◆¹ I said of that formula that, the moment its meaning was realised, it struck the mind as an absurdity, even before the mind knew why. Let us now apply it to two simple cases, which will show its absurdity in a yet more striking manner. ◆² There is an old story commonly told of Handel. The great composer had been playing some magnificent piece of music on the organ; and as soon as the last vibration of inspired sound had subsided, he was greeted by the voice of the man who blew the bellows, saying, “I think that we two played that beautifully.” “We!” exclaimed Handel. “What had you to do with it?” He turned again to the keys, and struck them, but not a note came. “Ha!” said the bellows-blower, “what have I to do with it? Admit that I have as much to do with it as you have, or I will not give you the power to sound a single chord.” The whole point of this story lies in the fact that the argument of the bellows-blower, though possessed of a certain plausibility, is at the same time obviously absurd. But according to the principles of the Socialists, it is absolutely and entirely true. It exhibits those principles applied in the most perfect way. ◆³ With just the same force, it may be said about a great picture by the man who has woven the canvas, or tacked it to its wooden frame. This man may, according to the socialistic theory of production, call the picture the socialised product of the great painter and himself, and, though no more able to draw than a child of four years old, may put himself on a level with a Millais or an Alma Tadema. To the production of the result the canvas is as necessary as the painter.
◆1 The socialistic view of production would be true only were a certain fact of life quite different to what it is.
The nature of the fallacy which leads us to such conclusions as these is revealed almost instantly by the light such conclusions throw on it. It consists in ignoring the fact that whilst anybody, not a cripple or idiot, can blow the bellows of an organ, or stretch the canvas for a picture, only one man in a million can make music like Handel, or cover the canvas with pictures like Millais or Alma Tadema. The nature of the situation will be understood most accurately if we imagine the bellows-blower at the key-board of the organ, and the canvas-stretcher with the painter’s brushes. The one, no doubt, could elicit a large volume of sound; the other could cover the canvas with daubs of unmeaning colour. These men, then, when they work for the artists of whom we speak, may very properly be credited with a share in as much of the result as would have been produced if they had been in the artists’ places. That is to say, to the production of mere sound the bellows-blower may be held to contribute as much as the great musician; and the canvas-stretcher as much as the painter to the mere laying on of colour. But all the difference between an unmeaning discord and music, all the difference between an unmeaning daub and a picture, is due to qualities that are possessed by no one except the musician and the painter.[40] ◆¹ The socialistic theory of production would be true only on the supposition that the faculties employed in production were all equally common, and that everybody is equally capable of exertion of every grade. Now is this supposition true, or is it not true? A moment ago I spoke of it, assuming it to be obviously false; and many people will think it is hardly worth discussion. That, however, is far from being the case. It is a supposition which, as we have seen, lies at the very root of Socialism: the question it involves is a broad question of fact; and it is necessary, by an appeal to fact, to show that it is as false as I have assumed it to be.
◆1 The great feature in modern production is the progress in the productivity of the same number of men.
◆¹ Let me once again, then, state the great proposition which I am anxious to put beyond the reach of all denial or misconception. A given number of people, a hundred years ago, produced yearly in this country a hundred and forty million pounds. The same number of people to-day produce two and a half times as much. Labour, a hundred years ago, could not have produced more than the total product of the community—that is to say, a hundred and forty million pounds; and, if it produced that then, it produces no more now. The whole added product is produced by the action of Ability. The proposition is a double one. Let us take the two parts in order.
◆1 History shows us that Labour is not progressive, except within very narrow limits that were reached long ago, or, at all events, by the end of the last century.
◆¹ I have already here and there pointed out in passing how certain special advances in the productive powers of the community were due demonstrably to Ability, not to Labour; but I have waited till our argument had arrived at its present stage to insist on the general truth that, except within very narrow limits, Labour is, in its very nature, not progressive at all. If we cast our eyes backwards as far into the remote past as any records or relics of human existence will carry us, we can indeed discern three steps in industrial progress, which we may, if we please, attribute to the self-development of Labour—the use of stone, the use of bronze, and the use of iron. But these steps followed each other slowly, and at immeasurable intervals; and though the last was taken in the early morning of history, yet Labour even then had, in certain respects, reached for thousands of years an efficiency which it has never since surpassed. In the lake-dwellings of Switzerland, which belong to the age of stone, objects have been found which bear witness to a manual skill equal to that of the most dexterous workmen of to-day. No labour, again, is more delicate than that of engraving gems; and yet the work of the finest modern gem-engravers is outdone by that of the ancient Greeks and Romans. It was even found, when the unburied ship of a Viking was being reproduced for the International Exhibition at Chicago, that in point of mere workmanship, with all our modern appliances, it was impossible to make the copy any better than the original; whilst, if we institute a comparison with times nearer our own—especially if we come to the close of the last century—it is hardly necessary to say that in every operation which depended on training of eye and hand, the great-grandfathers of the present generation were the equals of their great-grandsons.
◆1 Let us then compare the workers of that period with their great-grandsons of to-day.
◆¹ We will therefore content ourselves with comparing the labourers of to-day with the labourers of the days of Pitt; and with regard to those two sets of men, we may safely say this, that in whatever respect the latter seem able to do more than the former, their seemingly increased power can be definitely and distinctly traced to some source outside themselves, from which it has been taken and lent to them—in other words, to the ability of some one able man, or else to the joint action of a body of able men. A single illustration is sufficient to prove this. It consists of a fact to which I have alluded in general terms already. It is as follows:—
◆1 We shall see that in Labour itself there has been no progress whatsoever. Ability has been the sole progressive agent.