Nature-ie/ the sun and the moon, held in

harmony.  Individually they are imbalanced, but together no other creature

can match their strength, because they are a union of opposites.  Their

styles of sovereignty may be different, but they are complimentary.

Well expressed, Mrs C! cheered Murgatroyd, pouring the tea himself and

forgetting that she liked to play ‘mother.’

Encouraged by the response, Mrs C continued:

Wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confine thee,

and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury.

Who said that? asked Diana.

Och, The Bishop of Rochester, when he recorded an obscure Aesop’s

fable concerning the twa beasties.  Aye, the lion can be tricky when he

appears to be conciliatory.  The unicorn should never relinquish its horn

to him, even on the appeal for a crutch.  She’ll just be hoisted with her

own petard.  They should all listen to Her Majesty and think very carefully.

Well, it’s late in the day now, Mrs C, volunteered Diana.  But the White

King had the last word in Carroll’s story:  ‘Fair play with the cake!’  If they

don’t justly divide the spoils they’ll both be drummed out of town.

Very true, agreed Mrs C.