Here, then, we have a new order of things and the harmony of the social laws might be called in question, had they not provided for a state of matters the existence of which is possible, although very different from that which now obtains.
The difficulty we have to deal with, then, comes to this: When a ship in mid-ocean cannot reach land in less than a month, and has only a fortnight’s provisions on board, what is to be done? Clearly this, reduce the allowance of each sailor. This is not cruelty—it is prudence and justice.
In the same way, when population shall have reached the extreme limit that all the land in the world can maintain, a law which, by gentle and infallible means prevents the further multiplication of mankind, cannot be considered either harsh or unjust. Now, it is landed property still which affords us solution of the difficulty. The institution of property, by applying the stimulant of self-interest, causes the land to produce the greatest possible [p271] quantity of subsistence, and by the division of inheritances puts each family in a situation to estimate the danger to itself of an imprudent multiplication. It is very clear that any other régime—Communism, for example—would be at once a less effective spur to production, and a less powerful curb to population.
After all, it appears to me that Political Economy has discharged her duty when she has proved that the great and just law of the mutuality of services operates harmoniously, so long as human progress is not conclusively arrested. Is it not consoling to think that up to that point, and under the empire of freedom, it is not in the power of one class to oppress another? Is economic Science bound to solve this further problem: Given the tendency of mankind to multiply, what will take place when there is no longer room in the world for new inhabitants? Does God hold in reserve for that epoch some creative cataclasm, some marvellous manifestation of His almighty power? Or, as Christians, do we believe in the doctrine of the world’s destruction? These evidently are not economical problems, and there is no science which does not encounter similar difficulties. Natural philosophers know well, that all bodies which move on the surface of the earth have a tendency to descend, not to ascend. After all, a day must come when the mountains shall have filled up the valleys, when the embouchure of our rivers will be on the same level as their source, when the waters can no longer flow, etc., etc. What will happen then? Is Natural Science to cease to observe and to admire the harmony of the actual world because she cannot divine by what other harmony God will provide for a state of things far distant, no doubt, but inevitable? It seems to me that at this point the Economist, like the natural philosopher, should substitute for an exercise of curiosity an exercise of faith. He who has so marvellously arranged the medium in which we now live, knows best how to prepare another medium suitable to other circumstances.
We judge of the productiveness of the soil and of human skill by the facts of which we are witnesses. Is this a rational mode of proceeding? Then, adopting it, we may say, Since it has required six thousand years to bring a tenth part of the earth to the sorry state of cultivation in which we find it, how many hundreds of ages must elapse before its entire surface shall be converted into a garden?
Yet in this appreciation, comforting as it is, we suppose merely the more general diffusion of our present knowledge, or rather our present ignorance, of agriculture. But is this, I repeat, an [p272] admissible rule? Does not analogy tell us that an impenetrable veil conceals from us the power—the indefinite power it may be—of art? The savage who lives by the chase requires a square league of territory. What would be his surprise were he told that the pastoral life enables ten times the number of men to subsist upon the same space? The nomad shepherd would, in like manner, be quite astonished to be told that a system of triennial cultivation [la culture triennale] admits easily of a population ten times greater still. Tell the peasant accustomed to this routine that the same progress will again be the result of alternate culture[60] [la culture alterne], and he will not believe you. Alternate culture is for us the latest improvement—Is it the latest improvement for the human race? Let us comfort ourselves regarding the future destiny of the species—a long tract of ages is before us. At all events, let us not require Political Economy to resolve problems which are not within her domain—and let us with confidence commit the destinies of future races to the keeping of that great and good and wise Being who shall have called them into existence.
Let us recapitulate the ideas contained in this chapter.
These two phenomena, Utility and Value—the co-operation of nature and the co-operation of man, consequently Community and Property—are combined in the work of agriculture, as in every other department of industry.
In the production of corn which appeases our hunger, we remark something analogous to what takes place in the formation of water which quenches our thirst. The ocean, which is the theme of the poet’s inspiration, offers to the Economist also a fine subject of meditation. It is this vast reservoir which gives drink to all human creatures. And yet how can that be, when many of them are situated at a great distance from its shores, and when its water is besides undrinkable? It is here that we have to admire the marvellous industry of nature. We mark how the sun warms the heaving mass, and subjects it to a slow evaporation. The water takes the form of gas, and, disengaged from the salt, which rendered it unfit for use, it rises into the high regions of the atmosphere. Gales of wind, increasing in all directions, drift it towards inhabited continents. There it encounters cold, which condenses it, and attaches it in a solid form to the sides of mountains. By-and-by the gentle heat of spring melts it. Carried along by its weight, [p273] it is filtered and purified through beds of schist and gravel. It ramifies and distributes itself, and supplies and feeds refreshing springs in all parts of the world. Here we have an immense and ingenious industry carried on by nature for the benefit of the human race. Change of form, change of place, utility, nothing is wanting. But where is value? Value has not yet come into existence; and if what we must call the work of God is to be paid for (it would be paid for if it possessed exchangeable value)—who could tell the value of a single drop of this precious liquid?
All men, however, have not a spring of pure water at their door. In order to quench their thirst they must take pains, make efforts, exert foresight and skill. It is this supplementary human labour which gives rise to arrangements, transactions, estimates. It is here, then, that we discover the origin and foundation of value.