Between the factory-labour required to produce an American clock, which labour affords ample wages to every labourer employed, and ample security to the capitalist that he will not establish expensive machinery, and pay constant wages, without profit,—between this factory-labour, and the "garret-labour" which produces a rickety Pembroke-table, with bad materials and imperfect tools, at the lowest rate of profit to the workman,—the difference really consists in the application or non-application of capital. The theorist then steps in at this stage of the evidence, and says that the garret-labourer ought to be provided with capital. His theory resolves itself into what is called Communism; and it seeks to be maintained by exhibiting the aggregate evils of Competition. The theorist does not deny that competition has produced an immense development of wealth; but he affirms that the result of the struggle has been, to fill the hands that were already too full, and to take away from the hands that were already nearly empty. He maintains that the labouring classes have been more and more declining with every increase of the general riches; and that, at every stop in which industry advances, the proportion of the wretched to the great mass of the population as certainly increases. We shall not attempt to reply to these declamations by any counter declamation. We point to the great body of facts contained in this volume; and upon them rests our unqualified assertion that the doctrines of Communism are wholly untrue, and are opposed to the whole body of evidence that enables us to judge of the average condition of the people, past and present.
To remedy the evils which it alleges to exist, Communism proposes associations working upon a common capital, and dividing the produce of all the labour of the community. To make a whole country labour in this way, by a confiscation of all the capital of the country, presents, necessarily, great difficulties; and therefore there must be smaller communities in particular localities. But these communities must produce everything within themselves, or they must deal with other communities. There would be competition in these communistic dealings between one community and another. Even if the whole world were to become communistic, there would be competition between one nation and another nation.
The main objection to the theory of Communism (the objections to its application are obvious enough) is that, in proposing to have a common fund for all labour, it wars against the natural principle of individuality, and destroys the efficiency of production, by confounding the distinctions between the various degrees of skill and industry. If it give higher rewards to skilled labour than to unskilled, it does exactly what is done in the present state of society. If the unskilled and idle were the larger number under a system of Communism, they would soon degrade the skilled and the industrious to their own level. If they were the less powerful number, the skilled and the industrious would soon bring back the law of competition, and drive the unskilled and idle to the minimum point of subsistence.
But Communism, to meet such difficulties, sets up a system of expedients. It invokes the aid of the State as a regulating power; and, having maintained that the State is bound to find employ for every one willing to labour, however inefficiently, and to supply the necessary funds for all labour, it makes the State the great healer of differences, even as Mr. Sergeant Thorpe held that the State could provide "a salve for every sore." Let us take one example of the mode in which Communism proposes to discharge its functions.
There is a little treatise, in Italian, by Count Pecchio, on the Application of the General Laws of Production to Literary and Scientific Publications. It considers that literary-labour is governed by the same laws as any other labour; that the capital of a man of letters consists in his stores of acquired knowledge; that, as there is no equality in literary talent—as there is a great range of talent between the most skilled and the least skilled literary labourer—so the rewards of literary industry are proportionally unequal; that the wages of literary labour depend upon the usual conditions of demand and supply; that, under a system of competition in an open market, the literary labourer is more sure of his reward, however large may be the number of labourers, than in the old days of patronage for the few; that State encouragement is not necessary to the establishment of a high and enduring literature; that when literary industry is free—when it is neither fostered by bounties, nor cramped and annihilated by prohibitions—when there is neither patronage nor censorship—it is in the most favourable condition for its prosperous development. These principles, applied to literary production, are in many respects applicable to all production.
Every one has heard of the 'Organization of Labour,' which some philosophers of a neighbouring country were attempting to transfer from the theories of the closet to the experiments of the workshop, in 1848. It is not our object, as we have said, to discuss whether a vast system of national co-operation for universal production be a wise thing or a practical thing. Let us state only a small part of that system, as exhibited in the 'Organisation du Travail,' by Monsieur Louis Blanc, the second part of which is devoted to the question of literary property.
All the beneficial results contemplated by the organizers of a universal social industry are to be obtained for literary industry, according to this system, by the foundation of a Social Publishing Establishment, which is thus described: It would be a literary manufacture belonging to the State without being subject to the State. This institution would govern itself, and divide amongst its members the profits obtained by the common labour. According to its original laws, which would be laid down by the State, the Social Publishing Establishment would not have to purchase any author's right in his works. The price of books would be determined by the State, with a view to the utmost possible cheapness; all the expenses of the impression would be at the charge of the Social Establishment. A committee of enlightened men, chosen and remunerated by the Social Establishment, would receive the works. The writers whose works the Social Establishment would publish would acquire, in exchange for their rights as authors, which they would wholly resign, the right of exclusively competing for national recompenses. There would be in the annual national budget, a fund provided for such recompense, for authors in every sphere of thought. Every time the first work of an author was deemed worthy of a national recompense, a premium would also be given to the Social Establishment, that it might be indemnified for the possible loss which it had sustained in giving its support to youthful talent. Every year the representatives of the people would name, for every branch of intellectual exertion, a citizen who would examine the works issuing from the social presses. He would have a whole year to examine them thoroughly; to read all the criticisms upon them; to study the influence which they had produced upon society; to interrogate public opinion through its organs, and not judge by the blind multitude of buyers; and finally to prepare a report. The national rewards would then be distributed in the most solemn manner.
We thus state briefly but fairly the plan which is to put an end to that literary competition which it is proclaimed "commences in dishonour and ends in misery;" which is to destroy bad books and encourage good; which, it is affirmed, is "no longer to make the publication of good books depend upon the speculators, who have rarely any other intelligence than a commercial aptitude, but upon competent men, whom it interests in the success of every useful and commendable work." We truly believe that this would be a practicable plan—provided two conditions were secured, which at present seem to be left out of the account. They are simply these—that there should be unlimited funds at hand for the purpose of rewarding authors, and unlimited wisdom and honesty in their administrators. But unhappily, as we understand it, the entire plan is a confusion of principle—rejecting much that is valuable in competition, and adopting much that is positively harmful in co-operation. Those authors who are profiting largely by the competitive system are to give up their profits to the common fund, which is to support those who could not make profits under that system. This is the social workshop notion of equality. But in the literary workshop the State is to step in and restore the ancient condition of inequality, by exclusive rewards to the most deserving of the competitors. It is a practical satire upon the whole scheme of a new social arrangement.
With a sincere disposition to speak favourably of every plan for promoting the welfare of our fellow-creatures which is not founded upon a destruction of the security of property, we have no desire to maintain that all the denouncers of competition are weak and dangerous advisers of the great body of working people. We believe that the entire system of any proposed co-operation that would set aside competition is a delusion,—out of which, indeed, some small good might be slowly and painfully evoked, but which can never mainly affect the great workings of individual industry, whilst its futile attempts may relax the springs of all just and honest action. But we do not in any degree seek to oppose any practical form of co-operation that is built upon the natural and inevitable workings of capital, tending to produce, in a manner not less favourable for production than a system entirely competitive.
Co-operation is not a new thing in England. Two centuries and a half ago, Shakspere became a considerable land-proprietor at Stratford, out of his share of the profits of a co-operative enterprise; and, in the same profession of a player, Allen acquired a sufficient fortune to found Dulwich College. In those companies of players of the Elizabethan era there were shareholders with varying interests—some having a capital in the building and properties of a theatre, combined with their other capital of histrionic skill. The joint proprietors lived in great harmony together, and treated each other with affection as friends and fellows.