_ON THE CASE OF A CERTAIN MAN WHO IS NEVER THOUGHT OF._
The type and formula of most schemes of philanthropy or humanitarianism
is this: A and B put their heads together to decide what C shall be
made to do for D. The radical vice of all these schemes, from a
sociological point of view, is that C is not allowed a voice in the
matter, and his position, character, and interests, as well as the
ultimate effects on society through C's interests, are entirely
overlooked. I call C the Forgotten Man. For once let us look him up and
consider his case, for the characteristic of all social doctors is,
that they fix their minds on some man or group of men whose case
appeals to the sympathies and the imagination, and they plan remedies
addressed to the particular trouble; they do not understand that all
the parts of society hold together, and that forces which are set in
action act and react throughout the whole organism, until an
equilibrium is produced by a readjustment of all interests and rights.
They therefore ignore entirely the source from which they must draw all
the energy which they employ in their remedies, and they ignore all the
effects on other members of society than the ones they have in view.
They are always under the dominion of the superstition of government,
and, forgetting that a government produces nothing at all, they leave
out of sight the first fact to be remembered in all social
discussion--that the State cannot get a cent for any man without taking
it from some other man, and this latter must be a man who has produced
and saved it. This latter is the Forgotten Man.
The friends of humanity start out with certain benevolent feelings
toward "the poor," "the weak," "the laborers," and others of whom they
make pets. They generalize these classes, and render them impersonal,
and so constitute the classes into social pets. They turn to other
classes and appeal to sympathy and generosity, and to all the other
noble sentiments of the human heart. Action in the line proposed
consists in a transfer of capital from the better off to the worse off.
Capital, however, as we have seen, is the force by which civilization
is maintained and carried on. The same piece of capital cannot be used
in two ways. Every bit of capital, therefore, which is given to a
shiftless and inefficient member of society, who makes no return for
it, is diverted from a reproductive use; but if it was put to
reproductive use, it would have to be granted in wages to an efficient
and productive laborer. Hence the real sufferer by that kind of
benevolence which consists in an expenditure of capital to protect the
good-for-nothing is the industrious laborer. The latter, however, is
never thought of in this connection. It is assumed that he is provided
for and out of the account. Such a notion only shows how little true
notions of political economy have as yet become popularized. There is
an almost invincible prejudice that a man who gives a dollar to a
beggar is generous and kind-hearted, but that a man who refuses the
beggar and puts the dollar in a savings-bank is stingy and mean. The
former is putting capital where it is very sure to be wasted, and where
it will be a kind of seed for a long succession of future dollars,
which must be wasted to ward off a greater strain on the sympathies
than would have been occasioned by a refusal in the first place.
Inasmuch as the dollar might have been turned into capital and given to
a laborer who, while earning it, would have reproduced it, it must be
regarded as taken from the latter. When a millionaire gives a dollar to
a beggar the gain of utility to the beggar is enormous, and the loss of
utility to the millionaire is insignificant. Generally the discussion
is allowed to rest there. But if the millionaire makes capital of the
dollar, it must go upon the labor market, as a demand for productive
services. Hence there is another party in interest--the person who
supplies productive services. There always are two parties. The second
one is always the Forgotten Man, and any one who wants to truly
understand the matter in question must go and search for the Forgotten
Man. He will be found to be worthy, industrious, independent, and
self-supporting. He is not, technically, "poor" or "weak"; he minds his
own business, and makes no complaint. Consequently the philanthropists
never think of him, and trample on him.
We hear a great deal of schemes for "improving the condition of the
working-man." In the United States the farther down we go in the grade
of labor, the greater is the advantage which the laborer has over the
higher classes. A hod-carrier or digger here can, by one day's labor,
command many times more days' labor of a carpenter, surveyor,
bookkeeper, or doctor than an unskilled laborer in Europe could command
by one day's labor. The same is true, in a less degree, of the
carpenter, as compared with the bookkeeper, surveyor, and doctor. This
is why the United States is the great country for the unskilled
laborer. The economic conditions all favor that class. There is a great
continent to be subdued, and there is a fertile soil available to
labor, with scarcely any need of capital. Hence the people who have the
strong arms have what is most needed, and, if it were not for social
consideration, higher education would not pay. Such being the case,
the working-man needs no improvement in his condition except to be
freed from the parasites who are living on him. All schemes for
patronizing "the working classes" savor of condescension. They are
impertinent and out of place in this free democracy. There is not, in
fact, any such state of things or any such relation as would make
projects of this kind appropriate. Such projects demoralize both
parties, flattering the vanity of one and undermining the self-respect
of the other.
For our present purpose it is most important to notice that if we lift
any man up we must have a fulcrum, or point of reaction. In society
that means that to lift one man up we push another down. The schemes
for improving the condition of the working classes interfere in the
competition of workmen with each other. The beneficiaries are selected
by favoritism, and are apt to be those who have recommended themselves
to the friends of humanity by language or conduct which does not
betoken independence and energy. Those who suffer a corresponding
depression by the interference are the independent and self-reliant,
who once more are forgotten or passed over; and the friends of humanity
once more appear, in their zeal to help somebody, to be trampling on
those who are trying to help themselves.
Trades-unions adopt various devices for raising wages, and those who
give their time to philanthropy are interested in these devices, and
wish them success. They fix their minds entirely on the workmen for the
time being _in_ the trade, and do not take note of any other _workmen_
as interested in the matter. It is supposed that the fight is between
the workmen and their employers, and it is believed that one can give
sympathy in that contest to the workmen without feeling responsibility
for anything farther. It is soon seen, however, that the employer adds
the trades-union and strike risk to the other risks of his business,
and settles down to it philosophically. If, now, we go farther, we see
that he takes it philosophically because he has passed the loss along
on the public. It then appears that the public wealth has been
diminished, and that the danger of a trade war, like the danger of a
revolution, is a constant reduction of the well-being of all. So far,
however, we have seen only things which could _lower_ wages--nothing
which could raise them. The employer is worried, but that does not
raise wages. The public loses, but the loss goes to cover extra risk,
and that does not raise wages.
A trades-union raises wages (aside from the legitimate and economic
means noticed in Chapter VI.) by restricting the number of apprentices
who may be taken into the trade. This device acts directly on the
supply of laborers, and that produces effects on wages. If, however,
the number of apprentices is limited, some are kept out who want to get
in. Those who are in have, therefore, made a monopoly, and constituted
themselves a privileged class on a basis exactly analogous to that of
the old privileged aristocracies. But whatever is gained by this
arrangement for those who are in is won at a greater loss to those who
are kept out. Hence it is not upon the masters nor upon the public that
trades-unions exert the pressure by which they raise wages; it is upon
other persons of the labor class who want to get into the trades, but,
not being able to do so, are pushed down into the unskilled labor
class. These persons, however, are passed by entirely without notice in
all the discussions about trades-unions. They are the Forgotten Men.
But, since they want to get into the trade and win their living in it,
it is fair to suppose that they are fit for it, would succeed at it,
would do well for themselves and society in it; that is to say, that,
of all persons interested or concerned, they most deserve our sympathy
and attention.
The cases already mentioned involve no legislation. Society, however,
maintains police, sheriffs, and various institutions, the object of
which is to protect people against themselves--that is, against their
own vices. Almost all legislative effort to prevent vice is really
protective of vice, because all such legislation saves the vicious man
from the penalty of his vice. Nature's remedies against vice are
terrible. She removes the victims without pity. A drunkard in the
gutter is just where he ought to be, according to the fitness and
tendency of things. Nature has set up on him the process of decline and
dissolution by which she removes things which have survived their
usefulness. Gambling and other less mentionable vices carry their own
penalties with them.
Now, we never can annihilate a penalty. We can only divert it from the
head of the man who has incurred it to the heads of others who have not
incurred it. A vast amount of "social reform" consists in just this
operation. The consequence is that those who have gone astray, being
relieved from Nature's fierce discipline, go on to worse, and that
there is a constantly heavier burden for the others to bear. Who are
the others? When we see a drunkard in the gutter we pity him. If a
policeman picks him up, we say that society has interfered to save him
from perishing. "Society" is a fine word, and it saves us the trouble
of thinking. The industrious and sober workman, who is mulcted of a
percentage of his day's wages to pay the policeman, is the one who
bears the penalty. But he is the Forgotten Man. He passes by and is
never noticed, because he has behaved himself, fulfilled his
contracts, and asked for nothing.
The fallacy of all prohibitory, sumptuary, and moral legislation is the
same. A and B determine to be teetotalers, which is often a wise
determination, and sometimes a necessary one. If A and B are moved by
considerations which seem to them good, that is enough. But A and B put
their heads together to get a law passed which shall force C to be a
teetotaler for the sake of D, who is in danger of drinking too much.
There is no pressure on A and B. They are having their own way, and
they like it. There is rarely any pressure on D. He does not like it,
and evades it. The pressure all comes on C. The question then arises,
Who is C? He is the man who wants alcoholic liquors for any honest
purpose whatsoever, who would use his liberty without abusing it, who
would occasion no public question, and trouble nobody at all. He is the
Forgotten Man again, and as soon as he is drawn from his obscurity we
see that he is just what each one of us ought to be.