But, first, I must say a word as to the manner in which M. Proudhon and his school explain what they term the illegitimacy of interest.
Capital is an instrument of labour. The use of instruments of labour is to procure us the co-operation of the gratuitous forces of nature. By the steam-engine we avail ourselves of the elasticity of air; by the watch-spring, of the elasticity of steel; by weights or waterfalls, of gravitation; by the voltaic pile, of the rapidity of the electric spark; by the sun’s rays, of the chemical and physical combinations which we call vegetation, etc., etc. Now, by confounding Utility with Value, we suppose that these natural agents possess a value which is inherent in them; and that, consequently, those who appropriate them are paid for their use, inasmuch as value implies payment. We imagine that products are burdened with one item for the services of man, which we admit to be just; and with another item for the services of nature, which we reject as iniquitous. Why, it is asked, should we pay for gravitation, electricity, vegetable life, elasticity, and so forth?
The answer to this question is to be found in the theory of value. Those Socialists who take the name of Égalitaires confound the legitimate value of the instrument, which is the offspring of human labour, with its useful result, which, under deduction of that legitimate value, or of the interest which represents it, is always gratuitous. When I remunerate an agricultural labourer, a miller, a railway company, I give nothing, absolutely nothing, for the phenomena of vegetation, gravitation, or the elasticity of steam. I pay for the human labour required for making the instruments by means of which these forces are constrained to act; or, what suits my purpose better, I pay interest for that labour. I render [p209] service for service, by means of which the useful action of these forces is turned gratuitously to my profit. It is the same thing as in the case of Exchange, or simple barter. The presence of capital does not at all modify this law, for capital is nothing else than an accumulation of values, of services, to which is committed the special duty of procuring the co-operation of nature.
And now for my paradox.
Of all the elements of which the total value of any product is made up, the part which we should pay for most cheerfully is that element which we term the interest of the advances, or capital.
And why? Because that element enables us, by paying for one, to save two. Because, by its very presence, it shows clearly that natural forces have concurred in the final result, without our having had to pay for their co-operation; and the consequence is, that the same general utility is placed at our disposal, while at the same time a certain portion of gratuitous utility has, happily for us, been substituted for onerous utility; and, in short, the price of the product has been reduced. We acquire it with a less proportion of our own labour, and, what happens to society at large, is just what would happen to an isolated individual who should succeed in realizing an ingenious invention.
Suppose the case of a common artisan, who earns four francs a-day. With two francs,—that is to say, with half-a-day’s labour, he purchases a pair of cotton stockings. Were he to try to procure these stockings by his own direct labour, I sincerely believe that his whole life would not suffice for the work. How, then, does it happen that his half-day’s work pays for all the human services which have been rendered to him on this occasion? According to the law of service for service, why is he not forced to give several years’ labour?
For this reason, that the stockings are the result of human services, of which natural agents, by the intervention of Capital, have enormously diminished the proportion. Our artisan, however, pays not only for the actual labour of all those who have concurred in the work, but also the interest of the capital by means of which the co-operation of nature was procured; and it is worthy of remark, that, without this last remuneration, or were it held to be illegitimate, capital would not have been employed to secure the assistance of the natural agents. There would have been in the product only onerous utility; for in that case the commodity would have been the exclusive result of human labour, and our artisan would have been brought back to the point whence he started,—that is to say, he would have been placed in the [p210] dilemma of either dispensing with the stockings, or of paying for them the price of several years’ labour.
If our artisan had learnt to analyze phenomena, he would soon get reconciled to Capital, on seeing how much he is indebted to it. He would be convinced, above all, that the gratuitous nature of the gifts of God has been completely preserved, and that these gifts have been lavished on him with a liberality which he owes not to his own merit, but to the beautiful mechanism of the natural social order. Capital does not consist in the vegetative force which has made cotton germinate and flower, but in the pains taken by the planter. Capital is not the wind which fills the sails of the ship, or the magnetism which acts upon the needle, but the pains taken by the sailmaker and the optician. Capital is not the elasticity of steam which turns the spindles of the mill, but the pains taken by the machine-maker. Vegetation, the power of the winds, magnetism, elasticity,—all these are purely gratuitous; and hence the stockings have so little value. As regards the pains taken by the planter, the sailmaker, the optician, the shipbuilder, the sailor, the manufacturer, the merchant, they are spread—or, rather, so far as capital is concerned, the interest of that capital is spread—over innumerable purchasers of stockings; and this is the reason why the portion of labour given by each of these purchasers is so small.
Modern reformers! when I see you desiring to replace this admirable natural order by an arrangement of your own invention, there are two things (although they are in reality one and the same) which confound me,—namely, your want of faith in Providence, and your faith in yourselves—your ignorance, and your presumption.