NORTH AND MID EUROPE.
Different Effects of Commercial Ambition in different Countries—No
single safe Criterion of National Prosperity—Süssmilch’s “Divine
Plan”—Malthus in the Region of Statistics—His Northern Tour—In
Norway the truth brought home by the very nature of Place and
Industries—In Sweden less obvious—In Russia quite ignored—Foundling
Hospitals indefensible—Tendency of People to multiply beyond, up to,
or simply with the Food—Author tripping—Facts the Interpreters and
the Interpreted—Holland—The best _pater patriæ_—Emigration in
various Aspects—Evidence of the Author before Emigration
Committee—Switzerland, St. Cergues and Leysin—The _pons asinorum_ of
the subject.
The broad difference between a savage and a civilized population is,
that the positive checks prevail in the one, the preventive in the
other,—and between ancient and modern civilizations, that vice and
misery prevail in the one, moral restraint in the other.[232] Yet every
civilized nation in modern times has not only passed through these three
stages in the course of its past history, but contains them all within
it now as a matter of observation. Its early history was an endeavour
after independence or bare life, its later history an endeavour after
full development; but there are strata in it to which civilization has
not descended, and in which the struggle for bare existence prevails,
alongside of strata in which the struggle is towards ideals of
commercial ambition and social perfection.
The view which Malthus takes of commercial ambition is substantially
that of Adam Smith. As soon as commerce is separated from slavery, as
soon as wealth is a man’s own acquisition, got by the sweat of his own
brow, then the desire of wealth has a new social aspect. It becomes what
Adam Smith calls “the natural desire of every man to better his own
condition;” and as such it creates modern commercial society, as opposed
both to the ancient society built upon slavery, and to the feudal built
upon war.
This _vis mediatrix reipublicæ_, the desire of rising in the world, so
glorified in the _Wealth of Nations_[233] and in the _Essay on
Population_,[234] is really not easy to define. It is a very composite
motive; and the same differences of race (whatever their origin), which
lead to differences of intellect and language also affect a nation’s
standard of comfort, as soon as it can be said to have one. By the
influence of good climate and much intercourse with foreigners, along
with advantages of upbringing, and perhaps of race, a nation of Southern
Europe comes to put into its notion of happiness a great many more
elements than a northern nation, which has to hew its model out of much
poorer materials. The Norwegian standard will be simpler than the
Parisian. But there is more behind. The question is not simply one of
like and unlike elements, or of many and few elements, but of the
treatment of them by the human subject. The English notion of comfort
differs from the French in its elements, which are probably more in
number as well as other in quality, and have a third peculiarity quite
distinct from the other two, their effect on the habits of the persons
concerned.
French writers have noticed that the English farmer works hard for such
an income as will give him the innumerable little luxuries of toilet,
dinner-table, and drawing-room, that make up the English idea of
comfort, while the French farmer works hard that he may be able to buy
another farm.[235] The one lives up to his income; and in his efforts to
preserve it he is enterprising and persevering; he is always striving to
rise to the class above him. The other, on the contrary, is more content
with his position in society; and simply wishes to make it stronger, by
gaining more property. His willing privations in time of plenty are
rewarded by his secure provision in time of want; he has always his land
to sell.
Both are moved by the civilizing “desire to better one’s own condition”;
but it leads in the one case to simple saving, the old stocking, the
piece of land, or the _rentes_, in the other to active using, the
steam-plough first, that the piano and pony-carriage may follow
afterwards. There is some truth in M. Taine’s paradox, “The Englishman
provides for the future not by his savings but by his expenses.”[236] If
capitalizing means using as well as saving, there is a sense in which
the French and English divide the two functions between them.
This is what prevents the economist from making any exact predictions
about the effect of the _vis mediatrix reipublicæ_. He may, like Adam
Smith, find it doing good work in the undermining of feudalism,[237] and
he may point out that at any rate it would make a better guide to the
world than military glory, which means unhappiness to one-half the
world, and a very mingled happiness to the other half. But he cannot
predict its effect on men whose characters are unknown to him. He cannot
even tell whether a man is wealthy or not, till he knows what his wants
are, for wealth exists to satisfy wants, wants change with human
progress, the notion of wealth expands with civilization, and the
luxuries of one age and one man are the necessaries of another. It is
impossible to treat this relative question as if its conditions were
absolute, and to deal with men as we would with figures on a slate. Two
and two do not always make four in such a case, but sometimes five, and
frequently only three. A new vista of comfort spread before different
men may stimulate one, spoil another, and leave a third unmoved.
It is not surprising then that the question, “By what various modes is
population kept to the level of the food in the states of modern
Europe?” is not a simple one. On some grounds it would seem
comparatively easy to get the answer. There are figures to be had, and
in many cases a census; there is a general similarity of circumstances
which produces a general similarity of habits, and, therewith, of the
movements of population. But there is no invariable order of mortality
and generation. The rates of births and deaths are not the same for all
nations; they depend on the conduct of human beings, and may differ not
only in different countries, but in different parts of the same country.
In the same way, we have no single statistical criterion of the healthy
state of a population, just as it might be said we have no single
criterion of the commercial prosperity of a country, still less of its
happiness. The two former stand to the last as the parts to the whole. A
healthy population and a prosperous trade are parts of the happiness of
a nation, though they do not constitute the whole of it. To ascertain
whether a nation is happy or not, we have to take into account these two
parts of happiness along with many others. The parts in their turn
consist of many parts. We measure the state of trade not only by imports
and exports, railway, banking and Clearing House returns, and the gains
of the public revenue, but by subscriptions to churches, charities, and
schools, by savings banks and benefit societies, sales of books,
pictures, and luxuries of all kinds, by the state of workmen’s wages, by
the poor-law returns, by the number of marriages, emigrants, and
recruits for the army; and we could make little use of most of these
figures without the census returns and the reports of the Registrar
General. In the same way, to measure the healthiness of a population and
ascertain whether it is safely under the level of its food, tending to
pass beyond it, or simply rising up to it, and to ascertain by what ways
and means the process is going on, we need instead of one single general
criterion a whole array of particular tests. It is in the infancy of
statistical science that men yield to appearances and “suppose a greater
uniformity in things than is actually found there.”[238]
This was, for example, the failing of Johann Peter Süssmilch, one of the
earliest inquirers into the movements of population. A book like
Süssmilch’s had the same relation to the _Essay on Population_ as
astrology to astronomy, or alchemy to chemistry; it prepared the way for
the more accurate study. Süssmilch first published his researches in
1761, while the Seven Years’ War was still in progress. He dedicated it
to Frederick the Great, as became a patriot and Church dignitary; and
entitled it, _The Divine Plan in the Changes through which the Human
Race passes in Birth, Death, and Marriage_. The Divine plan is the one
set forth in the exhortation to Noah in Genesis—the peopling of the
earth;[239] and the book tries to show the particular arrangements by
which the plan is carried out. One condition is, he says, that fertility
be greater than mortality; the births must exceed the deaths. On an
average at present each marriage produces four children; and “the
present law of death” is on an average, taking town and country
together, 1 in 36; out of 36 men now living, 1 must die every year. In
the country it is from 1 in 40 to 1 in 45; in the town, from 1 in 38 to
1 in 32. There is a yearly excess of births represented by 1 in 10 and 5
in 10. The increase must have been faster at first than it is now; and
the means God took to effect His end in each case was the lengthening
and shortening of human life. In the times of Methuselah there must have
been a very different law of mortality, perhaps one death in a hundred;
the length of life was greater; and probably the power of parentage
lasted longer. The average number of children might be about twenty in a
family instead of four; and the doubling of population would take place
in ten or twenty years, instead of as now in seventy or eighty.
Antediluvians were long-lived because their long lives were needed for
the replenishment of the earth; and the extreme length was shortened so
soon as the time came when the same end could be reached in other ways.
When we observe the remarkable adaptiveness of man which enables him
alone among the creatures[240] to live in any latitude, and when we
observe how he has been preserved while many animals have become
extinct, we need have no doubt that the replenishment of the earth was
really the Divine purpose. It is remarkable too that, though more sons
are born than daughters, death equalizes their numbers before mature
life. The “system” which prevails in the increase of man is like the
march of a military regiment, in which all the men have their places,
actions, and accoutrements determined for them. The proportion of sons
to daughters, and deaths to births, Süssmilch regards as a tolerably
fixed one; the discovery of unexpected uniformities overjoys him
greatly, and he regards the man who first used the London bill of
mortality to detect these uniformities as a sort of statistical
Columbus. In short, his book is an economical Théodicée, a long piece of
pious deductive reasoning; and it is curious to find Germany producing
two such optimistic books at a time when it was even further from the
millennium than its neighbours.
The facts of Süssmilch, ill-sifted as they were, gave Malthus a much
firmer ground of reasoning than the scanty patches of evidence about the
population of ancient and barbarous nations. He is at last in the region
of statistics as opposed to conjecture, and in the region of the
personal observation and travel of men who were at least asking his own
questions. But the fate of the bills of mortality and other records, in
the hands of Price and Wallace, to say nothing of Petty and Süssmilch,
shows how important was Malthus’ work as an interpreter of statistics.
Statistics were a novelty in his day. As Adam Smith wrote on the _Wealth
of Nations_ without any full statistics of the wealth, and none at all
of the population, of his own country, Malthus wrote his first essay
when there was no census; and, for some time afterwards, so
comparatively isolated were the nations of Europe, that to be at all
certain of his facts, an author needed to verify and collect them by
journeying in person, and seeing the scenes with his own eyes. This
essential work of an investigator Malthus did not leave undone; and his
chapters on the state of population in modern European nations are to a
large extent a record of his own observations. He went for a summer trip
in 1799 with three college friends, Dr. Edward Clarke, Mr. Cripps, and
Mr. Otter, afterwards Bishop of Chichester. They went by Hamburg to
Sweden, and there the party broke up into two, Clarke and his pupil
Cripps going farther north, Otter and Malthus going on through Norway to
visit Finland and St. Petersburg.[241] These were the only European
countries where English travellers could easily make their way in those
years.[242] In 1802 he saw France and Switzerland,[243] but seems not to
have left the kingdom again till 1825, when the journey was taken for
the sake of his wife’s health, on the death of one of his children, and
he was little in the mood for investigations. The tours of 1799 and 1802
are the only ones that have left substantial traces on his economical
work.[244]
In all his travels he found the foreigner as ignorant as the Englishman
on the subject of population. Only twice did he hear the truth expounded
to him; in Norway during his first tour, and in Switzerland during his
second. In the latter case the enlightenment was confined to one
individual; but in the former the whole nation was wise. While the
Swedish Government was continually crying for more people, and trying to
“encourage population,” the Norwegian Government and people seemed to
have understood that the first question must be, “Are there means to
feed more people?” If not, then we multiply the nation without
increasing the joy. Of course there are cases where we might thin down
the nation and still less increase the joy. Mere scantiness of numbers
is no advantage to a nation, any more than fewness of wants to an
individual; it may mean a low state of civilization, in both cases. It
is not by any means so good for a country to be wasted by a pestilence
as to be opened up by a new trade. The denser the population, the
better;—so says Malthus himself;—but, he adds, let it be a population of
strong, comfortable citizens, or let us stand by the small numbers and
the slow increase.
Look now at Norway.[245] If we were dealing with uncivilized times under
the reign of positive checks, we should expect an overflowing
population, a large body of poor, and in times of scarcity a great deal
of distress. There had been no wars for half a century, the cold climate
kept away epidemics, and what else was left but famine to keep down the
population to the limits of the food? Vice was not taken into the
service, and emigration was seldom practised then in these regions. But
Malthus visited the country in one of the hardest years ever known in
Europe, 1799, and found the Norwegians “wearing a face of plenty and
content, while their neighbours the Swedes appeared to be
starving.”[246] He found the death-rate lower in Norway than in any
country in Europe.[247] The population, however, was hardly increasing
at all; and the proportion of marriages to the whole numbers of the
people was smaller than in any country except Switzerland.[248] The
positive check was largely superseded by the preventive. The virtue of
foresight, he says, is elsewhere forced upon the upper classes by the
smallness of their circle and the fewness of openings in business or
professions; in Norway it is forced upon all classes alike by the
evident smallness of the country’s resources, and by the peculiarities
of the national industry. There is almost no variety of occupation or
division of labour. The humbler classes are almost all “housemen”
(_husmänd_), labourers, who receive from a farmer in quasi-feudal
fashion a small house and a little piece of land in return for
occasional labour on his fields. In other countries men may easily fall
into the fallacy of crediting the whole of the land with a greater power
of supporting people than the power possessed by the sum of its parts.
In the great towns of Central Europe a man has perhaps some excuse for
trusting to the chapter of accidents; in the great variety of
occupations he may have some excuse for thinking there will surely be a
vacancy for him, and he may “e’en take Peggie.” Norway, however, is to
manufacturing countries what the country districts elsewhere are to the
towns elsewhere. In the country districts an excess of population cannot
be hidden, and the superfluities must go to the towns. Those who marry,
therefore, when there is no vacancy for them, do so with the
alternatives of poverty or migration clearly before their eyes. In
Norway every peasant, not to say every farmer, knows quite certainly
whether there is an opening for him or not, and, if there is not, he
cannot marry.[249]
The conditions of the problem were in this way simplified, and the
problem itself was satisfactorily answered. The only districts where
Malthus saw signs of poverty were on the coast, where the people live by
fishing; the openings for a fisherman are not so distinctly limited in
their numbers as the openings for a farmer.
Time has united Norway and Sweden under one king (1814), and Sweden now
presents no unfavourable contrast with Norway. Even in 1825 Malthus
wrote[250] that the progress of agriculture and industry, and the
practice of vaccination, had caused a steady and healthful increase of
population since 1805. He would be pleased to find too by the census
that the population of Norway had increased very greatly in proportion
to its poor. The improvement continues. The paupers were about one per
cent. of the population in 1869 (when they were nearly five per cent. in
England), which seems to have meant a decrease from previous years;[251]
but between 1865 and 1875 the population had increased fourteen per
cent. in spite of considerable emigration.[252] Malthus would have
recognized with satisfaction that the nation had been “either increasing
the quantity or facilitating the distribution” of its food,[253] that is
to say, improving either its agriculture or its manufactures. It has
really done both. Though the growth of the population has been greater
in the centres of manufacture, there has been progress also in the
country districts. Many of the old customs and laws that hampered
agriculture have ceased to exist.[254] Malthus himself says that, if
Government would remove hindrances to agriculture, and spread sound
knowledge about it, it would do more for the population of the country
than by establishing five hundred foundling hospitals.[255] He need not
have confined his recommendation to agriculture; and elsewhere he states
the truth in broader terms: “The true encouragement to marriage is the
high price of labour, and an increase of employments which require to be
supplied with proper hands.”[256] Remove hindrances to trade and spread
sound knowledge of it—that (in his view) is the way to increase the
quantity and facilitate the distribution of the products of agriculture;
and, to judge by results, the Norwegian Government has followed it.
Sweden,[257] as it then was, furnished a striking contrast to Norway.
Malthus had the advantage there of the earliest and most regular of
European censuses, beginning with the year 1748, and continued at
intervals first of three and then of five years. He found that there was
a large mortality, though the conditions of life were superficially the
same as in Norway. The only explanation he could see was that the size
and shape of the country, as well as its mode of government, did not so
forcibly bring home to the people the need of restraint as in Norway,
while at the same time the hindrances to good farming were even more
serious than in the smaller country. From the very contiguity and
general similarity of the two countries, they proved Malthus’ point, by
the Method of Difference, almost as well as a deliberate experiment
could have done. It was not that Norway had an absolutely small and
Sweden an absolutely large population; considerations of absolute
greatness or smallness never enter into this, if into any, economical
question. But Norway had a moderately large population in proportion to
her food, while Sweden had in the same regard an excessive population, a
population which was sparely fed even in average years, and decimated by
famine and disease in years below the average.
Russia,[258] which was the third scene of Malthus’ travels, had this in
common with Norway and Sweden, that the movement of its population was
unlike that of Central Europe, and that the eccentricity was due to a
clearly definable cause. In Norway the shape and climate of the country
and the fewness of the available occupations forced the Government and
the people to restrain rather than to encourage the increase of numbers;
in Sweden, under conditions less simple, the habits of the people
conspired with a false policy of the Government to produce an excessive
increase. In both cases we have something different from the typical
modern society of Central Europe, with its full division of labour, its
system of large factories, and its extensive substitution of machinery
for hand labour. Russia was as old-fashioned as Norway and Sweden in
this respect; and her physical vastness made her a difficult country to
know, in these days of slow communication. It is not surprising that the
statistics available in the days of Malthus were open to grave
suspicion. The death-rate was given as 1 in 60, while in Norway itself
it had not been lower than 1 in 48, and it is about 1 in 53 in England
now, yet the number of marriages and of births and the size of families
were no smaller than elsewhere.[259] These facts by themselves would
simply suggest a great rate of increase going on in the country
concerned; and Malthus allows that there is great scope for such in
Russia. But there was one other fact that strengthened his doubts about
the vital statistics of that country; contrary to the experience of all
other countries, it was said that in Russia more women were born than
men. In others, more men are born than women, and the numbers are only
equalized gradually, by the greater risks of masculine life, as the
years go on. In Sweden, with a climate not milder than Russia, this had
long been observed.[260] It turned out on inquiry that the Russian
method of registration allowed loopholes for more omissions in the
deaths than in the births. Public institutions, including hospitals and
prisons, had been left out of account; and the deaths in the foundling
hospitals were alone quite sufficient to alter the average very
significantly for the worse. Malthus’ hatred of Foundling hospitals is
only equalled by his dislike of Poor laws. The idea of such institutions
was, like that of Pitt’s Poor Bill, purely philanthropic. They were “to
enrich the country from year to year with an increasing number of
healthy, active, and industrious burghers,”[261] that would otherwise be
doomed to death soon after birth. It used to be said of the bounty,
granted by the Government of India, on slaughtered snakes, that it
really kept up the supply, for the natives bred them to catch the
bounty. The foundling hospitals had an opposite effect. They were meant
to multiply and they tended to destroy. They encouraged a mother to
desert her child at the precise time it needed the minute and careful
attention that only a mother can give. “It is not to be doubted that, if
the children received into these hospitals had been left to the
management of their parents, taking the chance of all the difficulties
in which they might be involved, a much greater proportion of them would
have reached the age of manhood and have become useful members of the
state.”[262] But, besides increasing the mortality of children, they
injure the very “mainspring of population”[263] by discouraging marriage
and encouraging irregularities. In his talks with his father, Malthus
had no doubt discussed the propriety of Rousseau’s conduct in sending
his children to the Paris Foundling Hospital. He would certainly have
declared against Rousseau. To those who argue that the foundling basket
may prevent child-murder, he answers that an occasional murder from
“false [?] shame” is saved at a very dear price by the violation of “the
best and most useful feelings of the human heart,” which the existence
of such an institution teaches to the poor. To relieve parents of the
care of their children is bad for the parents,[264] because it takes
away from them a responsibility essential to full citizenship and
civilizing in its effects on human character;—and it is unjust to their
fellow-citizens, because, like the Poor Laws, it relieves one portion of
society (in this case rather the worst than the poorest) at the expense
of all the rest, and finds a career for pauper apprentices to the
prejudice of independent workmen and their children.[265] In the third
place, like the Poor Laws, it promises an impossibility—to relieve all
that come. If children are to be received without limit, the resources
for maintaining them should be without limit; otherwise an excessive
mortality is quite unavoidable.[266] The second reason is no doubt an
economical commonplace; it is the first and third that are most
characteristic of Malthus. He never forgets that human wants and human
wills are an element in every economical phenomenon, and therefore
considers that the effects of character on actions and of actions on
character are of great economical importance. He will not allow that it
can be right, even for a Government, to make promises that cannot be
performed. These two plain principles give the tone to the later
chapters, where he interprets for us the comparatively full statistics
of Central Europe and our own England.[267]
The law of population may be described (though not in the exact words of
Malthus) as among savage peoples the tendency to increase beyond the
food, and among civilized to increase up to it. So Professor Rogers
founds his estimate of the numbers of the English people in the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries on the principle that “there were
generally as many people existing in this country as there have been, on
an average, quarters of wheat to feed them with.”[268]
In the case of highly progressive modern nations such statements would
be beyond the truth; and we must either say that they tend to increase
not beyond but along with the food, or else we must define food itself
very widely. In the first case “tendency” will mean the abstract
possibility depending on the one physiological condition; in the others
it is the concrete nett possibility depending on all the various
conditions together. In a general preface to his chapters on Central
Europe, Malthus quite recognizes these distinctions and warns us against
exact statements. “It seldom happens,” he says, “that the increase of
food and of population is uniform; and when the circumstances of a
country are varying either from this cause or from any change in the
national habits with respect to prudence and cleanliness, it is evident
that a proportion which is true at one period will not be at another.
Nothing is more difficult than to lay down rules on this subject that do
not admit of exceptions.”[269]
After this it is hard to believe what he tells us elsewhere, that “the
only criterion of a real and permanent increase in the population of any
country is the increase of the means of subsistence.”[270] It would be
at best a negative criterion and _sine quâ non_,—there can be no
increase of numbers without increase of food,—though even then it is not
true of a “forced population,” living down to a lower food.[271] But
there clearly may be an increase of food without an increase of numbers,
unless the character of the people is such that they do nothing with the
food except increase by it. Therefore, though, within certain wide
limits fixed for us by invariable qualities of human nature, predictions
are justifiable on the ground of the law of population[272] or any other
economical laws, none that specify a particular course of action as a
result of a particular event are trustworthy, till we know the character
of the people concerned.[273] Malthus always tries to bear this in mind;
and, when he tells us that the lists of births, marriages, and deaths in
Mid Europe give more information about its internal economy than the
observations of the wisest travellers,[274] he is at once interpreting
those figures in the light of a principle, and interpreting the
principle by means of the figures. This appears when we look at the four
chief conclusions of the general chapter in question. The first is the
proposition that in the present state of our industrial civilization the
marriages depend very closely on the deaths, and the births on the
marriages.[275] Montesquieu says that wherever there is room for two
persons to live comfortably a marriage will certainly take place.[276]
In old countries experience is usually against any sure expectation of
the means of supporting a family; the place for a new marriage is only
made by the dissolution of an old. As a rule therefore the number of
annual marriages is regulated by the number of annual deaths. “Death is
the most powerful of all the encouragements to marriage,”[277] while on
the other hand the marriages are a frequent cause of the deaths. In
almost every country there is too great a frequency of marriages, which
causes as it were a forced mortality. Which of these two mutual
influences is the more powerful depends on circumstances. In last
century the proportion of annual marriages to inhabitants was in Holland
generally as 1 in 107 or 108. But in twenty-two Dutch villages it was as
1 in 64. Süssmilch explained this anomaly by the number of new trades in
Holland and the new openings for workmen. Malthus would not have denied
this possibility, his startling paradox about death being only a
particular case of the general principle that “the high price of labour
is the real encouragement to marriage.”[278] But in this case the
explanation ought to have applied to all Holland if to any part of it.
The real reason came out when Malthus observed that the mortality, which
was as 1 in 36 in Holland generally, was as 1 in 22 in those villages.
The additional marriages did not really increase the population. They
were caused by the high number of deaths which provided openings for the
living; and the high number of deaths was caused by the unhealthiness of
the region and of its prevailing industries, which were manufacturing
rather than agricultural. The choice in every large population is
between having many lives which end soon, and few which last long.
Greater healthiness in the conditions of life will result in the latter.
We find as a matter of fact that, where there has been the sanitary
improvement as well as simply the “replenishment” of an old country, the
marriage rate goes down at the expense of the death-rate, and there is
an economy of human life and suffering.
Putting the parts of his exposition together, we get something like a
deductive scheme of the growth of population in old countries under an
industrial revolution like that of the eighteenth century. The first
effect of the discovery of new minerals, and even (with some
qualifications) of the invention of new machines, is to provide new
employment for working men, and many new opportunities for marriage; the
proportion of marriages therefore becomes at once greater without any
alteration (from this cause at least) in the death-rate. But, when the
first burst of progress has passed, and the succeeding improvement is
not by leaps and bounds, but at a uniform rate, then the proportion of
marriages will decrease, as the new situations are filled up and there
is no more room for an increasing population. Once the country is really
“old” in the sense of fully peopled and unprovided with new sources of
employment, then the marriages will be regulated principally by the
deaths, and (the habits of the people remaining the same) will bear much
the same proportion to each other at one time as at another. It is not,
however, exactly the same proportion for all old countries, simply
because the habits and standards of living are different, to say nothing
of healthiness or unhealthiness of climate and occupation. For similar
reasons it is not the same for towns as for country districts.[279] “A
general measure of mortality for all countries taken together” would be
useless if procurable; but it cannot be procured.[280]
Habits, however, are sufficiently fixed to make us certain that “any
_direct_ encouragements to marriage must be accompanied by an increased
mortality.”[281] They spur a willing horse. Montesquieu and Süssmilch,
although they both enlarge on the evils of over-population, still think
it a statesman’s duty to be, like Augustus and Trajan, the father of his
people by encouraging their marriages. But, if many marriages mean many
deaths, the princes or statesmen who should really succeed in this
patriotic policy might more justly be called the destroyers than the
fathers of their people.[282]
If Malthus had been asked how a prince could best become a real _pater
patriæ_, he would have named two or three ways. The prince might direct
his mind to the improvement of industry, especially of agriculture.[283]
He might circulate news and knowledge on these subjects;[284] or, as we
should say now, he might institute agricultural exhibitions, and regular
agricultural statistics of home and foreign production. He would in this
way increase the population by helping to increase the food.
In the second place, he might benefit trade everywhere by giving it the
security of good government and impartial justice, a peaceful foreign
policy and light taxation.
In the third place, he might, together with all these, encourage
Emigration. Malthus devotes a special chapter of the essay to this
subject; and, though the chapter is in a later part of his work (Bk.
III. ch. iv.[285]), this seems the best place to touch on the subject.
Emigration, he says, is, apart from political distinctions, the same
thing as migration; and, if it is economically good for a man to go from
a poor land at his door to a rich in the next county, it cannot be
economically bad for him to go from a poor district of his own country
to a rich across the sea. The mere length of the journey or the
difference of latitude does not affect the economical nature of the
change.
Economical motives, however, have come very late in all the great
European emigrations. It was not the desire of finding room for the
over-crowded families at home, but desire of the metal gold, or else it
was the simple love of adventure, or ambition of conquest, that first
sent the Spanish, Portuguese, English, and Dutch to the far East and far
West.[286] “These passions enabled the first adventurers to triumph”
over obstacles that would have deterred quiet industrial emigrants, “but
in many instances in a way to make humanity shudder, and to defeat the
very end of emigration. Whatever may be the character of the Spanish
inhabitants of Mexico and Peru at the present moment, we cannot read the
accounts of the first conquests of these countries without feeling
strongly that the race destroyed was, in moral worth as well as numbers,
superior to the race of their destroyers.” The settlers that followed on
the heels of these pioneers, though they were more like real emigrants,
went unskilfully to work. They seemed to expect that “the moral and
mechanical habits” which suited the old country would suit the new,[287]
and everything would go on as it did at home. At first therefore there
would be a redundant population[288] in the new country rather than in
the old, for, however great the possible produce of the colony, the
actual produce would be less than the wants of the new-comers on their
first arrival. To all this must be added the fact that, though
economically a far and a near place are alike, they are very different
to the sentiments of men. Patriotism is no fault, and the breaking of
home ties is a real evil to the individuals, however beneficial the
emigration may be to the nation. Men are slow to move, not only from the
uncertain prospects of success, but from that _vis inertiæ_ in man which
is always counteracting the _vis mediatriæ_ of commercial ambition. In
addition, therefore, to the mere uneasiness of poverty and the desire of
getting a living, there is need of some spirit of enterprise, to make
men willing and successful emigrants.[289] Those who felt distress most
would often have been the most helpless in a new country; they needed
leaders who were “urged by the spirit of avarice or enterprise, or of
religious or political discontent, or were furnished with means and
support by Government;” otherwise, “whatever degree of misery they might
suffer in their own country from the scarcity of subsistence, they would
be absolutely unable to take possession of any of those uncultivated
regions of which there is such an extent on the earth.” Emigration then
(according to Malthus) is not likely to happen unless political
discontent and extreme poverty have brought the emigrants to such a
plight that it is better for their country as well as for themselves
that they should go. “There are no fears so totally ill-grounded as the
fears of depopulation from emigration.”[290] Emigration is not even a
cure for an over-population; and is much recommended only because little
adopted. Gaps made in the population of old countries are soon filled
up; room found in the new is soon occupied. If emigration is proposed as
a means of securing an absolutely unrestricted increase of population by
placing old countries in the position of new colonies, the hope will be
soon and for ever cut off.[291]
Towards the end of his life, Malthus had an opportunity of explaining
his views on this subject to an audience of statesmen. He appeared as a
witness before the Select Committee[292] of the House of Commons “to
inquire into the expediency of encouraging emigration from the United
Kingdom,” and his influence is traceable in their Reports. They
reported[293] that there had been in the United Kingdom a “redundant
population,” in Ireland agricultural, in Scotland and England
manufacturing; that one cause of it had been the unavoidable
displacement of hand labour by machinery;[294] that meanwhile the
British colonies in America, Africa, and Australia had few men and
plenty of land, and that it would benefit the whole empire if parishes
could convert their probable or actual paupers into emigrants, always
provided that the remaining population could be induced not to grow so
fast as to fill the whole gap thus created.[295] “The testimony” (said
the Committee in their third Report[296]) “which was uniformly given by
the practical witnesses has been confirmed in the most absolute manner
by that of Mr. Malthus, and your Committee cannot but express their
satisfaction at finding that the experience of facts is thus
strengthened throughout by general reasoning and scientific principles.”
They were more disposed than their witness himself to _a priori_
reasoning, and in many of their leading questions he declined to follow
them.[297] But he agreed with their main conclusions, allowing that
under certain conditions it would be even a financial advantage to
remove unemployed workmen to the colonies rather than suffer them to
become paupers at home, and adding, that, if he was against the
admission of any legal claim to relief in ordinary cases of pauperism,
still more would he be against it when the pauper had before him the
alternative of assisted emigration.[298] His own view of emigration had
not changed since he wrote in 1803. It was to him a partial remedy; and
it is more useful when spontaneously adopted by the people[299] than
when pressed on them by their Government. Under the torture of the
question he conceded no more.[300]
As a temporary expedient, the essay tells us,[301] “with a view to the
more general cultivation of the earth and the wider extension of
civilization, it seems to be both useful and proper,” and is to be
encouraged, or at least not prevented, by Governments. All depends on
the rate of wages. If wages were high enough to enable people to live
with what they counted reasonable comfort at home, we may be sure their
domestic and patriotic ties would be strong enough to keep them there.
The complaint that emigration raises wages is most unreasonable. At the
utmost it prevents wages from falling too low, and helps to heal the
mischief caused by fluctuations in trade.
We shall find at a later stage that Malthus is keenly aware of the
unhappiness caused in modern industrial societies by changes in the
demand for goods, occurring even in the natural (or uninterrupted)
course of trade. A movement in favour of emigration in 1806 and 1807 led
him to insert a paragraph in the fourth edition of his essay which
explains the relation of emigration to these changes. He accepts the
statement of Adam Smith, that “the demand for men, like that for any
other commodity, necessarily regulates the production of men;”[302] but
he adds (as Cairnes added later) that it takes some little time to bring
more labour into the market when there is demand for it, and some little
time to check the supply when once it has begun to flow.[303] A family
may be reared to catch high wages, and the high wages may have gone
before the family has arrived at maturity. Malthus distinguishes between
a normal or slight “oscillation” of this kind, and an excessive
redundancy caused by an unusual stimulus to production—the stimulus, for
example, of the foreign wars and the foreign trade of the years before
Waterloo. In the normal case we must submit to the inevitable; in the
exceptional we may find an outlet in emigration. No doubt, even if there
be no emigration, in the long run the labour market will right itself;
but the process will be a very painful one to the workmen concerned.
Emigration is the humane and politic remedy.
In some cases, such as Norway and the uplands of Switzerland,[304] there
would seem to be no need for Government to teach the people to emigrate.
Circumstances should do it for them; but human beings are influenced by
habit and “chance” as much as by any deliberate motive, commercial or
otherwise. In the Swiss uplands, as Malthus knew them, “a habit of
emigration depended not only on situation but often on accident.” Three
or four successful emigrations “have frequently given a spirit of
enterprise to a whole village, and three or four unsuccessful ones a
contrary spirit.”[305] This is illustrated by the contrast of two
parishes, both in the Canton de Vaud, St. Cergues in the Jura, and
Leysin[306] in the Bernese Alps near Aigle. The movements of population
in Leysin puzzled M. Muret, the Swiss economist, who drew up a paper on
the depopulation of Switzerland for the Economical Society of Berne in
the year 1766. He found that in this parish of four hundred people there
were born every year on an average only eight children, whereas,
elsewhere in Canton de Vaud, to the same number of people eleven (in
Lyonnais sixteen) children were a common proportion. The difference, he
observed, disappeared by the age of twenty, when, if we may say so, the
difference died off, the eight in Leysin being healthier than the eleven
(or sixteen) elsewhere. Muret infers from this, that “in order to
maintain in all places the proper equilibrium of population, God has
wisely ordered things in such a manner as that the force of life in each
country should be in the inverse ratio of its fecundity.”[307] There is,
however, no need to suppose a miracle. The fact was simply that the
place and the employments were healthy, that the people had not formed
habits of emigration, that their resources were stationary, that,
therefore, they married late, had few children, and were
long-lived.[308] The subsisting marriages were to the annual births as
12 to 1; the births were to the living population as 1 to 49; and the
number of persons above sixteen were to those below as 3 to 1.[309] This
would show that mere number of births is no criterion of the size of a
population, for it took only about half of the ordinary number of births
to keep up a population of four hundred in the parish of Leysin. In St.
Cergues the subsisting marriages were to the annual births as 4 to 1
(instead of 12 to 1 as at Leysin), the births were to the living
population as 1 to 26, and the number of persons above and below sixteen
just equal. That is to say, St. Cergues had nearly twice as many births
a year in proportion to the population, and more than twice as many
marriages; but, instead of three-fourths of its living population being
above sixteen (as at Leysin), those above and those below were equal in
number, and St. Cergues had a smaller proportion of adults than Leysin.
On the other hand, the death-rate was nearly the same; the healthiness
was nearly as great. How came it then that the population of St. Cergues
was only one hundred and seventy-one, as against the four hundred and
five of Leysin? What became of the children born? Seeing that they did
not die, and did not appear on the registers of the living, we infer
that they left their native village; that is all. The situation of the
parish of St. Cergues, on the high road from Paris to Geneva, suggested
emigration; and, as a matter of fact, the place had become, like most
highland hamlets, a breeding-place for the lowlands and the
manufacturing towns. The annual drain of adults made room for the
favoured remnant to marry and have large families. Even Leysin, though
it lay on no high road, might conceivably (says Malthus) have exchanged
its stay-at-home character for a habit of emigration, and might then
have doubled its birth-rate without raising the death-rate. It is one of
the fallacies of old statisticians to infer a large population from a
high birth-rate; in an old country, if the rate of births is high in
comparison with the number of living inhabitants, it means either many
deaths or much emigration.
The people of an old country, if they cannot or will not emigrate, must,
according to Malthus, either look for a high death-rate or accustom
themselves to late marriages. M. Muret’s figures showed that many
cantons of Switzerland had adopted this last course in the eighteenth
century. In the Canton de Vaud, for example, the proportion of marriages
to living inhabitants (1 to 140) was lower than in Norway itself. In a
pastoral country the limits of human resources are so obvious that the
people cannot fail to be impressed with the need of limiting their
numbers. Pastoral industry, again, feeds more than it employs,[310] and
the unemployed must look for employment elsewhere. This was one reason
why there were so many Swiss in foreign service. “When a father has more
than one son, those who are not wanted on the farm are powerfully
tempted to enrol themselves as soldiers, or emigrate in some other way,
as the only chance to enable them to marry.”[311] Malthus was a little
disappointed with the condition of the Swiss peasantry when he saw them
in 1803. Perhaps, he says, they were still suffering from the wars in
which the “Helvetic Republic” had been involved by its French allies;
but more probably they were suffering from the unwise attempts of their
Government in the previous century to “encourage” what they then thought
was a declining population.[312] The peasant who guided Malthus to the
sources of the Orbe[313] talked freely to him on the poverty of the
district, which he ascribed to early and imprudent marriages, “le vice
du pays”; he would have a law passed to prevent a man marrying till he
was forty, and a woman till she was elderly. He said that at one time
the introduction of stone polishing had given the people high wages and
led them to expect constant employment; changes of fashion[314] had
helped to drive the industry away, but the habits taught by it had
remained so fast rooted in the people that emigration itself brought no
relief to their overflowing numbers. But this self-taught Malthusian had
not learned his lesson perfectly. He fancied that the fertile lands of
the low countries, with their abundance of corn and employments, could
never experience the evil of over-population. This was true only in the
unhappy sense that they had greater unhealthiness and a greater
mortality, providing room for early marriages and many births.
It is easy to see that Malthus over-valued his prize. The _pons
asinorum_ of the subject is the doctrine that over-population is not a
question of absolute numbers or absolute quantity of food and fertility
of soil, but of the numbers in relation to the food, in whatever place
or time; and the young peasant had not crossed it.