1st. Of the materials upon which men operate, when these materials have
already a value communicated by some human effort, which has bestowed
upon them the principle of remuneration--wool, flax, leather, silk,
wood, &c.
2nd. Instruments which are used for working--tools, machines, ships,
carriages, &c.
3rd. Provisions which are consumed during labour--victuals, stuffs,
houses, &c.
Without these things the labour of man would be unproductive and almost
void; yet these very things have required much work, especially at
first. This is the reason that so much value has been attached to the
possession of them, and also that it is perfectly lawful to exchange and
to sell them, to make a profit of them if used, to gain remuneration
from them if lent.
Now for my anecdotes.
The Sack of Corn.
Mathurin, in other respects as poor as Job, and obliged to earn his
bread by day-labour, became nevertheless, by some inheritance, the owner
of a fine piece of uncultivated land. He was exceedingly anxious to
cultivate it. "Alas!" said he, "to make ditches, to raise fences, to
break the soil, to clear away the brambles and stones, to plough it, to
sow it, might bring me a living in a year or two; but certainly not
to-day, or to-morrow. It is impossible to set about farming it, without
previously saving some provisions for my subsistence until the harvest;
and I know, by experience, that preparatory labour is indispensable, in
order to render present labour productive." The good Mathurin was not
content with making these reflections. He resolved to work by the day,
and to save something from his wages to buy a spade and a sack of corn;
without which things, he must give up his fine agricultural projects. He
acted so well, was so active and steady, that he soon saw himself in
possession of the wished-for sack of corn. "I shall take it to the
mill," said he, "and then I shall have enough to live upon till my field
is covered with a rich harvest." Just as he was starting, Jerome came to
borrow his treasure of him. "If you will lend me this sack of corn,"
said Jerome, "you will do me a great service; for I have some very
lucrative work in view, which I cannot possibly undertake, for want of
provisions to live upon until it is finished." "I was in the same case,"
answered Mathurin, "and if I have now secured bread for several months,
it is at the expense of my arms and my stomach. Upon what principle of
justice can it be devoted to the realisation of _your_ enterprise
instead of _mine?_"
You may well believe that the bargain was a long one. However, it was
finished at length, and on these conditions:--
First--Jerome promised to give back, at the end of the year, a sack of
corn of the same quality, and of the same weight, without missing a
single grain. "This first clause is perfectly just," said he, "for
without it Mathurin would _give_, and not _lend_."
Secondly--He engaged to deliver _five litres_ on _every hectolitre_.
"This clause is no less just than the other," thought he; "for without
it Mathurin would do me a service without compensation; he would inflict
upon himself a privation--he would renounce his cherished enterprise--he
would enable me to accomplish mine--he would cause me to enjoy for a
year the fruits of his savings, and all this gratuitously. Since he
delays the cultivation of his land, since he enables me to realise a
lucrative labour, it is quite natural that I should let him partake, in
a certain proportion, of the profits which I shall gain by the sacrifice
he makes of his own."
On his side, Mathurin, who was something of a scholar, made this
calculation:--"Since, by virtue of the first clause, the sack of corn
will return to me at the end of a year," he said to himself, "I shall be
able to lend it again; it will return to me at the end of the second
year; I may lend it again, and so on, to all eternity. However, I cannot
deny that it will have been eaten long ago. It is singular that I should
be perpetually the owner of a sack of corn, although the one I have lent
has been consumed for ever. But this is explained thus:--It will be
consumed in the service of Jerome. It will put it into the power of
Jerome to produce a superior value; and, consequently, Jerome will be
able to restore me a sack of corn, or the value of it, without having
suffered the slightest injury: but quite the contrary. And as regards
myself, this value ought to be my property, as long as I do not consume
it myself. If I had used it to clear my land, I should have received it
again in the form of a fine harvest. Instead of that, I lend it, and
shall recover it in the form of repayment.
"From the second clause, I gain another piece of information. At the end
of the year I shall be in possession of five litres of corn over the one
hundred that I have just lent. If, then, I were to continue to work by
the day, and to save part of my wages, as I have been doing, in the
course of time I should be able to lend two sacks of corn; then three;
then four; and when I should have gained a sufficient number to enable
me to live on these additions of five litres over and above each, I
shall be at liberty to take a little repose in my old age. But how is
this? In this case, shall I not be living at the expense of others? No,
certainly, for it has been proved that in lending I perform a service; I
complete the labour of my borrowers, and only deduct a trifling part of
the excess of production, due to my lendings and savings. It is a
marvellous thing that a man may thus realise a leisure which injures no
one, and for which he cannot be envied without injustice."
The House.
Mondor had a house. In building it, he had extorted nothing from any one
whatever. He owed it to his own personal labour, or, which is the same
thing, to labour justly rewarded. His first care was to make a bargain
with an architect, in virtue of which, by means of a hundred crowns a
year, the latter engaged to keep the house in constant good repair.
Mondor was already congratulating himself on the happy days which he
hoped to spend in this retreat, declared sacred by our Constitution. But
Valerius wished to make it his residence.
"How can you think of such a thing?" said Mondor to Valerius. "It is I
who have built it; it has cost me ten years of painful labour, and now
you would enjoy it!" They agreed to refer the matter to judges. They
chose no profound economists,--there were none such in the country. But
they found some just and sensible men; it all comes to the same thing;
political economy, justice, good sense, are all the same thing. Now here
is the decision made by the judges:--If Valerius wishes to occupy
Mondor's house for a year, he is bound to submit to three conditions.
The first is to quit at the end of the year, and to restore the house in
good repair, saving the inevitable decay resulting from mere duration.
The second, to refund to Mondor the 300 francs which the latter pays
annually to the architect to repair the injuries of time; for these
injuries taking place whilst the house is in the service of Valerius, it
is perfectly just that he should bear the consequences. The third, that
he should render to Mondor a service equivalent to that which he
receives. As to this equivalence of services, it must be freely
discussed between Mondor and Valerius.
The Plane.
A very long time ago there lived, in a poor village, a joiner, who was a
philosopher, as all my heroes are in their way. James worked from
morning till night with his two strong arms, but his brain was not idle
for all that. He was fond of reviewing his actions, their causes, and
their effects. He sometimes said to himself, "With my hatchet, my saw,
and my hammer, I can make only coarse furniture, and can only get the
pay for such. If I only had a _plane_, I should please my customers
more, and they would pay me more. It is quite just; I can only expect
services proportioned to those which I render myself. Yes! I am
resolved, I will make myself a _plane_."
However, just as he was setting to work, James reflected further:--"I
work for my customers 300 days in the year. If I give ten to making my
plane, supposing it lasts me a year, only 290 days will remain for me to
make my furniture. Now, in order that I be not the loser in this matter,
I must gain henceforth, with the help of the plane, as much in 290 days,
as I now do in 300. I must even gain more; for unless I do so, it would
not be worth my while to venture upon any innovations." James began to
calculate. He satisfied himself that he should sell his finished
furniture at a price which would amply compensate for the ten days
devoted to the plane; and when no doubt remained on this point, he set
to work. I beg the reader to remark, that the power which exists in the
tool to increase the productiveness of labour, is the basis of the
solution which follows.
At the end of ten days, James had in his possession an admirable plane,
which he valued all the more for having made it himself. He danced for
joy,--for, like the girl with her basket of eggs, he reckoned all the
profits which he expected to derive from the ingenious instrument; but,
more fortunate than she, he was not reduced to the necessity of saying
good-bye to calf, cow, pig, and eggs, together. He was building his fine
castles in the air, when he was interrupted by his acquaintance William,
a joiner in the neighbouring village. William having admired the plane,
was struck with the advantages which might be gained from it. He said to
James:--
W. You must do me a service.
J. What service?
W. Lend me the plane for a year.
As might be expected, James at this proposal did not fail to cry out,
"How can you think of such a thing, William? Well, if I do you this
service, what will you do for me in return?"
W. Nothing. Don't you know that a loan ought to be gratuitous? Don't
you know that capital is naturally unproductive? Don't you know
fraternity has been proclaimed. If you only do me a service for the
sake of receiving one from me in return, what merit would you have?
J. William, my friend, fraternity does not mean that all the
sacrifices are to be on one side; if so, I do not see why they should
not be on yours. Whether a loan should be gratuitous I don't know; but I
do know that if I were to lend you my plane for a year it would be
giving it you. To tell you the truth, that was not what I made it for.
W. Well, we will say nothing about the modern maxims discovered by the
Socialist gentlemen. I ask you to do me a service; what service do you
ask me in return?
J. First, then, in a year, the plane will be done for, it will be good
for nothing. It is only just, that you should let me have another
exactly like it; or that you should give me money enough to get it
repaired; or that you should supply me the ten days which I must devote
to replacing it.
W. This is perfectly just. I submit to these conditions. I engage to
return it, or to let you have one like it, or the value of the same. I
think you must be satisfied with this, and can require nothing further.
J. I think otherwise. I made the plane for myself, and not for you. I
expected to gain some advantage from it, by my work being better
finished and better paid, by an improvement in my condition. What reason
is there that I should make the plane, and you should gain the profit? I
might as well ask you to give me your saw and hatchet! What a
confusion! Is it not natural that each should keep what he has made with
his own hands, as well as his hands themselves? To use without
recompense the hands of another, I call slavery; to use without
recompense the plane of another, can this be called fraternity?
W. But, then, I have agreed to return it to you at the end of a year,
as well polished and as sharp as it is now.
J. We have nothing to do with next year; we are speaking of this year.
I have made the plane for the sake of improving my work and condition;
if you merely return it to me in a year, it is you who will gain the
profit of it during the whole of that time. I am not bound to do you
such a service without receiving anything from you in return: therefore,
if you wish for my plane, independently of the entire restoration
already bargained for, you must do me a service which we will now
discuss; you must grant me remuneration.
And this was done thus:--William granted a remuneration calculated in
such a way that, at the end of the year, James received his plane quite
new, and in addition, a compensation, consisting of a new plank, for the
advantages of which he had deprived himself, and which he had yielded to
his friend.
It was impossible for any one acquainted with the transaction to
discover the slightest trace in it of oppression or injustice.
The singular part of it is, that, at the end of the year, the plane came
into James's possession, and he lent it again; recovered it, and lent
it a third and fourth time. It has passed into the hands of his son, who
still lends it. Poor plane! how many times has it changed, sometimes its
blade, sometimes its handle. It is no longer the same plane, but it has
always the same value, at least for James's posterity. Workmen! let us
examine into these little stories.
I maintain, first of all, that the _sack of corn_ and the _plane_ are
here the type, the model, a faithful representation, the symbol of all
capital; as the five litres of corn and the plank are the type, the
model, the representation, the symbol of all interest. This granted, the
following are, it seems to me, a series of consequences, the justice of
which it is impossible to dispute.
1st. If the yielding of a plank by the borrower to the lender is a
natural, equitable, lawful remuneration, the just price of a real
service, we may conclude that, as a general rule, it is in the nature of
capital to produce interest. When this capital, as in the foregoing
examples, takes the form of an _instrument of labour_, it is clear
enough that it ought to bring an advantage to its possessor, to him who
has devoted to it his time, his brains, and his strength. Otherwise, why
should he have made it? No necessity of life can be immediately
satisfied with instruments of labour; no one eats planes or drinks saws,
except, indeed, he be a conjuror. If a man determines to spend his time
in the production of such things, he must have been led to it by the
consideration of the power which these instruments add to his power; of
the time which they save him; of the perfection and rapidity which they
give to his labour; in a word, of the advantages which they procure for
him. Now, these advantages, which have been prepared by labour, by the
sacrifice of time which might have been used in a more immediate manner,
are we bound, as soon as they are ready to be enjoyed, to confer them
gratuitously upon another? Would it be an advance in social order, if
the law decided thus, and citizens should pay officials for causing such
a law to be executed by force? I venture to say, that there is not one
amongst you who would support it. It would be to legalize, to organize,
to systematize injustice itself, for it would be proclaiming that there
are men born to render, and others born to receive, gratuitous services.
Granted, then, that interest is just, natural, and lawful.
2nd. A second consequence, not less remarkable than the former, and, if
possible, still more conclusive, to which I call your attention, is
this:--_Interest is not injurious to the borrower_. I mean to say, the
obligation in which the borrower finds himself, to pay a remuneration
for the use of capital, cannot do any harm to his condition. Observe, in
fact, that James and William are perfectly free, as regards the
transaction to which the plane gave occasion. The transaction cannot be
accomplished without the consent of the one as well as of the other. The
worst which can happen is, that James may be too exacting; and in this
case, William, refusing the loan, remains as he was before. By the fact
of his agreeing to borrow, he proves that he considers it an advantage
to himself; he proves, that after every calculation, including the
remuneration, whatever it may be, required of him, he still finds it
more profitable to borrow than not to borrow. He only determines to do
so because he has compared the inconveniences with the advantages. He
has calculated that the day on which he returns the plane, accompanied
by the remuneration agreed upon, he will have effected more work, with
the same labour, thanks to this tool. A profit will remain to him,
otherwise he would not have borrowed. The two services of which we are
speaking are exchanged according to the law which governs all exchanges,
the law of supply and demand. The claims of James have a natural and
impassable limit. This is the point in which the remuneration demanded
by him would absorb all the advantage which William might find in making
use of a plane. In this case, the borrowing would not take place.
William would be bound either to make a plane for himself, or to do
without one, which would leave him in his original condition. He
borrows, because he gains by borrowing. I know very well what will be
told me. You will say, William may be deceived, or, perhaps, he may be
governed by necessity, and be obliged to submit to a harsh law.
It may be so. As to errors in calculation, they belong to the infirmity
of our nature, and to argue from this against the transaction in
question, is objecting the possibility of loss in all imaginable
transactions, in every human act. Error is an accidental fact, which is
incessantly remedied by experience. In short, everybody must guard
against it. As far as those hard necessities are concerned, which force
persons to burdensome borrowings, it is clear that these necessities
exist previously to the borrowing. If William is in a situation in which
he cannot possibly do without a plane, and must borrow one at any price,
does this situation result from James having taken the trouble to make
the tool? Does it not exist independently of this circumstance? However
harsh, however severe James may be, he will never render the supposed
condition of William worse than it is. Morally, it is true, the lender
will be to blame; but, in an economical point of view, the loan itself
can never be considered responsible for previous necessities, which it
has not created, and which it relieves to a certain extent.
But this proves something to which I shall return. The evident interests
of William, representing here the borrowers, there are many Jameses and
planes, in other words, lenders and capitals. It is very evident, that
if William can say to James,--"Your demands are exorbitant; there is no
lack of planes in the world;" he will be in a better situation than if
James's plane was the only one to be borrowed. Assuredly, there is no
maxim more true than this--service for service. But left us not forget
that no service has a fixed and absolute value, compared with others.
The contracting parties are free. Each carries his requisitions to the
farthest possible point, and the most favourable circumstance for these
requisitions is the absence of rivalship. Hence it follows, that if
there is a class of men more interested than any other in the formation,
multiplication, and abundance of capitals, it is mainly that of the
borrowers. Now, since capitals can only be formed and increased by the
stimulus and the prospect of remuneration, let this class understand the
injury they are inflicting on themselves when they deny the lawfulness
of interest, when they proclaim that credit should be gratuitous, when
they declaim against the pretended tyranny of capital, when they
discourage saving, thus forcing capitals to become scarce, and
consequently interests to rise.
3rd. The anecdote I have just related enables you to explain this
apparently singular phenomenon, which is termed the duration or
perpetuity of interest. Since, in lending his plane, James has been
able, very lawfully, to make it a condition that it should be returned
to him, at the end of a year, in the same state in which it was when he
lent it, is it not evident that he may, at the expiration of the term,
lend it again on the same conditions? If he resolves upon the latter
plan, the plane will return to him at the end of every year, and that
without end. James will then be in a condition to lend it without end;
that is, he may derive from it a perpetual interest. It will be said,
that the plane will be worn out. That is true; but it will be worn out
by the hand and for the profit of the borrower. The latter has taken
into account this gradual wear, and taken upon himself, as he ought, the
consequences. He has reckoned that he shall derive from this tool an
advantage, which will allow him to restore it in its original condition,
after having realised a profit from it. As long as James does not use
this capital himself, or for his own advantage--as long as he renounces
the advantages which allow it to be restored to its original
condition--he will have an incontestable right to have it restored, and
that independently of interest.
Observe, besides, that if, as I believe I have shown, James, far from
doing any harm to William, has done him a _service_ in lending him his
plane for a year; for the same reason, he will do no harm to a second, a
third, a fourth borrower, in the subsequent periods. Hence you may
understand that the interest of a capital is as natural, as lawful, as
useful, in the thousandth year, as in the first. We may go still
further. It may happen that James lends more than a single plane. It is
possible, that by means of working, of saving, of privations, of order,
of activity, he may come to lend a multitude of planes and saws; that is
to say, to do a multitude of services. I insist upon this point,--that
if the first loan has been a social good, it will be the same with all
the others; for they are all similar, and based upon the same
principle. It may happen, then, that the amount of all the remunerations
received by our honest operative, in exchange for services rendered by
him, may suffice to maintain him. In this case, there will be a man in
the world who has a right to live without working. I do not say that he
would be doing right to give himself up to idleness--but I say, that he
has a right to do so; and if he does so, it will be at nobody's expense,
but quite the contrary. If society at all understands the nature of
things, it will acknowledge that this man subsists on services which he
receives certainly (as we all do), but which he lawfully receives in
exchange for other services, which he himself has rendered, that he
continues to render, and which are quite real, inasmuch as they are
freely and voluntarily accepted.
And here we have a glimpse of one of the finest harmonies in the social
world. I allude to _leisure:_ not that leisure that the warlike and
tyrannical classes arrange for themselves by the plunder of the workers,
but that leisure which is the lawful and innocent fruit of past activity
and economy. In expressing myself thus, I know that I shall shock many
received ideas. But see! Is not leisure an essential spring in the
social machine? Without it, the world would never have had a Newton, a
Pascal, a Fenelon; mankind would have been ignorant of all arts,
sciences, and of those wonderful inventions prepared originally by
investigations of mere curiosity; thought would have been inert--man
would have made no progress. On the other hand, if leisure could only be
explained by plunder and oppression--if it were a benefit which could
only be enjoyed unjustly, and at the expense of others, there would be
no middle path between these two evils; either mankind would be reduced
to the necessity of stagnating in a vegetable and stationary life, in
eternal ignorance, from the absence of wheels to its machine--or else it
would have to acquire these wheels at the price of inevitable injustice,
and would necessarily present the sad spectacle, in one form or other,
of the antique classification of human beings into masters and slaves. I
defy any one to show me, in this case, any other alternative. We should
be compelled to contemplate the Divine plan which governs society, with
the regret of thinking that it presents a deplorable chasm. The stimulus
of progress would be forgotten, or, which is worse, this stimulus would
be no other than injustice itself. But no! God has not left such a chasm
in His work of love. We must take care not to disregard His wisdom and
power; for those whose imperfect meditations cannot explain the
lawfulness of leisure, are very much like the astronomer who said, at a
certain point in the heavens there ought to exist a planet which will be
at last discovered, for without it the celestial world is not harmony,
but discord.
Well, I say that, if well understood, the history of my humble plane,
although very modest, is sufficient to raise us to the contemplation of
one of the most consoling, but least understood of the social
harmonies.
It is not true that we must choose between the denial or the
unlawfulness of leisure; thanks to rent and its natural duration,
leisure may arise from labour and saving. It is a pleasing prospect,
which every one may have in view; a noble recompense, to which each may
aspire. It makes its appearance in the world; it distributes itself
proportionably to the exercise of certain virtues; it opens all the
avenues to intelligence; it ennobles, it raises the morals; it
spiritualizes the soul of humanity, not only without laying any weight
on those of our brethren whose lot in life devotes them to severe
labour, but relieving them gradually from the heaviest and most
repugnant part of this labour. It is enough that capitals should be
formed, accumulated, multiplied; should be lent on conditions less and
less burdensome; that they should descend, penetrate into every social
circle, and that by an admirable progression, after having liberated the
lenders, they should hasten the liberation of the borrowers themselves.
For that end, the laws and customs ought all to be favourable to
economy, the source of capital. It is enough to say, that the first of
all these conditions is, not to alarm, to attack, to deny that which is
the stimulus of saving and the reason of its existence--interest.
As long as we see nothing passing from hand to hand, in the character of
loan, but _provisions_, _materials_, _instruments_, things indispensable
to the productiveness of labour itself, the ideas thus far exhibited
will not find many opponents. Who knows, even, that I may not be
reproached for having made a great effort to burst what may be said to
be an open door. But as soon as _cash_ makes its appearance as the
subject of the transaction (and it is this which appears almost always),
immediately a crowd of objections are raised. Money, it will be said,
will not reproduce it self, like your _sack of corn_; it does not assist
labour, like your _plane_; it does not afford an immediate satisfaction,
like your _house_. It is incapable, by its nature, of producing
interest, of multiplying itself, and the remuneration it demands is a
positive extortion.
Who cannot see the sophistry of this? Who does not see that cash is only
a transient form, which men give at the time to other _values_, to real
objects of usefulness, for the sole object of facilitating their
arrangements? In the midst of social complications, the man who is in a
condition to lend, scarcely ever has the exact thing which the borrower
wants. James, it is true, has a plane; but, perhaps, William wants a
saw. They cannot negotiate; the transaction favourable to both cannot
take place, and then what happens? It happens that James first exchanges
his plane for money; he lends the money to William, and William
exchanges the money for a saw. The transaction is no longer a simple
one; it is decomposed into two parts, as I explained above in speaking
of exchange. But, for all that, it has not changed its nature; it still
contains all the elements of a direct loan. James has still got rid of a
tool which was useful to him; William has still received an instrument
which perfects his work and increases his profits; there is still a
service rendered by the lender, which entitles him to receive an
equivalent service from the borrower; this just balance is not the less
established by free mutual bargaining. The very natural obligation to
restore at the end of the term the entire _value_, still constitutes the
principle of the duration of interest.
At the end of a year, says M. Thoré, will you find an additional crown
in a bag of a hundred pounds?
No, certainly, if the borrower puts the bag of one hundred pounds on the
shelf. In such a case, neither the plane nor the sack of corn would
reproduce themselves. But it is not for the sake of leaving the money in
the bag, nor the plane on the hook, that they are borrowed. The plane is
borrowed to be used, or the money to procure a plane. And if it is
clearly proved that this tool enables the borrower to obtain profits
which he would not have made without it, if it is proved that the lender
has renounced creating for himself this excess of profits, we may
understand how the stipulation of a part of this excess of profits in
favour of the lender, is equitable and lawful.
Ignorance of the true part which cash plays in human transactions, is
the source of the most fatal errors. I intend devoting an entire
pamphlet to this subject. From what we may infer from the writings of
M. Proudhon, that which has led him to think that gratuitous credit was
a logical and definite consequence of social progress, is the
observation of the phenomenon which shows a decreasing interest, almost
in direct proportion to the rate of civilisation. In barbarous times it
is, in fact, cent, per cent., and more. Then it descends to eighty,
sixty, fifty, forty, twenty, ten, eight, five, four, and three per cent.
In Holland, it has even been as low as two per cent. Hence it is
concluded, that "in proportion as society comes to perfection, it will
descend to zero by the time civilisation is complete. In other words,
that which characterises social perfection is the gratuitousness of
credit. When, therefore, we shall have abolished interest, we shall have
reached the last step of progress." This is mere sophistry, and as such
false arguing may contribute to render popular the unjust, dangerous,
and destructive dogma, that credit should be gratuitous, by representing
it as coincident with social perfection, with the reader's permission I
will examine in a few words this new view of the question.
What is _interest_? It is the service rendered, after a free bargain, by
the borrower to the lender, in remuneration for the service he has
received by the loan. By what law is the rate of these remunerative
services established? By the general law which regulates the equivalent
of all services; that is, by the law of supply and demand.
The more easily a thing is procured, the smaller is the service rendered
by yielding it or lending it. The man who gives me a glass of water in
the Pyrenees, does not render me so great a service as he who allows me
one in the desert of Sahara. If there are many planes, sacks of corn, or
houses, in a country, the use of them is obtained, other things being
equal, on more favourable conditions than if they were few; for the
simple reason, that the lender renders in this case a smaller _relative
service_.
It is not surprising, therefore, that the more abundant capitals are,
the lower is the interest.
Is this saying that it will ever reach zero? No; because, I repeat it,
the principle of a remuneration is in the loan. To say that interest
will be annihilated, is to say that there will never be any motive for
saving, for denying ourselves, in order to form new capitals, nor even
to preserve the old ones. In this case, the waste would immediately
bring a void, and interest would directly reappear.
In that, the nature of the services of which we are speaking does not
differ from any other. Thanks to industrial progress, a pair of
stockings, which used to be worth six francs, has successively been
worth only four, three, and two. No one can say to what point this value
will descend; but we can affirm that it will never reach zero, unless
the stockings finish by producing themselves spontaneously. Why? Because
the principle of remuneration is in labour; because he who works for
another renders a service, and ought to receive a service. If no one
paid for stockings, they would cease to be made; and, with the scarcity,
the price would not fail to reappear.
The sophism which I am now combating has its root in the infinite
divisibility which belongs to _value_, as it does to matter.
It appears at first paradoxical, but it is well known to all
mathematicians, that, through all eternity, fractions may be taken from
a weight without the weight ever being annihilated. It is sufficient
that each successive fraction be less than the preceding one, in a
determined and regular proportion.
There are countries where people apply themselves to increasing the size
of horses, or diminishing in sheep the size of the head. It is
impossible to say precisely to what point they will arrive in this. No
one can say that he has seen the largest horse or the smallest sheep's
head that will ever appear in the world. But he may safely say that the
size of horses will never attain to infinity, nor the heads of sheep to
nothing.
In the same way, no one can say to what point the price of stockings nor
the interest of capitals will come down; but we may safely affirm, when
we know the nature of things, that neither the one nor the other will
ever arrive at zero, for labour and capital can no more live without
recompense than a sheep without a head.
The arguments of M. Proudhon reduce themselves, then, to this:--Since
the most skilful agriculturists are those who have reduced the heads of
sheep to the smallest size, we shall have arrived at the highest
agricultural perfection when sheep have no longer any heads. Therefore,
in order to realise the perfection, let us behead them.
I have now done with this wearisome discussion. Why is it that the
breath of false doctrine has made it needful to examine into the
intimate nature of interest? I must not leave off without remarking upon
a beautiful moral which may be drawn from this law:--"The depression of
interest is proportioned to the abundance of capitals." This law being
granted, if there is a class of men to whom it is more important than to
any other that capitals be formed, accumulate, multiply, abound, and
superabound, it is certainly the class which borrows them directly or
indirectly; it is those men who operate upon _materials_, who gain
assistance by _instruments_, who live upon _provisions_, produced and
economised by other men.
Imagine, in a vast and fertile country, a population of a thousand
inhabitants, destitute of all capital thus defined. It will assuredly
perish by the pangs of hunger. Let us suppose a case hardly less cruel.
Let us suppose that ten of these savages are provided with instruments
and provisions sufficient to work and to live themselves until harvest
time, as well as to remunerate the services of eighty labourers. The
inevitable result will be the death of nine hundred human beings. It is
clear, then, that since 990 men, urged by want, will crowd upon the
supports which would only maintain a hundred, the ten capitalists will
be masters of the market. They will obtain labour on the hardest
conditions, for they will put it up to auction, or the highest bidder.
And observe this,--if these capitalists entertain such pious sentiments
as would induce them to impose personal privations on themselves, in
order to diminish the sufferings of some of their brethren, this
generosity, which attaches to morality, will be as noble in its
principle as useful in its effects. But if, duped by that false
philosophy which persons wish so inconsiderately to mingle with economic
laws, they take to remunerating labour largely, far from doing good,
they will do harm. They will give double wages, it may be. But then,
forty-five men will be better provided for, whilst forty-five others
will come to augment the number of those who are sinking into the grave.
Upon this supposition, it is not the lowering of wages which is the
mischief, it is the scarcity of capital. Low wages are not the cause,
but the effect of the evil. I may add, that they are to a certain extent
the remedy. It acts in this way: it distributes the burden of suffering
as much as it can, and saves as many lives as a limited quantity of
sustenance permits.
Suppose now, that instead of ten capitalists, there should be a hundred,
two hundred, five hundred,--is it not evident that the condition of the
whole population, and, above all, that of the "prolétaires,"[3] will be
more and more improved? Is it not evident that, apart from every
consideration of generosity, they would obtain more work and better pay
for it?--that they themselves will be in a better condition, to form
capitals, without being able to fix the limits to this ever-increasing
facility of realising equality and well-being? Would it not be madness
in them to admit such doctrines, and to act in a way which would drain
the source of wages, and paralyse the activity and stimulus of saving?
Let them learn this lesson, then; doubtless, capitals are good for those
who possess them: who denies it? But they are also useful to those who
have not yet been able to form them; and it is important to those who
have them not, that others should have them.
Yes, if the "prolétaires" knew their true interests, they would seek,
with the greatest care, what circumstances are, and what are not
favourable to saving, in order to favour the former and to discourage
the latter. They would sympathise with every measure which tends to the
rapid formation of capitals. They would be enthusiastic promoters of
peace, liberty, order, security, the union of classes and peoples,
economy, moderation in public expenses, simplicity in the machinery of
government; for it is under the sway of all these circumstances that
saving does its work, brings plenty within the reach of the masses,
invites those persons to become the formers of capital who were formerly
under the necessity of borrowing upon hard conditions. They would repel
with energy the warlike spirit, which diverts from its true course so
large a part of human labour; the monopolising spirit, which deranges
the equitable distribution of riches, in the way by which liberty alone
can realise it; the multitude of public services, which attack our
purses only to check our liberty; and, in short, those subversive,
hateful, thoughtless doctrines, which alarm capital, prevent its
formation, oblige it to flee, and finally to raise its price, to the
especial disadvantage of the workers, who bring it into operation. Well,
and in this respect is not the revolution of February a hard lesson? Is
it not evident that the insecurity it has thrown into the world of
business on the one hand; and, on the other, the advancement of the
fatal theories to which I have alluded, and which, from the clubs, have
almost penetrated into the regions of the legislature, have everywhere
raised the rate of interest? Is it not evident, that from that time the
"prolétaires" have found greater difficulty in procuring those
materials, instruments, and provisions, without which labour is
impossible? Is it not that which has caused stoppages; and do not
stoppages, in their turn, lower wages? Thus there is a deficiency of
labour to the "prolétaires," from the same cause which loads the objects
they consume with an increase of price, in consequence of the rise of
interest. High interest, low wages, means in other words that the same
article preserves its price, but that the part of the capitalist has
invaded, without profiting himself, that of the workmen.
A friend of mine, commissioned to make inquiry into Parisian industry,
has assured me that the manufacturers have revealed to him a very
striking fact, which proves, better than any reasoning can, how much
insecurity and uncertainty injure the formation of capital. It was
remarked, that during the most distressing period, the popular expenses
of mere fancy had not diminished. The small theatres, the fighting
lists, the public-houses, and tobacco depots, were as much frequented as
in prosperous times. In the inquiry, the operatives themselves explained
this phenomenon thus:--"What is the use of pinching? Who knows what will
happen to us? Who knows that interest will not be abolished? Who knows
but that the State will become a universal and gratuitous lender, and
that it will wish to annihilate all the fruits which we might expect
from our savings?" Well! I say, that if such ideas could prevail during
two single years, it would be enough to turn our beautiful France into a
Turkey--misery would become general and endemic, and, most assuredly,
the poor would be the first upon whom it would fall.
Workmen! they talk to you a great deal upon the _artificial_
organisation of labour;--do you know why they do so? Because they are
ignorant of the laws of its _natural_ organisation; that is, of the
wonderful organisation which results from liberty. You are told, that
liberty gives rise to what is called the radical antagonism of classes;
that it creates, and makes to clash, two opposite interests--that of the
capitalists and that of the "prolétaires." But we ought to begin by
proving that this antagonism exists by a law of nature; and afterwards
it would remain to be shown how far the arrangements of restraint are
superior to those of liberty, for between liberty and restraint I see no
middle path. Again, it would remain to be proved that restraint would
always operate to your advantage, and to the prejudice of the rich.
But, no; this radical antagonism, this natural opposition of interests,
does not exist. It is only an evil dream of perverted and intoxicated
imaginations. No; a plan so defective has not proceeded from the Divine
Mind. To affirm it, we must begin by denying the existence of God. And
see how, by means of social laws, and because men exchange amongst
themselves their labours and their productions, see what a harmonious
tie attaches the classes one to the other! There are the landowners;
what is their interest? That the soil be fertile, and the sun
beneficent: and what is the result? That corn abounds, that it falls in
price, and the advantage turns to the profit of those who have had no
patrimony. There are the manufacturers--what is their constant thought?
To perfect their labour, to increase the power of their machines, to
procure for themselves, upon the best terms, the raw material. And to
what does all this tend? To the abundance and the low price of produce;
that is, that all the efforts of the manufacturers, and without their
suspecting it, result in a profit to the public consumer, of which each
of you is one. It is the same with every profession. Well, the
capitalists are not exempt from this law. They are very busy making
schemes, economising, and turning them to their advantage. This is all
very well; but the more they succeed, the more do they promote the
abundance of capital, and, as a necessary consequence, the reduction of
interest. Now, who is it that profits by the reduction of interest? Is
it not the borrower first, and finally, the consumers of the things
which the capitals contribute to produce?
It is therefore certain that the final result of the efforts of each
class is the common good of all.
You are told that capital tyrannises over labour. I do not deny that
each one endeavours to draw the greatest possible advantage from his
situation; but, in this sense, he realises only that which is possible.
Now, it is never more possible for capitals to tyrannise over labour,
than when they are scarce; for then it is they who make the law--it is
they who regulate the rate of sale. Never is this tyranny more
impossible to them, than when they are abundant; for, in that case, it
is labour which has the command.
Away, then, with the jealousies of classes, ill-will, unfounded hatreds,
unjust suspicions. These depraved passions injure those who nourish them
in their hearts. This is no declamatory morality; it is a chain of
causes and effects, which is capable of being rigorously, mathematically
demonstrated. It is not the less sublime, in that it satisfies the
intellect as well as the feelings.
I shall sum up this whole dissertation with these words:--Workmen,
labourers, "prolétaires," destitute and suffering classes, will you
improve your condition? You will not succeed by strife, insurrection,
hatred, and error. But there are three things which cannot perfect the
entire community, without extending these benefits to yourselves; these
things are--peace, liberty, and security.