Progress benefits the producer, as such, only during the time
necessary to recompense his skill. It soon produces a fall of value,
and leaves to the first imitators a fair, but small, recompense. At
length value becomes proportioned to the diminished labour, and the
whole saving accrues to society at large.
Thus all profit by the progress of each, and each profits by the
progress of all. The principle, ‹each for all, all for each›, put
forward by the Socialists, and which they would have us receive as a
novelty, the germ of which is to be discovered in their organizations
founded on oppression and constraint, God himself has given us; and
He has educed it from liberty. [p333]
God, I say, has given us this principle, and He has not established
it in a model community, presided over by M. Considérant, or in
a ‹Phalanstère› of six hundred ‹harmoniens›, or in a tentative
‹Icarie›,[67] on condition that a few fanatics should submit
themselves to the arbitrary power of a monomaniac, and that the
faithless should pay for the true believers. No, God has established
the principle ‹each for all and all for each› generally, universally,
by a marvellous mechanism, in which justice, liberty, utility, and
sociability are mingled and reconciled in such a degree as ought to
discourage these manufacturers of social organizations.
Observe that this great law of ‹each for all and all for each› is
much more universal than my demonstration supposes it. Words are
dull and heavy, and the pen still more so. The writer is obliged
to exhibit successively, and one after the other, with despairing
slowness, phenomena which recommend themselves to our admiration only
in the aggregate.
Thus, I have just spoken of ‹inventions›. You might conclude that
this was the only case in which progress, once attained, escapes from
the producer, and goes to enlarge the common fund of mankind. It is
not so. It is a general law that every advantage of whatever kind,
proceeding from local situation, climate, or any other liberality
of nature, slips rapidly from the hands of the person who first
discovered and appropriated it—not on that account to be lost, but to
go to feed the vast reservoir from which the enjoyments of mankind
are derived. One condition alone is attached, which is, that labour
and transactions should be free. To run counter to liberty is to run
counter to the designs of Providence; it is to suspend the operation
of God’s law, and limit progress in a double sense.
What I have just said with reference to the transfer of advantages
holds equally true of evils and disadvantages. Nothing remains
permanently with the producer—neither advantages nor inconveniences.
Both tend to disseminate themselves through society at large.
We have just seen with what avidity the producer seeks to avail
himself of whatever may facilitate his work; and we have seen,
too, in how short a time the profit arising from inventions and
discoveries slips from the inventor’s hands. It seems as if that
profit were not in the hands of a superior intelligence, but of a
blind and obedient instrument of general progress.
With the same ardour he shuns all that can shackle his action; and
this is a happy thing for the human race, for it is to mankind
[p334] at large that in the long-run obstacles are prejudicial.
Suppose, for example, that A, the producer of books, is subjected to
a heavy tax. He must add the amount of that tax to the price of his
books. It will enter into the value of the books as a constituent
part, the effect of which will be that B, C, D, E must give more
labour in exchange for the same satisfaction. Their compensation will
consist in the purpose to which Government applies the tax. If the
use to which it is applied is beneficial, they may gain instead of
losing by the arrangement. If it is employed to oppress them, they
will suffer in a double sense. But as far as A is concerned, he is
relieved of the tax, although he pays it in the first instance.
I do not mean to say that the producer does not frequently suffer
from obstacles of various kinds, and from taxes among others.
Sometimes he suffers most seriously from the operation of taxes,
and it is precisely on that account that taxes tend to shift their
incidence, and to fall ultimately on the masses.
Thus, in France, wine has been subjected to a multitude of exactions.
And then a system has been introduced which restricts its sale abroad.
It is curious to observe what skips and bounds such burdens make
in passing from the producer to the consumer. No sooner has the
tax or restriction begun to operate than the producer endeavours
to indemnify himself. But the ‹demand› of the consumers, as well
as the supply of wine, remaining the same, the price cannot
rise. The producer gets no more for his wine after, than he did
before, the imposition of the tax. And as before the tax he
received no more than an ordinary and adequate price, determined
by services freely exchanged, he finds himself a loser by the
whole amount of the tax. To cause the price to rise, he is
obliged to diminish the quantity of wine produced.[68] . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The consumer, then,—the public,—is relatively to the loss or profit
which affects in the first instance certain classes of producers what
the earth is to electricity—the great common reservoir. All proceeds
from it, and after some detours, longer or shorter as the case may
be, and after having given rise to certain phenomena more or less
varied, all returns to it again.
* * * * *
We have just shown that the economic effects only glance upon the
producer, so to speak, on their way to the consumer, and that
consequently all great and important questions of this kind must
[p335] be regarded from the consumer’s point of view if we wish to
make ourselves masters of their general and permanent consequences.
This subordination of the interests of the producer to that of the
consumer, which we have deduced from the consideration of ‹utility›,
is fully confirmed when we advert to the consideration of ‹morality›.
Responsibility, in fact, always rests with the initiative. Now where
is the initiative? In ‹demand›.
‹Demand› (which implies the means of remuneration) determines all—the
direction of capital and of labour, the distribution of population,
the morality of professions, etc. ‹Demand› answers to Desire, while
‹Supply› answers to Effort. Desire is reasonable or unreasonable,
moral or immoral. Effort, which is only an effect, is morally neuter,
or has only a reflected morality.
Demand or Consumption says to the producer, “Make that for me.”
The producer obeys. And this would be evident in every case if the
producer always and everywhere waited for the demand.
But in practice this is not the case.
Is it exchange which has led to the division of labour, or the
division of labour which has given rise to exchange? This is a subtle
and thorny question. Let us say that man makes exchanges, because,
being intelligent and sociable, he comprehends that this is one means
of increasing the proportion of result to effort. That which results
exclusively from the division of labour and from foresight, is that
a man does not wait for a specific request to work for another.
Experience teaches him tacitly that demand exists.
He makes the effort beforehand which is to satisfy the demand, and
this gives rise to trades and professions. Beforehand he makes shoes,
hats, etc., or prepares himself to sing, to teach, to plead, to
fight, etc. But is it really the supply which precedes the demand,
and determines it?
No. It is because there is a sufficient certainty that these
different services will be demanded that men prepare to render them,
although they do not always know precisely from what quarter the
demand may come. And the proof of it is, that the relation between
these different services is sufficiently well known, that their value
has been so widely tested that one may devote himself with some
security to a particular manufacture, or embrace a particular career.
The impulse of demand is then pre-existent, seeing that one may
calculate the intensity of it with so much precision. [p336]
Moreover, when a man betakes himself to a particular trade or
profession, and sets himself to produce commodities, about what
is he solicitous? Is it about the utility of the article which
he manufactures, or its results, good or bad, moral or immoral?
Not at all; he thinks only of its ‹value›. It is the demander who
looks to the ‹utility›. Utility answers to his want, his desire,
his caprice. Value, on the contrary, has relation only to the
effort made, to the service transferred. It is only when, by means
of exchange, the producer in his turn becomes the demander that
utility is looked to. When I resolve to manufacture hats rather than
shoes, I do not ask myself the question, whether men have a greater
interest in protecting their heads or their heels. No, that concerns
the demander, and determines the demand. The demand in its turn
determines the value, or the degree of esteem in which the public
holds the service. Value, in short, determines the effort or the
supply.
Hence result some very remarkable consequences in a moral point of
view. Two nations may be equally furnished with values, that is to
say, with relative wealth (see chap. vi), and very unequally provided
with real utilities, or absolute wealth; and this happens when one
of them forms desires which are more unreasonable than those of the
other—when the one considers its real wants, and the other creates
for itself wants which are factitious or immoral.
* * * * *
Among one people a taste for education may predominate; among another
a taste for good living. In such circumstances we render a service to
the first when we have something to teach them; to the other, when we
please their palate.
Now, services are remunerated according to the degree of importance
we attach to them. If we do not exchange, if we render these services
to ourselves, what should determine us if not the nature and
intensity of our desires?
In one of the countries we have supposed, professors and teachers
will abound; in the other, cooks.
In both, the services exchanged may be equal in the aggregate, and
may consequently represent equal values, or equal relative wealth,
but not the same absolute wealth. In other words, the one employs its
labour well, and the other employs it ill.
And as regards satisfactions the result will be this, that the one
people will have much instruction, and the other good dinners.
The ultimate consequences of this diversity of tastes will have
considerable influence not only upon real, but upon relative wealth;
[p337] for education may develop new means of rendering services,
which good dinners never can.
We remark among nations a prodigious diversity of tastes, arising
from their antecedents, their character, their opinions, their
vanity, etc.
No doubt there are some wants so imperious (hunger and thirst, for
example) that we regard them as determinate quantities. And yet it
is not uncommon to see a man scrimp himself of food in order to have
good clothes, while another never thinks of his dress until his
appetite is satisfied. The same thing holds of nations.
But these imperious wants once satisfied, everything else depends
greatly on the will. It becomes an affair of taste, and in that
region morality and good sense have much influence.
The intensity of the various national desires determines always the
quantity of labour which each people subtracts from the aggregate of
its efforts in order to satisfy each of its desires. An Englishman
must, above all things, be well fed. For this reason he devotes
an enormous amount of his labour to the production of food, and
if he produces any other commodities, it is with the intention of
exchanging them abroad for alimentary substances. The quantity
of corn, meat, butter, milk, sugar, etc., consumed in England
is frightful. A Frenchman desires to be amused. He delights in
what pleases his eye, and in frequent changes. His labours are in
accordance with his tastes. Hence we have in France multitudes of
singers, mountebanks, milliners, elegant shops, coffee-rooms, etc.
In China, the natives dream away life agreeably under the influence
of opium, and this is the reason why so great an amount of their
national labour is devoted to procuring this precious narcotic,
either by direct production, or indirectly by means of exchange. In
Spain, where the pomp of religious worship is carried to so great a
height, the exertions of the people are bestowed on the decoration of
churches, etc.
I shall not go the length of asserting that there is no immorality
in services which pander to immoral and depraved desires. But the
immoral principle is obviously in the desire itself.
That would be beyond doubt were man living in a state of isolation;
and it is equally true as regards man in society, for society is only
individuality enlarged.
Who then would think of blaming our labourers in the south of France
for producing brandy? They satisfy a ‹demand›. They dig their
vineyards, dress their vines, gather and distil the grapes, without
concerning themselves about the use which will be made of the
product. It is for the man who seeks the enjoyment to [p338] consider
whether it is proper, moral, rational, or productive of good. The
responsibility rests with him. The business of the world could be
conducted on no other footing. Is the tailor to tell his customer
that he cannot make him a coat of the fashion he wants because it is
extravagant, or because it prevents his breathing freely, etc., etc.
Then what concern is it of our poor vine-dressers if rich diners-out
in London indulge too freely in claret? Or can we seriously accuse
the English of raising opium in India with the deliberate intention
of poisoning the Chinese?
A frivolous people requires frivolous manufactures, just as a serious
people requires industry of a more serious kind. If the human race is
to be improved, it must be by the improved morality of the consumer,
not of the producer.
This is the design of religion in addressing the rich—the great
‹consumers›—so seriously on their immense responsibility. From
another point of view, and employing a different language, Political
Economy arrives at the same conclusion, when she affirms that we
cannot check the ‹supply› of any commodity which is in ‹demand›; that
as regards the producer, the commodity is simply a ‹value›, a sort
of current coin which represents nothing either good or evil, whilst
it is in the intention of the consumer that ‹utility›, or moral or
immoral enjoyment, is to be discovered; consequently, that it is
incumbent on the man who manifests the desire or makes the demand for
the commodity to weigh the consequences, whether useful or hurtful,
and to answer before God and man for the good or bad direction which
he impresses upon industry.
Thus from whatever point of view we regard the subject, we see
clearly that consumption is the great end of Political Economy;
and that good and evil, morality and immorality, harmonies and
dissonances, all come to centre in the consumer, for he represents
mankind at large. [p339]
XII.
THE TWO APHORISMS.
Modern moralists who oppose the maxim, ‹Chacun pour tous, tous pour
chacun›, to the old proverb, ‹Chacun pour soi, chacun chez soi›, have
formed a very incomplete, and for that reason a very false, and, I
would add, a very melancholy idea of Society.
Let us eliminate, in the first place, from these two celebrated
sayings what is superfluous. ‹All for each› is a redundancy,
introduced from love of antithesis, for it is expressly included in
‹each for all›. As regards the saying ‹chacun chez soi›, the idea has
no direct relation with the others; but, as it is of great importance
in Political Economy, we shall make it hereafter the subject of
inquiry.
It remains for us to consider the assumed opposition between
these two members of the adages we have quoted, namely, ‹each
for all›—‹each for himself›. The one, it is said, expresses the
sympathetic principle, the other the individualist or selfish
principle. The first unites, the second divides.
Now, if we refer exclusively to the motive which determines the
effort, the opposition is incontestable. But I maintain that if we
consider the aggregate of human efforts in their results, the case
is different. Examine Society, as it actually exists, obeying, as
regards services which are capable of remuneration, the individualist
or selfish principle; and you will be at once convinced that every
man in working ‹for himself› is in fact working ‹for all›. This is
beyond doubt. If the reader of these lines exercises a profession or
trade, I entreat him for a moment to turn his regards upon himself;
and I would ask him whether all his labours have not the satisfaction
of others for their object, and, on the other hand, whether it is not
to the exertions of others that he himself owes all his satisfactions.
It is evident that they who assert that ‹each for himself› and ‹each›
[p340] ‹for all› are contradictory, conceive that an incompatibility
exists between individualism and association. They think that ‹each
for himself› implies isolation, or a tendency to isolation; that
personal interest divides men, in place of uniting them, and that
this principle tends to the ‹chacun chez soi›, that is to say, to the
absence of all social relations.
In taking this view, I repeat, they form a false, because incomplete
idea of society. Even when moved only by personal interest, men
seek to draw nearer each other, to combine their efforts, to
unite their forces, to work for one another, to render reciprocal
services, to ‹associate›. It would not be correct to say that they
act in this way in spite of self-interest; they do so in obedience
to self-interest. They ‹associate› because they find their account
in it. If they did not find it for their advantage, they would not
associate. Individualism, then, or a regard to personal interest,
performs the work which the sentimentalists of our day would confide
to Fraternity, to self-sacrifice, or some other motive opposed to
self-love. And this just establishes the conclusion at which we never
fail to arrive—that Providence has provided for the social state
much better than the men can who call themselves its prophets. For
of two things one; either union is injurious to individuality, or
it is advantageous to it. If it injures it, what are the Socialist
gentlemen to do, how can they manage, and what rational motive
can they have to bring about a state of things which is hurtful
to everybody? If, on the contrary, union is advantageous, it will
be brought about by the action of personal interest, which is the
strongest, the most permanent, the most uniform, the most universal,
of all motives, let men say what they will.
Just look at how the thing actually works in practice. A ‹squatter›
goes away to clear a field in the ‹Far West›. Not a day passes
without his experiencing the difficulties which isolation creates.
A second squatter now makes his way to the desert. Where does he
pitch his tent? Does he retire ‹naturally› to a distance from the
first? No; he draws near to him ‹naturally›—and why? Because he knows
all the advantages that men derive, with equal exertion, from the
very circumstance of proximity. He knows that on various occasions
they can accommodate each other by lending and borrowing tools and
instruments, by uniting their action, by conquering difficulties
insurmountable by individual exertion, by creating reciprocally a
market for produce, by interchanging their views and opinions, and
by providing for their common safety. A third, a fourth, a fifth
squatter penetrates into [p341] the desert, and is invariably
attracted by the smoke of the first settlements. Other people will
then step in with larger capital, knowing that they will find hands
there ready to be set to work. A colony is formed. They change
somewhat the mode of culture; they form a path to the highway, by
which the mail passes; they import and export; construct a church,
a school-house, etc., etc. In a word, the power of the colonists is
augmented by the very fact of their proximity, and to such a degree
as to exceed, to an incalculable extent, the sum of their isolated
and individual forces; and this is the motive which has attracted
them towards each other.
But it may be said that ‹every man for himself› is a frigid maxim,
which all the reasoning and paradoxes in the world cannot render
otherwise than repugnant; that it smells of egotism a mile off, and
that egotism is more than an evil in society, being itself the source
of most other evils.
Now, listen a little, if you please.
If the maxim ‹every man for himself› is understood in this sense,
that it is to regulate all our thoughts, acts, and relations, that we
are to find it at the root of all our family and domestic affections,
as fathers, sons, brothers, husbands, friends, citizens, or rather
that it is to repress and to extinguish these affections, then I
admit that it is frightful, horrible, and such, that were there
one man upon the earth heartless enough to make it the rule of his
conduct, that man dared not even proclaim it in theory.
But will the Socialists, in the teeth of fact and experience, always
refuse to admit that there are two orders of human relations—one
dependent on the sympathetic principle, and which we leave to
the domain of morals,—another springing from self-interest, and
regulating transactions between men who know nothing of each other,
and owe each other nothing but justice,—transactions regulated by
voluntary covenants freely adjusted? Covenants of this last species
are precisely those which come within the domain of Political
Economy. It is, in truth, no more possible to base commercial
transactions on the principle of sympathy, than it is to base family
and friendly relations on self-interest. To the Socialists I shall
never cease to address this remonstrance: You wish to mix up two
things which cannot be confounded. If you were fools enough to wish
to confound them, you have not the power to do it. The blacksmith,
the carpenter, and the labourer, who exhaust their strength in rude
avocations, may be excellent fathers, admirable sons; they may have
the moral sense thoroughly developed, and carry in their breasts
hearts of large and expansive sympathy. [p342] In spite of all
that, you will never persuade them to labour from morning to night
with the sweat of their brow, and impose upon themselves the hardest
privations, upon a mere principle of devotion to their fellow-men.
Your sentimental lectures on this subject are, and always will be,
powerless. If, unfortunately, they could mislead a few operatives,
they would just make so many dupes. Let the merchant set to work
to sell his wares on the principle of Fraternity, and I venture to
predict that, in less than a month, he will see himself and his
children reduced to beggary.
Providence has done well, then, in giving to the social state very
different guarantees. Taking man as we find him,—sensibility and
individuality, benevolence and self-love being inseparable,—we
cannot hope, we cannot desire to see the motive of personal
interest universally eradicated—nor can we understand how it could
be. And yet nothing short of this would be necessary in order to
restore the equilibrium of human relations; for if you break this
mainspring of action only in certain chosen spirits, you create two
classes,—scoundrels whom you thus tempt to make victims of their
fellow-men—and the virtuous, for whom the part of victims is reserved.
Seeing, then, that as regards labour and exchanges, the principle
‹each for himself› must inevitably have the predominance as a motive
of action, the marvellous and admirable thing is, that the Author of
all should have made use of that principle in order to realize, in
the social order, the maxim of the advocates of Fraternity, ‹each for
all›. In His skilful hand the obstacle has become the instrument.
The general interest has been intrusted to personal interest, and
the one has become infallible because the other is indestructible.
To me it would seem that, in presence of these wondrous results,
the constructors of artificial societies might, without any excess
of humility, acknowledge that, as regards organization, the Divine
Architect has far surpassed them.
Remark, too, that in the natural order of society, the principle
of ‹each for all›, based upon the principle of ‹each for himself›,
is much more complete, much more absolute, much more personal,
than it would be in the Socialist and Communist point of view. Not
only do we work for all, but we cannot realize a single step of
progress without its being profitable to the Community at large. (See
chapter x., and ‹ante›, chapter xi.) The order of things has been so
marvellously arranged, that when we have invented a new process, or
discovered the liberality of nature in any department—some new source
of fertility in the soil, or some new mode of [p343] action in one
of the laws of the physical world,—the profit is ours temporarily,
transiently, so long as to prove just as a recompense, and useful as
an encouragement,—after which the advantage escapes from our grasp,
in spite of all our efforts to retain it. From individual it becomes
social, and falls for ever into the domain of the common and the
gratuitous. And while we thus impart the fruits of our progress to
our fellow-men, we ourselves become participators in the progress
which other men have achieved.
In short, by the rule ‹each for himself›, individual efforts,
reinforced and invigorated, act in the direction of ‹each for all›,
and every partial step of progress brings a thousand times more to
society, in gratuitous utility, than it has brought to its inventor
in direct profits.
With the maxim ‹each for all› no one would act exclusively ‹for
himself›. What producer would take it into his head to double his
labour in order to add a thirty-millionth part to his wages?
It may be said, then, why refute the Socialist aphorism? What
harm can it do? Undoubtedly it will not introduce into workshops,
counting-rooms, warehouses, nor establish in fairs and markets, the
principle of self-sacrifice. But then it will either tend to nothing,
and then we may let it sleep in peace, or it will bend somewhat
that stiffness of the egotistical principle, which, excluding all
sympathy, has scarcely right to claim any.
What is false is always dangerous. It is always a dangerous thing
to represent as detestable and pernicious an eternal and universal
principle which God has evidently destined to the conservation and
advancement of the human race; a principle, I allow, as far as motive
is concerned, which does not come home to our heart, but which, when
viewed with reference to its results, astonishes and satisfies the
mind; a principle, moreover, which leaves the field perfectly free to
the action of those more elevated motives which God has implanted in
the heart of man.
But, then, what happens? The Socialist public adopts only one-half
the Socialist maxim—the last half, ‹all for each›. They continue as
before to work ‹each for himself›, but they require, over and above,
that all should work for them.
It must be so. When dreamers desired to change the grand mainspring
of human exertion, by substituting fraternity for individualism,
they found it necessary to invent a hypocritical contradiction. They
set themselves to call out to the masses,—“Stifle self-love in your
hearts and follow us; you will be rewarded for it [p344] by unbounded
wealth and enjoyment.” When men try to parody the Gospel, they
should come to a Gospel conclusion. Self-denial implies sacrifice
and pain—self-devotion means, “Take the lowest seat, be poor, and
suffer voluntarily.” But under pretence of abnegation to promise
enjoyment; to exhibit wealth and prosperity behind the pretended
sacrifice; to combat a passion which they brand with the name of
egotism by addressing themselves to the grossest and most material
tendencies;—this is not only to render homage to the indestructible
vitality of the principle they desire to overthrow, but to exalt it
to the highest point while declaiming against it; it is to double the
forces of the enemy, instead of conquering him; to substitute unjust
covetousness for legitimate individualism; and, in spite of all the
artifice of a mystical jargon, to excite the grossest sensualism. Let
avarice answer this appeal.[69]
And is that not the position in which we now are? What is the
universal cry among all ranks and classes? ‹All for each.› In
pronouncing the word ‹each›, we are thinking of ourselves, and what
we ask is to have a share which we have not merited, in the fruits
of other men’s labour. In other words, we systematize spoliation. No
doubt, spoliation, simple and naked, is so unjust that we repudiate
it; but, by dint of the maxim ‹all for each›, we allay the scruples
of conscience. We impose upon others the ‹duty› of working for us,
and we arrogate to ourselves the ‹right› to enjoy the fruits of
other men’s labour. We summon the State, the law, to impose the
pretended ‹duty›, to protect the pretended ‹right›, and we arrive at
the whimsical result of robbing one another in the sacred name of
Fraternity. We live at other men’s expense, and attribute heroism
to the sacrifice. What an odd, strange thing the human mind is! and
how subtle is covetousness! It is not enough that each of us should
endeavour to increase his share at the expense of his fellows, it is
not enough that we should desire to profit by labour that we have
not performed; we persuade ourselves that in acting thus we are
displaying a sublime example of self-sacrifice. We almost go the
length of comparing ourselves to the primitive Christians, and yet we
blind ourselves so far as not to see that the sacrifices which make
us weep in fond admiration [p345] of our own virtue, are sacrifices
which we do not make, but which, on the contrary, we exact.[70]
It is worth observing the manner in which this mystification is
effected.
Steal! Oh fy, that is mean—besides it leads to the hulks, for the law
forbids it. But if the law authorized it, and lent its aid, would not
that be very convenient? . . . . What a happy thought! . . . .
No time is lost in soliciting from the law some trifling privilege,
a small monopoly, and as it may cost some pains to protect it, the
State is asked to take it under its charge. The State and the law
come to an understanding to realize exactly that which it was their
business to prevent or to punish. By degrees the taste for monopolies
gains ground. No class but desires a monopoly. ‹All for each›, they
cry; we desire also to appear as philanthropists, and show that we
understand solidarity.
It happens that the privileged classes, in thus robbing each other,
lose at least as much by the exactions to which they are subject, as
they gain by the contributions which they levy. Besides, the great
body of the working classes, to whom no monopolies can be accorded,
suffer from them until they can endure it no longer. They rise up,
and cover the streets with barricades and blood; and then we must
come to a reckoning with them.
What is their demand? Do they require the abolition of the abuses,
privileges, monopolies, and restrictions under which they suffer?
Not at all. They also are imbued with philanthropy. They have
been told that the celebrated apophthegm ‹all for each› is the
solution of the social problem. They have had it demonstrated to
them over and over again that monopoly (which in reality is only a
theft) is nevertheless quite moral if sanctioned by law. Then they
demand . . . . What? . . . . Monopolies! They also summon the State
to supply them with education, employment, credit, assistance, at the
expense of the people. What a strange illusion! and how long will it
last? We can very well conceive how all the higher classes, beginning
with the highest, can come to demand favours and privileges. Below
them there is a great popular mass upon whom the burden falls. But
that the people, when once conquerors, should take it into their
heads to enter into the privileged class, and create monopolies for
themselves at their own expense; that they should enlarge the area of
abuses in order to live upon them; that they should not [p346] see
that there is nothing below them to support those acts of injustice:
this is one of the most astonishing phenomena of our age, or of any
age.
What has been the consequence? By pursuing this course, Society has
been brought to the verge of shipwreck. Men became alarmed, and with
reason. The people soon lost their power, and the old spread of
abuses has been provisionally resumed.
The lesson, however, has not been quite lost upon the higher
classes. They find that it is necessary to do justice to the
working class. They ardently desire to succeed in this, not only
because their own security depends upon it, but impelled, as we
must acknowledge, by a spirit of equity. Of this I am thoroughly
convinced, that the wealthier classes desire nothing more than to
discover the solution of the great problem. I am satisfied that if
we were to ask the greater part of our wealthy citizens to give
up a considerable portion of their fortune in order to secure
the future happiness and contentment of the people, they would
cheerfully make the sacrifice. They anxiously seek the means of
coming (according to the consecrated phrase) ‹to the assistance of
the labouring classes›. But for that end on what plan have they
fallen! . . Still the communism of monopolies; a mitigated communism,
however, and which they hope to subject to prudential regulation.
That is all—they go no farther. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [p347]
XIII.
RENT.[71]
If, with an increase in the value of land, a corresponding
augmentation took place in the value of the products of the soil, I
could understand the opposition which the theory I have explained in
the present work (chap. ix.) has encountered. It might be argued,
“that in proportion as civilisation is developed the condition of the
labourer becomes worse in comparison with that of the proprietor.
This may be an inevitable necessity, but assuredly it is not a law of
harmony.”
Happily it is not so. In general those circumstances which cause an
augmentation of the value of land diminish at the same time the price
of landed produce. . . . . Let me explain this by an example.
Suppose a field worth £100 situated ten leagues from a town. A road
is made which passes near this field, and opens up a market for its
produce. The field immediately becomes worth £150. The proprietor
having by this means acquired facilities for improvement and for a
more varied culture, then increases the value of the land, and it
comes to be worth £200.
The value of the field is now doubled. Let us examine this added
value—both as regards the question of justice and as regards the
utility which accrues, not to the proprietor, but to the consumers of
the neighbouring town.
As far as concerns the increase of value arising from ameliorations
which the proprietor has made at his own cost, there can be no
question. The capital he has expended follows the law of all capital.
I venture to say the same thing of the capital expended in [p348]
forming the road. The operation is more circuitous, but the result is
the same.
In point of fact, the proprietor has contributed to the public
expenditure in proportion to the value of his field. For many
years he contributed to works of general utility executed in more
remote parts of the country, and at length a road has been made in
a direction which is profitable to him. The gross amount of taxes
which he has paid may be compared to shares taken in a Government
enterprise, and the annual augmentation of rent which he derives from
the formation of this new road may be compared to ‹dividends› upon
these shares.
Will it be said that a proprietor may pay taxes for ever, without
receiving anything in return? . . . . But this just comes back to
the case we have already put. The amelioration, although effected by
the complex and somewhat questionable process of taxation, may be
considered as made by the proprietor at his own cost, in proportion
to the partial advantage he derives from it.
I have put the case of a road. I might have cited any other instance
of Government intervention. Security, for example, contributes to
give value to land, like capital, or labour. But who pays for this
security? The proprietor, the capitalist, the labourer.
If the State expends its revenue judiciously, the value expended
will reappear and be replaced, in some form or other, in the hands
of the proprietor, the capitalist, or the labourer. In the case of
the proprietor, it must take the form of an increase in the value
of his land. If, on the other hand, the State expends its revenue
injudiciously, it is a misfortune. The tax is lost; and that is the
taxpayer’s look-out. In that case, there is no augmentation of the
value of the land, but that is no fault of the proprietor.
But for the produce of the soil thus augmented in value, by the
action of Government and by individual industry, do the consumers of
the neighbouring town pay an enhanced price? In other words, does the
interest of the £100 become a charge on each quarter of wheat which
the field produces? If we paid formerly £15 for it, shall we now be
obliged to pay more than £15? That is an interesting question, seeing
that justice and the universal harmony of interests depend on its
solution.