CHAPTER I
OUR
RICHES
I
The
human race has travelled a long way, since those remote ages when
men
fashioned their rude implements of flint and lived on the
precarious
spoils of hunting, leaving to their children for their only
heritage
a shelter beneath the rocks, some poor utensils—and Nature, vast,
unknown, and terrific, with whom they had to fight for their
wretched
existence.
During
the long succession of agitated ages which have elapsed since,
mankind has nevertheless amassed untold treasures. It has cleared
the
land, dried the marshes, hewn down forests, made roads, pierced
mountains; it has been building, inventing, observing, reasoning;
it
has created a complex machinery, wrested her secrets from Nature,
and
finally it pressed steam and electricity into its service. And the
result is, that now the child of the civilized man finds at its
birth, ready for its use, an immense capital accumulated by those
who
have gone before him. And this capital enables man to acquire,
merely
by his own labour combined with the labour of others, riches
surpassing the dreams of the fairy tales of the Thousand and One
Nights.
The
soil is cleared to a great extent, fit for the reception of the
best
seeds, ready to give a rich return for the skill and labour spent
upon it—a return more than sufficient for all the wants of
humanity. The methods of rational cultivation are known.
On
the wide prairies of America each hundred men, with the aid of
powerful machinery, can produce in a few months enough wheat to
maintain ten thousand people for a whole year. And where man wishes
to double his produce, to treble it, to multiply it a hundred-fold,
he
makes
the soil, gives to each plant the requisite care, and thus obtains
enormous returns. While the hunter of old had to scour fifty or
sixty
square miles to find food for his family, the civilized man
supports
his household, with far less pains, and far more certainty, on a
thousandth part of that space. Climate is no longer an obstacle.
When
the sun fails, man replaces it by artificial heat; and we see the
coming of a time when artificial light also will be used to
stimulate
vegetation. Meanwhile, by the use of glass and hot water pipes, man
renders a given space ten and fifty times more productive than it
was
in its natural state.
The
prodigies accomplished in industry are still more striking. With
the
co-operation of those intelligent beings, modern
machines—themselves
the fruit of three or four generations of inventors, mostly
unknown—a
hundred men manufacture now the stuff to provide ten thousand
persons
with clothing for two years. In well-managed coal mines the labour
of
a hundred miners furnishes each year enough fuel to warm ten
thousand
families under an inclement sky. And we have lately witnessed the
spectacle of wonderful cities springing up in a few months for
international exhibitions, without interrupting in the slightest
degree the regular work of the nations.
And
if in manufactures as in agriculture, and as indeed through our
whole
social system, the labour, the discoveries, and the inventions of
our
ancestors profit chiefly the few, it is none the less certain that
mankind in general, aided by the creatures of steel and iron which
it
already possesses, could already procure an existence of wealth and
ease for every one of its members.
Truly,
we are rich—far richer than we think; rich in what we already
possess, richer still in the possibilities of production of our
actual mechanical outfit; richest of all in what we might win from
our soil, from our manufactures, from our science, from our
technical
knowledge, were they but applied to bringing about the well-being
of
all.
II
In
our civilized societies we are rich. Why then are the many poor?
Why
this painful drudgery for the masses? Why, even to the best paid
workman, this uncertainty for the morrow, in the midst of all the
wealth inherited from the past, and in spite of the powerful means
of
production, which could ensure comfort to all, in return for a few
hours of daily toil?
The
Socialists have said it and repeated it unwearyingly. Daily they
reiterate it, demonstrating it by arguments taken from all the
sciences. It is because all that is necessary for production—the
land, the mines, the highways, machinery, food, shelter, education,
knowledge—all have been seized by the few in the course of that
long story of robbery, enforced migration and wars, of ignorance
and
oppression, which has been the life of the human race before it had
learned to subdue the forces of Nature. It is because, taking
advantage of alleged rights acquired in the past, these few
appropriate to-day two-thirds of the products of human labour, and
then squander them in the most stupid and shameful way. It is
because, having reduced the masses to a point at which they have
not
the means of subsistence for a month, or even for a week in
advance,
the few can allow the many to work, only on the condition of
themselves receiving the lion's share. It is because these few
prevent the remainder of men from producing the things they need,
and
force them to produce, not the necessaries of life for all, but
whatever offers the greatest profits to the monopolists. In this is
the substance of all Socialism.
Take,
indeed, a civilized country. The forests which once covered it have
been cleared, the marshes drained, the climate improved. It has
been
made habitable. The soil, which bore formerly only a coarse
vegetation, is covered to-day with rich harvests. The rock-walls in
the valleys are laid out in terraces and covered with vines. The
wild
plants, which yielded nought but acrid berries, or uneatable roots,
have been transformed by generations of culture into succulent
vegetables or trees covered with delicious fruits. Thousands of
highways and railroads furrow the earth, and pierce the mountains.
The shriek of the engine is heard in the wild gorges of the Alps,
the
Caucasus, and the Himalayas. The rivers have been made navigable;
the
coasts, carefully surveyed, are easy of access; artificial
harbours,
laboriously dug out and protected against the fury of the sea,
afford
shelter to the ships. Deep shafts have been sunk in the rocks;
labyrinths of underground galleries have been dug out where coal
may
be raised or minerals extracted. At the crossings of the highways
great cities have sprung up, and within their borders all the
treasures of industry, science, and art have been
accumulated.
Whole
generations, that lived and died in misery, oppressed and
ill-treated
by their masters, and worn out by toil, have handed on this immense
inheritance to our century.
For
thousands of years millions of men have laboured to clear the
forests, to drain the marshes, and to open up highways by land and
water. Every rood of soil we cultivate in Europe has been watered
by
the sweat of several races of men. Every acre has its story of
enforced labour, of intolerable toil, of the people's sufferings.
Every mile of railway, every yard of tunnel, has received its share
of human blood.
The
shafts of the mine still bear on their rocky walls the marks made
by
the pick of the workman who toiled to excavate them. The space
between each prop in the underground galleries might be marked as a
miner's grave; and who can tell what each of these graves has cost,
in tears, in privations, in unspeakable wretchedness to the family
who depended on the scanty wage of the worker cut off in his prime
by
fire-damp, rock-fall, or flood?
The
cities, bound together by railroads and waterways, are organisms
which have lived through centuries. Dig beneath them and you find,
one above another, the foundations of streets, of houses, of
theatres, of public buildings. Search into their history and you
will
see how the civilization of the town, its industry, its special
characteristics, have slowly grown and ripened through the
co-operation of generations of its inhabitants before it could
become
what it is to-day. And even to-day, the value of each dwelling,
factory, and warehouse, which has been created by the accumulated
labour of the millions of workers, now dead and buried, is only
maintained by the very presence and labour of legions of the men
who
now inhabit that special corner of the globe. Each of the atoms
composing what we call the Wealth of Nations owes its value to the
fact that it is a part of the great whole. What would a London
dockyard or a great Paris warehouse be if they were not situated in
these great centres of international commerce? What would become of
our mines, our factories, our workshops, and our railways, without
the immense quantities of merchandise transported every day by sea
and land?
Millions
of human beings have laboured to create this civilization on which
we
pride ourselves to-day. Other millions, scattered through the
globe,
labour to maintain it. Without them nothing would be left in fifty
years but ruins.
There
is not even a thought, or an invention, which is not common
property,
born of the past and the present. Thousands of inventors, known and
unknown, who have died in poverty, have co-operated in the
invention
of each of these machines which embody the genius of man.
Thousands
of writers, of poets, of scholars, have laboured to increase
knowledge, to dissipate error, and to create that atmosphere of
scientific thought, without which the marvels of our century could
never have appeared. And these thousands of philosophers, of poets,
of scholars, of inventors, have themselves been supported by the
labour of past centuries. They have been upheld and nourished
through
life, both physically and mentally, by legions of workers and
craftsmen of all sorts. They have drawn their motive force from the
environment.
The
genius of a Séguin, a Mayer, a Grove, has certainly done more to
launch industry in new directions than all the capitalists in the
world. But men of genius are themselves the children of industry as
well as of science. Not until thousands of steam-engines had been
working for years before all eyes, constantly transforming heat
into
dynamic force, and this force into sound, light, and electricity,
could the insight of genius proclaim the mechanical origin and the
unity of the physical forces. And if we, children of the nineteenth
century, have at last grasped this idea, if we know now how to
apply
it, it is again because daily experience has prepared the way. The
thinkers of the eighteenth century saw and declared it, but the
idea
remained undeveloped, because the eighteenth century had not grown
up
like ours, side by side with the steam-engine. Imagine the decades
that might have passed while we remained in ignorance of this law,
which has revolutionized modern industry, had Watt not found at
Soho
skilled workmen to embody his ideas in metal, bringing all the
parts
of his engine to perfection, so that steam, pent in a complete
mechanism, and rendered more docile than a horse, more manageable
than water, became at last the very soul of modern industry.
Every
machine has had the same history—a long record of sleepless nights
and of poverty, of disillusions and of joys, of partial
improvements
discovered by several generations of nameless workers, who have
added
to the original invention these little nothings, without which the
most fertile idea would remain fruitless. More than that: every new
invention is a synthesis, the resultant of innumerable inventions
which have preceded it in the vast field of mechanics and
industry.
Science
and industry, knowledge and application, discovery and practical
realization leading to new discoveries, cunning of brain and of
hand,
toil of mind and muscle—all work together. Each discovery, each
advance, each increase in the sum of human riches, owes its being
to
the physical and mental travail of the past and the present.
By
what right then can any one whatever appropriate the least morsel
of
this immense whole and say—This is mine, not yours?
III
It
has come about, however, in the course of the ages traversed by the
human race, that all that enables man to produce and to increase
his
power of production has been seized by the few. Some time, perhaps,
we will relate how this came to pass. For the present let it
suffice
to state the fact and analyze its consequences.
To-day
the soil, which actually owes its value to the needs of an
ever-increasing population, belongs to a minority who prevent the
people from cultivating it—or do not allow them to cultivate it
according to modern methods.
The
mines, though they represent the labour of several generations, and
derive their sole value from the requirements of the industry of a
nation and the density of the population—the mines also belong to
the few; and these few restrict the output of coal, or prevent it
entirely, if they find more profitable investments for their
capital.
Machinery, too, has become the exclusive property of the few, and
even when a machine incontestably represents the improvements added
to the original rough invention by three or four generations of
workers, it none the less belongs to a few owners. And if the
descendants of the very inventor who constructed the first machine
for lace-making, a century ago, were to present themselves to-day
in
a lace factory at Bâle or Nottingham, and claim their rights, they
would be told: "Hands off! this machine is not yours," and
they would be shot down if they attempted to take possession of
it.
The
railways, which would be useless as so much old iron without the
teeming population of Europe, its industry, its commerce, and its
marts, belong to a few shareholders, ignorant perhaps of the
whereabouts of the lines of rails which yield them revenues greater
than those of medieval kings. And if the children of those who
perished by thousands while excavating the railway cuttings and
tunnels were to assemble one day, crowding in their rags and
hunger,
to demand bread from the shareholders, they would be met with
bayonets and grapeshot, to disperse them and safeguard "vested
interests."
In
virtue of this monstrous system, the son of the worker, on entering
life, finds no field which he may till, no machine which he may
tend,
no mine in which he may dig, without accepting to leave a great
part
of what he will produce to a master. He must sell his labour for a
scant and uncertain wage. His father and his grandfather have
toiled
to drain this field, to build this mill, to perfect this machine.
They gave to the work the full measure of their strength, and what
more could they give? But their heir comes into the world poorer
than
the lowest savage. If he obtains leave to till the fields, it is on
condition of surrendering a quarter of the produce to his master,
and
another quarter to the government and the middlemen. And this tax,
levied upon him by the State, the capitalist, the lord of the
manor,
and the middleman, is always increasing; it rarely leaves him the
power to improve his system of culture. If he turns to industry, he
is allowed to work—though not always even that—only on condition
that he yield a half or two-thirds of the product to him whom the
land recognizes as the owner of the machine.
We
cry shame on the feudal baron who forbade the peasant to turn a
clod
of earth unless he surrendered to his lord a fourth of his crop. We
called those the barbarous times. But if the forms have changed,
the
relations have remained the same, and the worker is forced, under
the
name of free contract, to accept feudal obligations. For, turn
where
he will, he can find no better conditions. Everything has become
private property, and he must accept, or die of hunger.
The
result of this state of things is that all our production tends in
a
wrong direction. Enterprise takes no thought for the needs of the
community. Its only aim is to increase the gains of the speculator.
Hence the constant fluctuations of trade, the periodical industrial
crises, each of which throws scores of thousands of workers on the
streets.
The
working people cannot purchase with their wages the wealth which
they
have produced, and industry seeks foreign markets among the monied
classes of other nations. In the East, in Africa, everywhere, in
Egypt, Tonkin or the Congo, the European is thus bound to promote
the
growth of serfdom. And so he does. But soon he finds that
everywhere
there are similar competitors. All the nations evolve on the same
lines, and wars, perpetual wars, break out for the right of
precedence in the market. Wars for the possession of the East, wars
for the empire of the sea, wars to impose duties on imports and to
dictate conditions to neighbouring states; wars against those
"blacks" who revolt! The roar of the cannon never ceases in
the world, whole races are massacred, the states of Europe spend a
third of their budgets in armaments; and we know how heavily these
taxes fall on the workers.
Education
still remains the privilege of a small minority, for it is idle to
talk of education when the workman's child is forced, at the age of
thirteen, to go down into the mine or to help his father on the
farm.
It is idle to talk of studying to the worker, who comes home in the
evening wearied by excessive toil, and its brutalizing atmosphere.
Society is thus bound to remain divided into two hostile camps, and
in such conditions freedom is a vain word. The Radical begins by
demanding a greater extension of political rights, but he soon sees
that the breath of liberty leads to the uplifting of the
proletariat,
and then he turns round, changes his opinions, and reverts to
repressive legislation and government by the sword.
A
vast array of courts, judges, executioners, policemen, and gaolers
is
needed to uphold these privileges; and this array gives rise in its
turn to a whole system of espionage, of false witness, of spies, of
threats and corruption.
The
system under which we live checks in its turn the growth of the
social sentiment. We all know that without uprightness, without
self-respect, without sympathy and mutual aid, human kind must
perish, as perish the few races of animals living by rapine, or the
slave-keeping ants. But such ideas are not to the taste of the
ruling
classes, and they have elaborated a whole system of pseudo-science
to
teach the contrary.
Fine
sermons have been preached on the text that those who have should
share with those who have not, but he who would carry out this
principle would be speedily informed that these beautiful
sentiments
are all very well in poetry, but not in practice. "To lie is to
degrade and besmirch oneself," we say, and yet all civilized
life becomes one huge lie. We accustom ourselves and our children
to
hypocrisy, to the practice of a double-faced morality. And since
the
brain is ill at ease among lies, we cheat ourselves with sophistry.
Hypocrisy and sophistry become the second nature of the civilized
man.
But
a society cannot live thus; it must return to truth, or cease to
exist.
Thus
the consequences which spring from the original act of monopoly
spread through the whole of social life. Under pain of death, human
societies are forced to return to first principles: the means of
production being the collective work of humanity, the product
should
be the collective property of the race. Individual appropriation is
neither just nor serviceable. All belongs to all. All things are
for
all men, since all men have need of them, since all men have worked
in the measure of their strength to produce them, and since it is
not
possible to evaluate every one's part in the production of the
world's wealth.
All
things for all. Here is an immense stock of tools and implements;
here are all those iron slaves which we call machines, which saw
and
plane, spin and weave for us, unmaking and remaking, working up raw
matter to produce the marvels of our time. But nobody has the right
to seize a single one of these machines and say: "This is mine;
if you want to use it you must pay me a tax on each of your
products," any more than the feudal lord of medieval times had
the right to say to the peasant: "This hill, this meadow belong
to me, and you must pay me a tax on every sheaf of corn you reap,
on
every brick you build."
All
is for all! If the man and the woman bear their fair share of work,
they have a right to their fair share of all that is produced by
all,
and that share is enough to secure them well-being. No more of such
vague formulas as "The right to work," or "To each the
whole result of his labour." What we proclaim is The Right to
Well-Being: Well-Being for All!
