by the parties interested, may it not be said that they exist
already, seeing that life assurance companies present combinations
which enable every workman to provide for the future by the sacrifice
of the present?
I have dwelt at great length upon friendly societies and ‹Caisses de
Retraite›, although these institutions are only indirectly connected
with the subject of this chapter. I have given way to the desire to
exhibit mankind marching gradually on to the conquest of stability,
or rather (for stability implies something stationary), emerging
victorious from their struggle with ‹uncertainty›—uncertainty, that
standing menace which mars all the enjoyments of life, that sword of
Damocles which seems so fatally suspended over the human destinies.
That this menace may be progressively and indefinitely rendered less
formidable by reducing to an average the risks and chances of all
times, of all places, and of all men, is certainly one of the most
admirable social harmonies which can be presented to the view of the
philosophic economist. [p377]
We must not, however, conclude that this victory depends upon these
two institutions, the establishment of which may be more or less
accidental. No; did experience even demonstrate these institutions to
be impracticable, the human race would not the less find its way to
fixity. It is enough to know that uncertainty is an evil, in order
to be assured that it will be incessantly, and, sooner or later,
successfully, combated; for such is the law of our nature.
If, as we have seen, the system of remunerating labour by wages is,
as regards stability, a more advanced form of association between
capital and labour, it still leaves too much room for the uncertain.
As long as he continues to work, the labourer knows on what he has
to depend. But how long will he have employment, and how long will
he be fit for work? This is what he is ignorant of, and, as regards
his future, it places before him a fearful problem for solution. The
uncertainty which affects the capitalist is different. With him it is
not a question of life or death. “I shall always derive an interest
from my means; but will that interest be higher or lower?” That is
the question which affects capital or anterior labour.
Sentimental philanthropists who see in this a frightful inequality
which they desire to get rid of by artificial, sometimes by unjust
and violent, means, do not consider that after all we cannot change
the nature of things. Anterior labour must necessarily have more
security than present labour, simply for this reason, that products
already created must always present more certain resources than
products which are yet to be created; that services already rendered,
received, and estimated, present a more solid foundation for the
future than services which are still in the state of supply. If
you are not surprised that of two fishermen, the one who, having
long laboured and saved, possesses lines, nets, boats, and some
previous supply of fish, is more at ease as regards his future than
the other who has absolutely nothing but his willingness to take
part in the work, why should you be astonished that the social
order presents to a certain extent the same differences? In order
to justify the envy, the jealousy, the absolute spitefulness with
which the labourer regards the capitalist, it would be necessary to
conclude that the relative stability of the one is caused by the
instability of the other. But it is the reverse which is true. It is
precisely the capital which pre-exists in the hands of one man which
is the guarantee of the wages of another, however insufficient that
guarantee may appear. But for that capital, the uncertainty of the
labourer would be still greater and more striking. Would the [p378]
increase, and the extension to all, of that uncertainty be any
advantage to the labourer?
Two men run equal risks, which we may represent, for each, as equal
to 40. One of them succeeds so well, by his labour and his foresight,
that he reduces the risks which affect him to 10. Those of his
companion from the same cause, and in consequence of a mysterious
solidarity, are reduced, not to 10, but to 20. What can be more just
than that the man who has the greater merit should reap the greater
reward? What more admirable than that the other should profit by
the virtues of his neighbour? Now, this is just what philanthropy
repudiates under the pretext that such an order of things is opposed
to equality.
Suppose that one fine day the old fisherman should thus address his
companion: “You have neither boat, nor nets, nor any instrument to
fish with, except your hands, and you are likely to make but a poor
business of it. You have no stock of provisions, and it is poor
work to fish with an empty stomach. Come along with me—it is your
interest as well as mine. It is yours, for I will give you a share
of the fish which we take, and, whatever the quantity be, it will
at least be greater than the produce of your isolated exertions. It
is my interest also, for the additional quantity caught with your
assistance will be greater than the share I will have to give you.
In short, the union of your labour with my labour and capital, as
compared with their isolated action, will produce a ‹surplus›, and it
is the division of this surplus which explains how association may be
of advantage to both of us.”
They proceed in this way in the first instance; but afterwards the
young fisher will prefer to receive every day a fixed quantity of
fish. His uncertain and fluctuating profits are thus converted into
wages, without the advantages of association being destroyed, and, by
stronger reason, without the association itself being dissolved.
And it is in such circumstances as these that the pretended
philanthropy of the Socialists comes to declaim against the tyranny
of boats and nets, against the situation, naturally less uncertain,
of him who possesses them, and who has come to possess them just
because he has constructed them in order to obviate this uncertainty!
It is in such circumstances that they endeavour to persuade the
destitute young fisherman that he is the victim of his ‹voluntary›
arrangement with the old fisherman, and that he ought instantly to
return to his state of isolation!
To assert that the future of the capitalist is less uncertain than
[p379] that of the workman, is just to assert that the man who
already possesses is in a better situation than the man who does not
yet possess. It is so, and it must be so, for it is for this very
reason that men aspire to possess.
The tendency, then, is for men to cease being workmen in receipt of
wages in order to become capitalists. This progress is in conformity
with human nature. What workman does not desire to have tools of
his own, a stock of his own, a warehouse, a workshop, a field, a
dwelling-house, of his own? What workman but aspires to become an
employer? Who is not delighted to command after having long obeyed?
Do the great laws of the economic world, does the natural play of
the social organs, favour or oppose this tendency? This is the last
question which we shall examine in connexion with the subject of
wages.
Can its solution be attended with any doubt?
Let us revert once more to the necessary evolution of production:
gratuitous utility substituting itself incessantly for onerous
utility; human efforts constantly diminishing in relation to each
result, and, when rendered disposable, embarking in new enterprises;
every hour’s labour corresponding to an always increasing amount
of enjoyment. How, from these premises, can we fail to deduce
a progressive increase of ‹useful efforts› to be distributed,
consequently a sustained amelioration of the labourer’s condition,
consequently, also, an endless increase and progression of that
amelioration?
For here the effect having become a cause, we see progress not only
advance, but become accelerated by its advance; ‹vires acquirere
eundo›. In point of fact, from century to century accumulation
becomes more easy, as the remuneration of labour becomes more ample.
Then accumulation increases capital, increases the demand for
labour, and causes an elevation of wages. This rise of wages, in its
turn, facilitates accumulation and the transformation of the paid
labourer into a capitalist. Between the remuneration of labour and
the accumulation of capital, then, there is a constant action and
reaction, which is always favourable to the labouring class, always
tending to relieve that class from the yoke of urgent necessity.
It may be said, perhaps, that I have brought together here all
that can dazzle the hopes of the working classes, and that I have
concealed all that could cause them discouragement. If there
are tendencies towards equality, it may be said, there are also
tendencies towards inequality. Why do you not analyze the whole,
in order to explain the true situation of the labouring classes,
and [p380] thus bring science into accord with the melancholy
facts to which it seems to shut its eyes? You show us gratuitous
utility substituted for onerous utility, the gifts of God falling
more and more into the domain of community, and, by that very fact,
human labour obtaining a continually increasing recompense. From
this increase of remuneration you deduce an increased facility
of accumulation, and from this facility of accumulation a new
increase of remuneration, leading to new and still more abundant
accumulations, and so on ‹ad infinitum›. It may be that this system
is as logical as it is optimist; it may be that we are not in a
situation to oppose to it a scientific refutation. But where are the
facts which confirm it? Where do we find realized this emancipation
from paid labour? Is it in the great centres of manufactures? Is it
among the agricultural labourers? And if your theoretical predictions
are not accomplished, is not this the reason, that alongside the
economic laws which you invoke, there are other laws which act in
an opposite direction, and of which you say nothing. For instance,
why do you tell us nothing of that competition which takes place
among workmen, and which forces them to accept of lower wages; of
that urgent want of the necessaries of life which presses upon
the labourer, and obliges him to submit to the conditions of the
capitalist, so that, in fact, it is the most destitute, famished,
isolated, and consequently the most clamant and exacting workman
who fixes the rate of wages for all? And if, in spite of so many
obstacles, the condition of our unfortunate fellow-citizens comes
to be improved, why do you not show us that law of population which
steps in with its fatal action, multiplying the multitude, stirring
up competition, increasing the supply of labour, deciding the
controversy in favour of the capitalist, and reducing the workman
to receive, for twelve or sixteen hours’ labour, only ‹what is
indispensable› (that, forsooth, is the consecrated phrase) ‹to the
maintenance of life›?
If I have not touched upon all these phases of the question, the
reason is, that it is scarcely possible to include everything
within the limits of a single chapter. I have already explained the
general law of Competition, and we have seen that that law is far
from furnishing any class, especially the poorer class, with serious
reasons for discouragement. I shall, by-and-by, explain the law of
Population, which will be found, I hope, in its general effects, not
more severe. It is not my fault if each great solution—such, for
example, as the future of a whole class of men—cannot be educed from
one isolated economic law, and consequently from [p381] one chapter
of this work, but must be educed from the aggregate of these laws, or
from the work taken as a whole.
And here I must remind the reader of a distinction, which is by no
means a subtlety, that when we have to do with an effect, we must
take good care not to attribute it to the action of general and
providential laws, if, on the contrary, it be found to proceed from a
violation of these very laws.
I by no means ignore the calamities which, under all forms,—excessive
labour, insufficient wages, uncertainty as to the future, a feeling
of inferiority,—bear hard upon those of our fellow-citizens who
have not yet been able, by the acquisition of Property, to raise
themselves to a higher and more comfortable condition. But, then,
we must acknowledge that uncertainty, destitution, and ignorance
constitute the starting-point of the whole human race; and this being
so, the question, it seems to me, is to discover,—‹1st›, If the
general providential laws do not tend to relieve all classes from the
weight of this triple yoke; ‹2dly›, If the conquests already secured
by the more advanced classes do not constitute a facility prepared
beforehand for the classes which yet lag behind. If the answer to
these questions be in the affirmative, we may conclude that the
social harmony is established, and that the ways of Providence are
vindicated, if, indeed, they needed vindication.
Man being endowed with discretion and free will, the beneficent laws
of Providence can profit him only while he conforms himself to their
operation; and although I affirm that man’s nature is perfectible,
I must not be understood to assert that he makes progress when
he misunderstands or violates these laws. Thus, I maintain that
transactions which are natural, free, voluntary, and exempt from
fraud or violence, have in themselves a principle of progress for
all. But that is not to affirm that progress is inevitable, and must
spring from war, monopoly, or imposture. I maintain that wages have a
tendency to rise, that this rise facilitates saving, and that saving,
in its turn, raises wages. But if the class which lives by wages, in
consequence of habits of dissipation and debauchery, neutralize at
the outset this cause of progressive effects, I do not say that those
effects will exhibit themselves in the same way, for the contrary is
implied in my affirmation.
In order to bring the scientific deduction to the test of facts, we
must take two epochs; for example, 1750 and 1850.
We must first of all establish what, at these two periods, was the
proportion of ‹prolétaires› to ‹propriétaires›—of the men who live by
wages without having any realized property, to the men in the actual
possession of property. We shall find, I presume, that for [p382]
a century the number of people who possess some resources has much
increased relatively to the number of those who are in possession of
no resources whatever.
We must then discover the specific situation of each of these
two classes, which we cannot do otherwise than by observing the
enjoyments and satisfactions which they possess; and very probably
we shall find that in our day they derive a greater amount of real
satisfaction and enjoyment, the one from accumulated labour, the
other from present labour, than was possible in the middle of the
last century.
If the respective and relative progress of these classes, especially
of the working class, has not been what we could wish, we must then
inquire whether it has not been more or less retarded by acts of
injustice and violence, by errors, by passions—in a word, by faults
incident to mankind, by contingent causes which we cannot confound
with what are called the great and constant laws of the social
economy. Have we not, for example, had wars and revolutions which
might have been avoided? And have not these atrocities, in the first
instance, absorbed and afterwards dissipated an incalculable amount
of capital, consequently diminished the funds for the payment of
wages, and retarded the emancipation of the working classes? Have
they not diverted capital from its legitimate employment, seeking
to derive from it, not enjoyment, but destruction? Have we not had
monopolies, privileges, and unequal taxation? Have we not had absurd
expenditure, ridiculous fashions, and a loss of power, which can be
attributed only to puerile tastes and prejudices?
And what has been the consequence?
There are general laws to which man may conform himself, or which he
may violate.
If it be incontestable that Frenchmen, during the last hundred
years, have frequently run counter to the natural order of social
development; if we cannot forbear to attribute to incessant wars,
to periodical revolutions, to acts of injustice, to monopolies, to
dissipation, to follies of all kinds, a fearful sacrifice of the
power of capital and of labour;
And if, on the other hand, in spite of all this, which is undeniable,
we can establish another fact—namely, that during this same period of
a hundred years the class possessed of property has been recruited
from the labouring class, and that both have at the same time had at
their command a greater amount of satisfaction and enjoyment—do we
not, by rigorous deduction, arrive at this conclusion, namely, that,
[p383]
‹The general laws of the social world are in harmony, and that they
tend in all respects to the improvement of the human race?›
For since, after a period of a hundred years, during which these laws
have been so frequently and so deeply violated, men find themselves
in a more advanced state of comfort and well-being, the action of
these laws must be beneficent, and sufficiently so even to compensate
the action of disturbing causes.
How indeed could it be otherwise? Is there not something equivocal,
or rather redundant, in the expression, ‹beneficent general laws›?
How can general laws be other than beneficent? When God placed in
man’s heart an irresistible impulse to what is good, and, to enable
him to discern it, imparted to him sufficient light to enable him to
rectify his errors, from that moment He decreed that the human race
was perfectible, and that, in spite of many errors, difficulties,
deceptions, oppressions, and oscillations, mankind should still march
onwards on the road of progress. This onward march, while error,
deception, and oppression are absent, is precisely what we denominate
the general laws of the social order. Errors and oppressions are
what I call the violation of these laws, or disturbing causes. It is
not possible, then, to doubt that the one should be beneficent, and
the other the reverse, unless we go the length of doubting whether
disturbing causes may not act in a manner more regular and permanent
than general laws. Now that conclusion would contradict the premises.
Our intelligence, which may be deceived, can rectify its errors, and
it is evident that, the social world being constituted as it is,
error might sooner or later be checked by Responsibility, and that,
sooner or later, oppression must be destroyed by Solidarity. Whence
it follows that disturbing causes are not in their nature permanent,
and it is for that reason that the laws which countervail the action
of such disturbances merit the name of General laws.
In order to conform ourselves to general laws, it is necessary to
be acquainted with them. Allow me then to enlarge a little on the
relations, so ill understood, of the capitalist and the labourer.
Capital and labour are indispensable to one another. Perpetually
confronting each other, their adjustment constitutes one of the
most important and most interesting subjects which can come under
the observation of the economist. And it is a solemn consideration
that erroneous notions and superficial observations on this subject,
if they become popular, may give rise to inveterate heartburnings,
struggles, and bloodshed.
Now, I express my deliberate conviction when I say that for [p384]
some years the public mind has been saturated with the falsest
theories on this subject. We have been told that free and voluntary
transactions between the capitalist and the labourer lead, not
accidentally, but necessarily, to monopoly for the capitalist, and
oppression for the labourer; from which the obvious conclusion is,
that liberty ought everywhere to be put down and stifled; for, I
repeat, that when men have accused liberty of engendering monopoly,
they have pretended not only to assert a fact, but to establish a
law. In support of this thesis they have appealed to the action of
machinery and of competition. M. de Sismondi was, I believe, the
founder, and M. Buret the propagator, of these unhappy doctrines,
although the latter has stated his conclusions very timidly, and the
former has not ventured to state any conclusion at all. But bolder
spirits have succeeded them, who, after trumpeting their hatred to
capitalists and men of property, after having got the masses to
accept as an incontestable axiom the discovery that ‹liberty leads
inevitably to monopoly›, have, whether designedly or not, induced the
people to raise their hands against this accursed liberty.[81] Four
days of a sanguinary struggle brought emancipation, without restoring
confidence; for do we not constantly discover the hand of the State
(obedient in this to vulgar prejudices) ever ready to interpose in
the relations of capital and labour?
We have already deduced the action of competition from our theory
of value, and we shall do the same thing as regards the effects of
machinery.[82] We must limit ourselves in this place to an exposition
of some general ideas upon the subject of the reciprocal relations of
the capitalist and the labourer.
The fact with which our pessimist reformers are much struck in the
outset is, that the capitalists are richer than the workmen, and
obtain a greater amount of satisfactions and enjoyments; whence
it results that they appropriate to themselves a greater, and
consequently an unjust, share of the product elaborated by their
joint exertions. It is in this direction that their statistics, more
or less impartial, professing to explain the condition of the working
classes, tend.
These gentlemen forget that absolute poverty and destitution is the
inevitable starting-point of the human race, and that men continue
inevitably in this state until they have acquired something for
themselves, or have had something acquired for them by others.
[p385] To remark, in the gross, that capitalists are better off than
mere workmen, is simply to assert that those who have something, have
more than those who have nothing.
The questions which the workman ought to ask himself are not, “Does
my labour give me much? Does it give me little? Does it give me as
much as it gives to another? Does it give me what I desire?” The
questions he should ask himself are these: “Does my labour give me
less because I employ it in the service of the capitalist? Would it
give me more if I worked in a state of isolation, or if I associated
my labour with that of other workmen as destitute as myself? I am
ill situated, but would I be better off were there no such thing
as capital in the world? If the part which I obtain in consequence
of my arrangement with capital is greater than what I would obtain
without that arrangement, what reason have I to complain? And then,
according to what laws would our respective shares go on increasing
or diminishing were transactions free? If it be of the nature of
these transactions to allow me, in proportion as the total product to
be divided increases, to obtain a continually increasing proportion
of the excess (c. vii., p. 212), then in place of breathing hatred
against capital, ought I not to treat it as a friend? If it be
indisputably established that the presence of capital is favourable
to my interests, and that its absence would be death to me, am I very
prudent or well-advised in calumniating it, frightening it away, and
forcing its dissipation or flight?” In the discussion which precedes
the bargain, an inequality of situation is constantly alleged,
because capital can afford to wait, but labour cannot. The one upon
which the greatest pressure bears must give way to the other, so that
the capitalist in reality fixes the rate of wages.
Undoubtedly, looking at the surface of things, he who has created a
stock, and who in consequence of this foresight can wait on, has the
advantage in the bargain. Taking even an isolated transaction, the
man who says, ‹Do ut facias›, is not in such a hurry to come to a
conclusion as the man who replies, ‹Facio ut des›. For, when a man
can say ‹do›, he possesses something to give; and when he possesses
something to give, he can wait.[83]
We must not, however, lose sight of this, that value has the same
principle, whether it resides in the service or in the product. If
one of the parties says ‹do›, in place of ‹facio›, it is because he
has had the foresight to execute the ‹facio› beforehand. In reality,
it is the service on both sides which is the measure of the value.
Now, [p386] if delay for present labour is a suffering, for anterior
labour it is a loss. We must not then suppose that a man who says
‹do›, the capitalist, will amuse himself (above all if we consider
the aggregate of his transactions) by deferring the bargain. In
point of fact, do we see much capital idle for this reason? Do many
manufacturers stop their mills, or shipowners delay their voyages, or
agriculturists defer their harvests, on purpose to depreciate wages,
and get hold of their workmen by means of famine?
But without denying that the position of the capitalists in relation
to the workman is favourable in this respect, is there not something
else to be considered with reference to their arrangements? For
instance, is it not a circumstance quite in favour of ‹present
labour› that ‹accumulated labour› loses value by mere lapse of time?
I have elsewhere alluded to this phenomenon. But it is important to
solicit the reader’s attention again to it in this place, seeing how
great an influence it has upon the remuneration of present labour.
That which in my opinion renders Adam Smith’s theory, that ‹value
comes from labour›, false, or at least incomplete, is that this
theory assigns to value only one element, whilst, being a relation,
it has necessarily two. Besides, if value springs exclusively from
labour, and represents it, it would be proportionate to that labour,
which is contrary to all observed facts.
No; value comes from service received and rendered; and the service
depends as much, if not more, on the pains saved to the man who
receives it, as upon the pains taken by the man who renders it. In
this respect the most common facts confirm our reasoning. When I
purchase a product, I may indeed ask myself, “How long time has it
taken to make it?” And this undoubtedly is one of the elements of my
estimate of its value. But again, and above all, I ask, “How long
time would it take me to make it? How long time have I taken to make
the thing which is asked from me in exchange?” When I purchase a
service, I not only ask how much it will cost another to render that
service to me, but how much it would cost me to render that service
to myself.
These personal questions, and the answers which they call forth, are
such essential elements in every estimate of value, that they most
frequently determine it.
Try to purchase a diamond which has been found by chance. The seller
will transfer to you very little labour, but he will ask from you a
great deal. Why, then, should you consent to this? Because you take
into account the labour which it saves you, the [p387] labour which
you would be obliged to undergo in order to satisfy by any other
means your desire to possess a diamond.
When an exchange, then, takes place between ‹anterior labour› and
‹present labour›, it is not at all on the footing of their intensity
or duration, but on that of their value, that is to say, of the
service which they render, and their relative utility. If the
capitalist shall say, “Here is a product which cost me formerly ten
hours’ labour;” and if the labourer be in a situation to reply, “I
can produce the same thing in five hours,” the capitalist would be
forced to give up the difference; for, I repeat, that it does not
concern the present acquirer of a commodity to ask how much labour it
formerly cost to produce it. What concerns him is to know what labour
it will save him now, what service he is to expect from it.
A capitalist, in a general sense, is a man who, having foreseen that
such or such a service would be in demand, has prepared beforehand to
satisfy this demand by incorporating the value in a commodity.
When labour has been thus expended by anticipation, in expectation
of future remuneration, we cannot tell whether, on a definite future
day, it will render exactly the same service, or save the same
pains, or preserve, consequently, a uniform value. We cannot even
hazard a probable conjecture as to this. The commodity may be very
‹recherché›, very difficult to procure in any other way; it may come
to render services which will be better appreciated, or appreciated
by more people; it may acquire an increasing value with time,—in
other words, it may exchange for a continually increasing proportion
of present labour. Thus it is not impossible that such a product, a
diamond for example, a violin of Stradivarius, a picture of Raphaël,
a vine-plant from the Château-Laffitte, may come to exchange for a
thousand times more labour than they cost. In fact it just comes to
this, that the anterior labour is well remunerated in these cases,
because it renders a great amount of service.
The contrary may also happen. A commodity which has cost four hours’
labour may come to exchange for one which has cost only three hours’
labour of equal intensity.
But—and this appears to me extremely important as regards the
interests of the working classes, of those classes who aspire so
ardently to get rid of their present state of uncertainty—although
the two alternatives we have stated are both possible, and each may
be realized in its turn, although accumulated labour may sometimes
gain, and sometimes lose value, in [p388] relation to present
labour, the first alternative, nevertheless, is so rare as to be
considered accidental and exceptional; while the second is the result
of a general law which is inherent in the very organization of man.
That man, with all his intellectual and experimental acquisitions, is
of a progressive nature, is at least industrially speaking (for, in a
moral point of view, the assertion might be disputed) beyond doubt.
It is beyond doubt that the greater part of those commodities which
exacted formerly a given amount of labour, exact at the present day
a less amount, in consequence of improvements in machinery and the
gratuitous intervention of natural forces; and we may assert without
hesitation, that in each period of ten years, for example, a given
quantity of labour will accomplish, in the majority of cases, greater
results than the same quantity of labour could have accomplished in
the preceding decennial period.
What is the conclusion to be drawn from this? Obviously, that
anterior labour goes on constantly deteriorating in value relatively
to present labour; that in every act of exchange it becomes necessary
to give, of the first a greater number of hours than you receive of
the second; and this without any injustice, but simply to maintain
the equivalence of services. This is a consequence which progress
forces upon us.
You say to me, “Here is a machine; it was made ten years ago, but
it is still new. It cost 1000 days’ work to make it. I will give it
to you in exchange for an equal number of days’ labour.” To this
I reply, “Within the last ten years so many new tools have been
invented, and so many new processes discovered, that I can now
construct, or, what comes to the same thing, get constructed for
me, an equally good machine, with an expenditure of only 600 days’
labour. I will not, therefore, give you more than 600 for yours.”
“But I should in this way lose 400 days’ labour.” “No,” I reply; “for
6 days’ work now are worth 10 formerly. At all events, what you offer
me for 1000 I can now procure for 600.” This ends the debate; if the
lapse of time has deteriorated the value of your labour, there is no
reason why I should bear the loss.
Again you say to me, “Here is a field. In order to bring it to its
present state of productiveness, I and my ancestors have expended
1000 days’ labour. They were unacquainted, no doubt, with the use
of axe, and saw, and spade, and did all by muscular exertion. But
no matter; give me first of all 1000 of your days’ work, as an
equivalent for the 1000 which I give to you, and then add 300 as
the value of the productive power of the soil, and you [p389] shall
have the field.” I answer, “I will not give you 1300, or even 1000,
days’ labour for it; and here are my reasons: There are on the
surface of the globe an indefinite number of productive powers which
are destitute of value. We are now accustomed to handle spade, and
axe, and saw, and plough, and employ many other means of abridging
labour, and rendering it more productive; so that, with 600 days’
work, I can either bring an uncultivated field into the state in
which yours is, or (which comes absolutely to the same thing as far
as I am concerned) ‹I can procure myself, by an act of exchange, all
the advantages which you reap from your field›. I will give you,
then, 600 days, and no more.” “In that case, not only should I have
no profit from the pretended value of the productive powers of the
soil; I should not even be reimbursed for the actual labour which I
and my ancestors have devoted to the cultivation of this field. Is
it not strange that I should be accused by Ricardo of selling the
powers of nature; by Senior of intercepting the gifts of God; by all
the Economists of being a monopolist; by Proudhon of being a robber;
while in reality I am only a dupe?” You are no more a dupe than a
monopolist. You receive the equivalent of what you give; and it is
neither natural, nor just, nor possible, that rude labour performed
with the hand centuries ago should exchange, day for day, against the
more intelligent and productive labour of the present time.
Thus we see that by an admirable effect of the social mechanism, when
anterior and present labour are brought into juxtaposition, and when
the business is to know in what proportion the joint product of both
is to be divided, the specific superiority of the one and of the
other is taken into account; and they participate in the distribution
according to the relative services which they render. In exceptional
cases it may happen that this superiority is on the side of anterior
labour. But in the great majority of cases it is otherwise; and the
nature of man and the law of progress cause the superiority to be
manifested on the side of present labour. Progress is advanced by the
latter; and the deterioration falls upon capital.
Independently of this result, which shows how vain and hollow the
declamations of our modern reformers on the pretended ‹tyranny of
capital› are, there is another consideration still more fitted to
extinguish in the hearts of the working classes that factitious
hatred of other classes, which it has been attempted but with too
much success to light up.
The consideration I refer to is this:
Capital, however far it may carry its pretensions, and however
[p390] successful it may be in its endeavours to ensure the triumph
of these pretensions, can never place labour in a worse situation
than it would occupy in a state of isolation. In other words, capital
is always more favourable to labour by its presence than by its
absence.
Let us revert to the example which I gave a little ago.
Two men live by fishing. One of them has nets, lines, a boat, and
some provisions to enable him to wait for the fruit of his labour.
The other has nothing but his personal exertions. It is their
interest to associate.[84] Whatever may be the terms on which they
agree to share the produce, the condition of either of these two
fishermen, whether the rich one or the poor one, never can be made
worse, and for this obvious reason, that the moment either of them
finds association disadvantageous as compared with isolation, he may
return to isolation.
In savage as in pastoral, in agricultural as in industrial life,
the relations of capital and labour are always represented by this
example.
The absence of capital is a limit which is always within the
power of labour. If the pretensions of capital go the length of
rendering joint action less profitable for labour than isolated
action, labour can take refuge in isolation, an asylum always open
(except in a state of slavery) to voluntary association found to be
disadvantageous. Labour can always say to capital, Rather than work
jointly on the conditions which you offer me, I prefer to work alone.
It may be objected that this resource is illusory and ridiculous,
that to labour isolated action is forbidden by a radical
impossibility, and that to dispense with tools and instruments would
be fatal to it.
This is no doubt true; but it just confirms the truth of my
assertion, that even if capital carries its exactions to an extreme
limit, it still benefits labour by the very fact of its being
associated with it. Labour can be brought into a worse condition than
the worst association only when all association ceases and capital
retires. Cease, then, apostles of misfortune, to cry out against the
tyranny of capital, since you allow that its action is always—in a
greater or less degree, no doubt, but always—beneficent. Singular
tyranny, whose power is beneficial to all those who desire to feel
its effects, and is hurtful only when withdrawn.
But the objector may still insist that, although this might be so in
the earlier stages of society, capital has at the present day [p391]
invaded everything. It occupies every post, it lays hold of every
field. The working man has no longer either air, or space, or soil to
put his foot on, or stone to lay his head on, without the permission
of capital. He is subject to its inexorable law, and you would afford
him no refuge but isolation, which you admit is death!
All this displays a deplorable confusion of ideas, and a total
ignorance of the social economy.
If, as has been said, capital has possessed itself of all the forces
of nature, of all lands, of all space, I would ask for whose profit?
For the profit of the capitalist, no doubt. But then, how does it
happen that a simple workman, who has nothing but his muscular
powers, can obtain in France, in England, in Belgium, a thousand,
a million times greater amount of satisfaction and enjoyment than
he could have reaped in a state of isolation,—not on the social
hypothesis which you repudiate, but on that other hypothesis which
you cherish and cling to, that which presupposes capital to have been
guilty of no usurpation.
I shall continue to entertain this view of the subject, until your
new science can give a better account of it; for I am convinced
I have assigned valid reasons for the conclusion at which I have
arrived.—(Chapter vii.)
Take the first workman you meet with on the streets of Paris. Find
out the amount of his earnings and the amount of enjoyments he can
procure himself, and when you have fired off both against that
monster, capital, I will step in, and thus address the workman:
We are about to annihilate capital and all its works; and I am going
to place you in the midst of a hundred thousand acres of the most
fertile land, which I shall give you in full property and possession,
with everything above and below ground. You will not be elbowed by
any capitalist. You will have the full enjoyment of the four natural
rights of hunting, fishing, reaping the fruits, and pasturing the
land. True, you will have no capital; for if you had, you would be in
precisely the situation you censure in the case of others. But you
will no longer have reason to complain of landlordism, capitalism,
individualism, usurers, stockjobbers, bankers, monopolists. The land
will be absolutely and entirely yours. Think if you would like to
accept this position.
This workman would, no doubt, imagine at first that he had obtained
the fortune of a monarch. On reflection, however, he would probably
say: Well, let us calculate. Even when a man possesses a hundred
thousand acres of land, he must live. Now, how does the ‹bread›
account stand in the two situations? At [p392] present I earn
half-a-crown a day. At the present price of corn I can have three
bushels a week, just as if I myself sowed and reaped. Were I
proprietor of a hundred thousand acres of land, at the utmost I could
not, without capital, produce three bushels of corn in two years, and
in the interim I might, die of famine. . . . . I shall, therefore,
stick to my wages.
The truth is, we do not consider sufficiently the progress which the
human race must have made, to be able even to maintain the wretched
existence of our workmen.[85] . . . . . . . . . . . .
* * * * *
Amelioration of the labourer’s lot found in wages themselves and in
the natural laws by which wages are regulated.
‹1st›, The labourer tends to rise to the rank of a capitalist and
employer.
‹2d›, Wages tend to rise.
‹Corollary.›—The transition from the state of a paid workman to
that of an employer becomes constantly less desirable, and more
easy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [p393]
XV.
SAVING.
‹To save› is not to accumulate quantities of corn, of game, or
of crown-pieces. This hoarding-up of material and consumable
commodities, which must necessarily from its nature be restrained
within narrow bounds, represents only ‹the saving› of man in a state
of isolation. All that we have hitherto said of value, of services,
of relative wealth, shows us that, socially, saving, although it
proceeds from the same source, develops itself differently and
assumes another character.
‹To save› is to interpose voluntarily an interval between the time
when we render services to society and the time when we receive back
from society equivalent services. A man, for example, may every
day, from the time he is twenty until he is sixty, render to his
neighbours professional services equal to four, and demand from them
services only equal to three. In that case he reserves the power of
drawing upon society in his old age, and when he can no longer work,
for payment of the remaining fourth of his forty years’ labour.
The circumstance that he has received and accumulated through a
succession of years notes of acknowledgment consisting of bills of
exchange, promissory notes, bank notes, money, is quite secondary,
and belongs only to the form of the transaction. It has relation
only to the means of execution. It changes neither the nature nor
the consequences of saving. The illusion to which the intervention
of money gives rise in this respect is not the less an illusion,
although we are almost always the dupes of it.
In fact, it is with difficulty that we can avoid believing that the
man who saves withdraws from circulation a certain amount of value,
and, in consequence, does a certain amount of harm to society.
And here we encounter one of those apparent contradictions [p394]
which are at war with logic, one of those barriers which would seem
to oppose an insurmountable obstacle to progress, one of those
dissonances which gives us pain by appearing to call in question the
Divine power and will.
On the one hand, we know that the human race can only extend itself,
raise itself, improve itself, acquire leisure, stability, and, by
consequence, intellectual development and moral culture, by the
abundant creation and persevering accumulation of capital. It is
this rapid augmentation of capital on which depends the demand for
labour, the elevation of wages, and, consequently, the progress of
men towards equality.
But, on the other hand, ‹to save› is not the opposite of ‹to spend›,
and if the man who spends gives a fillip to industry and additional
employment to labour, does the man who saves not do exactly the
reverse? If every one set himself to economize as much as possible,
we should see labour languish in the same proportion, and if all
could be saved, we should have no fund for the employment of labour.
In such circumstances, what advice can we give? And what solid basis
can political economy offer to morals, when we appear to be able
to educe from the former only this contradictory and melancholy
alternative:—
“‹If you do not save›, capital will not be replaced, but dissipated,
the labouring class will be multiplied, while the fund for their
remuneration will remain stationary; they will enter into competition
with each other, and offer their services at a lower rate; wages will
be depressed, and society will, in this respect, be on the decline.
It will be on the decline also in another respect, for unless you
save you will be without bread in your old age; you can no longer
set your son out in the world, give a portion to your daughter, or
enlarge your trade,” etc.
“‹If you do save›, you diminish the fund for wages, you injure a
great number of your fellow-citizens, you strike a blow at labour,
which is the universal creator of human satisfactions, and you lower,
consequently, the general level of humanity.”
Now these frightful contradictions disappear before the explanation
which we have given of saving—an explanation founded upon the ideas
to which our inquiries on the subject of value conducted us.
Services are exchanged for services.
Value is the appreciation of two services compared with each other.
In this view, ‹to save› is to have rendered a service, and allow time
[p395] for receiving the equivalent service, or, in other words, to
interpose an interval of time between the service rendered and the
service received.
Now, in what respect can a man do injury to society or to labour who
merely abstains from drawing upon society for a service to which he
has right? I can exact the value which is due to me upon the instant,
or I may delay exacting it for a year. In that case I give society
a year’s respite. During that interval, labour is carried on, and
services are exchanged, just as if I did not exist. I have not by
this means caused any disturbance. On the contrary, I have added one
satisfaction more to the enjoyments of my fellow-citizens, and they
possess it for a year gratuitously.
Gratuitously is not the word, for I must go on to describe the
phenomenon.
The interval of time which separates the two services exchanged is
itself the subject of a bargain, of an exchange, for it is possessed
of ‹value›. It is the origin and explanation of ‹interest›.
A man, for instance, renders a present service. His wish is to
receive the equivalent service only ten years hence. Here, then, is
a value of which he refuses himself the immediate enjoyment. Now,
it is of the nature of ‹value› to be able to assume all possible
forms. With a determinate value, we are sure to obtain any imaginable
service, whether productive or unproductive, of an equal value.
He who delays for ten years to call in a debt, not only delays an
enjoyment, but he delays the possibility of further production. It
is on this account that he will meet with people in the world who
are disposed to bargain for this delay. They will say to him: “You
are entitled to receive immediately a certain value. It suits you to
delay receiving it for ten years. Now, for these ten years, make over
your right to me, place me in your room and stead. I shall receive
for you the amount for which you are a creditor. I will employ it
during these ten years in a productive enterprise, and repay you at
the end of that time. By this means you will render me a ‹service›,
and as every service has a value, which we estimate by comparing it
with another service, we have only to estimate this service which I
solicit from you, and so fix its ‹value›. This point being discussed
and arranged, I shall have to repay you at the end of the ten years,
not only the value of the service for which you are a creditor, but
the value likewise of the service which you are about to render me.”
It is the value of this temporary transference of values saved which
we denominate ‹interest›.
For the same reason that a third party may desire that we [p396]
should transfer to him, ‹for an onerous consideration›, the enjoyment
of a value saved, the original debtor may also desire to enter into
the same bargain. In both cases this is called ‹asking for credit›.
To give credit is to give time for the acquittance of a debt, of a
value; it is to deprive oneself of the enjoyment of that value in
favour of another, it is to render a service, it is to acquire a
title to an equivalent service.
But to revert to the economic effects of saving, now that we are
acquainted with all the details of the phenomenon, it is very evident
that it does no injury to general activity or to labour. Even when
the man who economizes realizes his economy, and, in exchange for
services rendered, receives hard cash, and hoards it, he does no harm
to society, seeing that he has not been able to withdraw that amount
of value from society without restoring to it equivalent values. I
must add, however, that such hoarding is improbable and exceptional,
inasmuch as it is detrimental to the personal interests of the man
who would practise it. Money in the hands of such a man may be
supposed to say this: “He who possesses me has rendered services to
society, and has not been paid for them. I have been put into his
hands to serve him as a warrant; I am at once an acknowledgment,
a promise, and a guarantee. The moment he wills it, he can, by
exhibiting and restoring me, receive back from society the services
for which he is a creditor.”
Now this man is in no hurry. Does it follow that he will continue to
hoard his money? No; for we have seen that the lapse of time which
separates two services exchanged becomes itself the subject of a
commercial transaction. If the man who saves intends to remain ten
years without drawing upon society for the services that are owing
to him, his interest is to substitute a representative, in order to
add to the value for which he is a creditor the value of this special
service. Saving, then, implies in no shape actual hoarding.
Let moralists be no longer arrested by this consideration. . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [p397]
XVI.
POPULATION.
I have been longing to enter upon the subject of this chapter, were
it for no other purpose than to have an opportunity of vindicating
Malthus from the violent attacks which have been made upon him. It is
scarcely credible that a set of writers of no reputation or ability,
and whose ignorance is transparent in every page of their works,
should, by echoing one another’s opinions, have succeeded in lowering
in public estimation a grave, conscientious, and philanthropic
author; representing as absurd a theory which at all events deserves
to be studied with serious attention.
It may be that I do not myself adopt all the opinions of Malthus.
Every question has two phases: and I believe that Malthus may have
fixed his regards too exclusively upon the sombre side. In my own
economical studies and inquiries, I have been so frequently led to
the conclusion, that ‹whatever is the work of Providence is good›,
that when logic has seemed to force me to a different conclusion, I
have been inclined to distrust my logic. I am aware that this faith
in final causes is not unattended with danger to the mind of an
inquirer. But this will not prevent me from acknowledging that there
is a vast amount of truth in the admirable work of this economist, or
from rendering homage to that ardent love of mankind by which every
line of it is inspired.
Malthus, whose knowledge of the social economy was profound, had
a clear view of all the ingenious mechanism with which nature has
provided the human race to assure its onward march on the road of
progress. And yet he believed that human progress might find itself
entirely paralyzed by one principle, namely, the principle of
Population. In contemplating the world, he gave way to the melancholy
reflection, that “God appears to have taken great care of the
species, and very little of the individual. In fact, as regards a
certain class of animated beings, we see them endowed with a [p398]
fecundity so prolific, a power of multiplication so extraordinary, a
profusion of germs so superabundant, that the destiny of the species
would seem undoubtedly well assured, while that of the individuals
of the species appears very precarious; for the whole of these germs
cannot be brought to life and maturity. They must either fail to
live, or must die prematurely.”
“Man makes no exception to this law.” [It is surprising that this
should shock the Socialists, who have never done telling us that
general must take precedence of individual right.] “This much is
certain, that God has secured the continuance of the human race by
providing it with a great power of reproduction. The numbers of
mankind, then, would come naturally, but for prudence and foresight,
to exceed what the earth could maintain. But man is endued with
foresight, and it is his reason and his will which can alone
interpose a check to this fatal progression.”
Setting out from these premises, which you may dispute if you will,
but which Malthus regarded as incontestable, he attached necessarily
the highest value to the exercise of foresight. For there was no
alternative;—man must either restrain voluntarily this excessive
multiplication, or else he must become subject, like all the other
species of living creatures, to the operation of positive or
repressive checks.
Malthus, then, believed that he could never urge men too strongly
to the exercise of foresight. His very philanthropy engaged him
to exhibit in strong relief the fatal consequences of imprudent
reproduction, in order to put men upon their guard. He said to them:
If you multiply inconsiderately, you cannot avoid the chastisement
which awaits you in some form or other, and always in a hideous
form—famine, war, pestilence, etc. Benevolence, charity, poor-laws,
and all other expedients are but ineffectual remedies.
In his ardour, Malthus allowed an expression to escape him, which,
when separated from the rest of his system, and from the sentiment
which dictated it, may appear harsh. It occurred in the first
edition of his work, which was then only a brochure, and has since
become a book of four volumes. It was represented to him that his
meaning in this objectionable passage might give rise to erroneous
interpretations. He immediately suppressed it, and it has never since
reappeared in any of the numerous editions of his Essay on Population.
But Mr Godwin, one of his opponents, had quoted this suppressed
passage, and the consequence was, that M. de Sismondi (a man who,
with the best intentions in the world, has done much [p399]
mischief) reproduced this unlucky sentence. The Socialists instantly
laid hold of it, and on this they proceeded to try, condemn, and
execute Malthus. Truly, they were much indebted to Sismondi’s
learning, for they had never themselves read either Malthus or Godwin.
The Socialists have thus represented an unguarded passage, which
Malthus himself had suppressed, as the basis of his system. They
repeat it ‹ad nauseam›. In a little 18mo volume, M. Pierre Leroux
reproduced it at least forty times, and it forms the stock-in-trade
of all our declamatory second-rate reformers.
The most celebrated and the most vigorous of that school of writers
having written an article against Malthus, I happened one day to
converse with him, and cited some opinions expressed in the Essay
on Population. I thought I perceived that he was not acquainted
with the work. I remarked to him, “You who have refuted Malthus,
have you not read his book from beginning to end?” “I have not read
it at all,” he replied. “His whole system is to be found in one
page, and is condensed in the famous ‘arithmetical and geometrical
progressions’—that is enough for me.” “It seems to me,” I said, “that
you are jesting with the public, with Malthus, with truth, with
conscience, and with yourself.”
This is the way that opinions obtain currency with us. Fifty ignorant
people repeat in chorus something spiteful and absurd, put forward
by one more ignorant than themselves, and if it happens to have the
least connexion with the fashionable opinions or passions of the
hour, it is at once received as an axiom.
Science, however, it must be allowed, cannot enter on the solution
of a problem with the settled intention of establishing a foregone
conclusion, however consolatory. What should we think of a man who
should sit down to the study of physiology, resolved beforehand to
demonstrate that God has not willed that mankind should be afflicted
with diseases? Were one physiologist to found a system on such a
basis as this, and another to controvert it by an appeal to facts,
the former would most likely fly into a rage, and tax his opponent
with ‹impiety›; but it is difficult to believe that he would go
the length of accusing his opponent himself of being the author of
diseases.
This, however, is what has happened to Malthus. In a work founded on
facts and figures, he explained a law which has given great offence
to our optimists; and in their anxiety to ignore the existence of
this law, they have attacked Malthus with rancorous virulence and
flagrant bad faith, as if he had himself deliberately [p400] thrown
in the way of mankind those obstacles which flowed, as he thought,
from the principle of population. It would surely have been more
philosophical to have proved simply that Malthus was mistaken, and
that his pretended law had in reality no existence.
Population, we must allow, is one of a numerous class of subjects
which serve to remind us that man has frequently left him only a
choice of evils. Whatever may have been its design, suffering: has
entered into the plan of Providence. Let us not, then, seek for
harmony in the absence of evil, but in the tendency of evil to bring
us back to what is good, and in the gradual contraction of its own
domain. God has indued us with free will. It is necessary that we
should ‹learn›,—which is a long and difficult process,—and then it is
necessary that we should ‹act› on the knowledge thus acquired, which
is not much less difficult. In this way we shall gradually emancipate
ourselves from suffering, but without ever altogether escaping from
it; for even when we succeed completely in eluding chastisement, we
have still to exercise the painful effort of foresight. In freeing
ourselves from the one, we must submit ourselves to the other.
It is of no use to rebel against this order of things; for it
envelopes us; it is the atmosphere in which we live and breathe;
and it is with this alternative of restriction or prevention before
us, which we cannot get rid of, and cannot lose sight of, that we
proceed, with Malthus, to enter upon the problem of population. On
this great question I shall first of all assume the function of
a mere reporter, and then give you my own views. If the laws of
population can be comprised in a short aphorism, it will be a happy
thing for the advancement and diffusion of the science. But if, from
the number and the shifting nature of the postulates, we find that
these laws refuse to be shut up in a brief and rigorous formula, we
must acquiesce. Prolix exactitude is better than delusive brevity.
* * * * *
We have seen that progress consists in causing natural forces to
co-operate more and more towards the satisfaction of our wants,
so that, at each successive epoch, the same amount of utility is
obtained, whilst to society is left either more leisure, or a greater
amount of disposable labour, to be applied to the acquisition of new
enjoyments.
On the other hand, we have demonstrated that every fresh conquest we
thus gain over nature, after having for a time brought additional
profit to the inventor, never fails to become, by the [p401]
operation of the law of competition, the common and gratuitous
patrimony of mankind at large.
From these premises we should conclude that human happiness must be
enlarged, and, at the same time, rapidly equalized. That it has not
been so in reality, however, is a point beyond all dispute. There are
in the world multitudes of unfortunate people, whose wretchedness has
not been caused by their own misdeeds.
How are we to account for this?
I believe it is owing to a multiplicity of causes. One of them is
called ‹spoliation›, or, if you will, ‹injustice›. Economists have
referred to it only incidentally, as implying some error, some false
scientific notion. Engaged in the explanation of general laws,
it is not their business, they think, to concern themselves with
those laws, when they are not in operation or violated. Spoliation,
however, has borne, and still bears, too prominent a share in
human affairs to permit even economists to throw it aside as a
consideration unworthy of being taken into account. What we have to
do with here is not accidental thefts, petty larcenies, or isolated
crimes. War, slavery, priestly impostures, privileges, monopolies,
restrictions, abuses of taxation,—these are the more salient
manifestations of spoliation. It is easy to see what influence
disturbing forces of such magnitude must have exercised, and must
still exercise by their presence, or the deep traces they have left
behind them, on the inequality of conditions; and it will be our
business hereafter to estimate the vast extent of their effects.
But another cause which retards progress, and, above all, which
hinders its extension to all classes, is, as some authors think, the
principle of population.
And no doubt, if in proportion as wealth increases, the number of
people among whom that wealth is to be divided increases also, and
more rapidly, absolute wealth may be greater, and individual wealth
less.
If, moreover, there be one species of services which everybody can
render, like the services which require only muscular exertion, and
if it be just the class whose business it is to render such services,
the worst paid of all, which multiplies with the greatest rapidity,
we must conclude that labour creates for itself a fatal competition.
The lowest class will never benefit by progress, if that class
increases faster than it can spread and distribute itself.
You see, then, how important the principle of population is.