Page 1
Page 2
Page 3
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Accumulation of Capital
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: The Accumulation of Capital
Author: Rosa Luxemburg
Author of introduction, etc.: Joan Robinson
Translator: Agnes Schwarzschild
Release date: November 19, 2012 [eBook #41405]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41405
Credits: Produced by Fritz Ohrenschall, Judith Picken and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
ACCUMULATION OF CAPITAL ***
[Transcriber’s notes:
Missing page numbers represent blank pages, excepting Page 218 which consists
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: The Accumulation of Capital
Author: Rosa Luxemburg
Author of introduction, etc.: Joan Robinson
Translator: Agnes Schwarzschild
Release date: November 19, 2012 [eBook #41405]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41405
Credits: Produced by Fritz Ohrenschall, Judith Picken and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
ACCUMULATION OF CAPITAL ***
[Transcriber’s notes:
Missing page numbers represent blank pages, excepting Page 218 which consists
Page 4
entirely of Footnote 221.
Inconsistent hyphenation retained. A full list of errors that have been changed can be
found at the end.]
Inconsistent hyphenation retained. A full list of errors that have been changed can be
found at the end.]
Page 5
RARE MASTERPIECES OF PHILOSOPHY
AND SCIENCE
EDITED BY DR. W. STARK
★
THE ACCUMULATION OF
CAPITAL
PUBLISHED ON THE LOUIS STERN MEMORIAL FUND
THE ACCUMULATION OF
CAPITAL
by
ROSA LUXEMBURG
translated from the German
by
AGNES SCHWARZSCHILD
(doctor iuris)
With an Introduction
by
AND SCIENCE
EDITED BY DR. W. STARK
★
THE ACCUMULATION OF
CAPITAL
PUBLISHED ON THE LOUIS STERN MEMORIAL FUND
THE ACCUMULATION OF
CAPITAL
by
ROSA LUXEMBURG
translated from the German
by
AGNES SCHWARZSCHILD
(doctor iuris)
With an Introduction
by
Page 6
JOAN ROBINSON
NEW HAVEN
YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
1951
THIS TRANSLATION FIRST PUBLISHED
IN THE UNITED STATES
BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
NEW HAVEN CONNECTICUT
DESIGNED BY SEÁN JENNETT
AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
BY BUTLER AND TANNER LTD
LONDON AND FROME
NEW HAVEN
YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
1951
THIS TRANSLATION FIRST PUBLISHED
IN THE UNITED STATES
BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
NEW HAVEN CONNECTICUT
DESIGNED BY SEÁN JENNETT
AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
BY BUTLER AND TANNER LTD
LONDON AND FROME
Page 7
CONTENTS
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE page 7
A NOTE ON ROSA LUXEMBURG 9
INTRODUCTION 13
SECTION ONE
THE PROBLEM OF REPRODUCTION
page 31
I. THE OBJECT OF OUR INVESTIGATION
II. QUESNAY’S AND ADAM SMITH’S ANALYSES OF THE
48
PROCESS OF REPRODUCTION
III. A CRITICISM OF SMITH’S ANALYSIS 64
IV. MARX’S SCHEME OF SIMPLE REPRODUCTION 76
V. THE CIRCULATION OF MONEY 93
VI. ENLARGED REPRODUCTION 107
VII. ANALYSIS OF MARX’S DIAGRAM OF ENLARGED
120
REPRODUCTION
VIII. MARX’S ATTEMPT TO RESOLVE THE DIFFICULTY 139
IX. THE DIFFICULTY VIEWED FROM THE ANGLE OF THE
155
PROCESS OF CIRCULATION
SECTION TWO
HISTORICAL EXPOSITION OF THE PROBLEM
FIRST ROUND
Sismondi-Malthus v. Say-Ricardo, MacCulloch
page 173
X. SISMONDI’S THEORY OF REPRODUCTION
XI. MACCULLOCH v. SISMONDI 191
XII. RICARDO v. SISMONDI 203
XIII. SAY v. SISMONDI 211
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE page 7
A NOTE ON ROSA LUXEMBURG 9
INTRODUCTION 13
SECTION ONE
THE PROBLEM OF REPRODUCTION
page 31
I. THE OBJECT OF OUR INVESTIGATION
II. QUESNAY’S AND ADAM SMITH’S ANALYSES OF THE
48
PROCESS OF REPRODUCTION
III. A CRITICISM OF SMITH’S ANALYSIS 64
IV. MARX’S SCHEME OF SIMPLE REPRODUCTION 76
V. THE CIRCULATION OF MONEY 93
VI. ENLARGED REPRODUCTION 107
VII. ANALYSIS OF MARX’S DIAGRAM OF ENLARGED
120
REPRODUCTION
VIII. MARX’S ATTEMPT TO RESOLVE THE DIFFICULTY 139
IX. THE DIFFICULTY VIEWED FROM THE ANGLE OF THE
155
PROCESS OF CIRCULATION
SECTION TWO
HISTORICAL EXPOSITION OF THE PROBLEM
FIRST ROUND
Sismondi-Malthus v. Say-Ricardo, MacCulloch
page 173
X. SISMONDI’S THEORY OF REPRODUCTION
XI. MACCULLOCH v. SISMONDI 191
XII. RICARDO v. SISMONDI 203
XIII. SAY v. SISMONDI 211
Page 8
XIV. MALTHUS 219
SECOND ROUND
The Controversy between Rodbertus and von Kirchmann
page 227
XV. V. KIRCHMANN’S THEORY OF REPRODUCTION
XVI. RODBERTUS’ CRITICISM OF THE CLASSICAL
238
SCHOOL
XVII. RODBERTUS’ ANALYSIS OF REPRODUCTION 252
THIRD ROUND
Struve—Bulgakov—Tugan Baranovski v. Vorontsov—Nikolayon
page 271
XVIII. A NEW VERSION OF THE PROBLEM
XIX. VORONTSOV AND HIS ‘SURPLUS’ 276
XX. NIKOLAYON 284
XXI. STRUVE’S ‘THIRD PERSONS’ AND ‘THREE WORLD
292
EMPIRES’
XXII. BULGAKOV AND HIS COMPLETION OF MARX’S
298
ANALYSIS
XXIII. TUGAN BARANOVSKI AND HIS ‘LACK OF
311
PROPORTION’
XXIV. THE END OF RUSSIAN ‘LEGALIST’ MARXISM 324
SECTION THREE
THE HISTORICAL CONDITIONS OF ACCUMULATION
XXV. CONTRADICTIONS WITHIN THE DIAGRAM OF page 329
ENLARGED REPRODUCTION
XXVI. THE REPRODUCTION OF CAPITAL AND ITS SOCIAL
348
SETTING
XXVII. THE STRUGGLE AGAINST NATURAL ECONOMY 368
XXVIII. THE INTRODUCTION OF COMMODITY ECONOMY 386
XXIX. THE STRUGGLE AGAINST PEASANT ECONOMY 395
XXX. INTERNATIONAL LOANS 419
SECOND ROUND
The Controversy between Rodbertus and von Kirchmann
page 227
XV. V. KIRCHMANN’S THEORY OF REPRODUCTION
XVI. RODBERTUS’ CRITICISM OF THE CLASSICAL
238
SCHOOL
XVII. RODBERTUS’ ANALYSIS OF REPRODUCTION 252
THIRD ROUND
Struve—Bulgakov—Tugan Baranovski v. Vorontsov—Nikolayon
page 271
XVIII. A NEW VERSION OF THE PROBLEM
XIX. VORONTSOV AND HIS ‘SURPLUS’ 276
XX. NIKOLAYON 284
XXI. STRUVE’S ‘THIRD PERSONS’ AND ‘THREE WORLD
292
EMPIRES’
XXII. BULGAKOV AND HIS COMPLETION OF MARX’S
298
ANALYSIS
XXIII. TUGAN BARANOVSKI AND HIS ‘LACK OF
311
PROPORTION’
XXIV. THE END OF RUSSIAN ‘LEGALIST’ MARXISM 324
SECTION THREE
THE HISTORICAL CONDITIONS OF ACCUMULATION
XXV. CONTRADICTIONS WITHIN THE DIAGRAM OF page 329
ENLARGED REPRODUCTION
XXVI. THE REPRODUCTION OF CAPITAL AND ITS SOCIAL
348
SETTING
XXVII. THE STRUGGLE AGAINST NATURAL ECONOMY 368
XXVIII. THE INTRODUCTION OF COMMODITY ECONOMY 386
XXIX. THE STRUGGLE AGAINST PEASANT ECONOMY 395
XXX. INTERNATIONAL LOANS 419
Page 9
XXXI. PROTECTIVE TARIFFS AND ACCUMULATION 446
XXXII. MILITARISM AS A PROVINCE OF ACCUMULATION 454
INDEX 469
XXXII. MILITARISM AS A PROVINCE OF ACCUMULATION 454
INDEX 469
Page 10
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE
This is an original translation not only of the main body of the work but
also of a number of quotations from foreign authors. Page references thus
usually indicate the original foreign sources.
In so far as possible, however, I have availed myself of existing translations
and have referred to the following standard works:
Karl Marx: Capital, vol. i (transl. by Moore-Aveling, London, 1920); vol. ii
(transl. by E. Untermann, Chicago, 1907); vol. iii (transl. by E.
Untermann, Chicago, 1909)
The Poverty of Philosophy (translator’s name not given, London, 1936).
Sismondi’s introduction to the second edition of Nouveaux Principes is
quoted from M. Mignet’s translation of selected passages by Sismondi,
entitled Political Economy and the Philosophy of Government, London,
1847. No English translation exists of Marx’s Theorien über den Mehrwert.
Unfortunately, not all the West European texts, and none of the Russian—
except Engels’ correspondence with Nikolayon—were accessible to me,
and I regret having been unable to trace some quotations and check up on
others. In such cases, the English version follows the German text and will
at least bring out the point the author wanted to make.
To save the reader grappling with unfamiliar concepts, I have converted
foreign currencies and measures into their English equivalents, at the
following rates:
20 marks—25 francs—$5—£1 (gold standard); 1 hectare—(roughly) 2·5
acres; 1 kilometre—5⁄8 mile.
I am glad of this opportunity to express my gratitude to Dr. W. Stark and
Mrs. J. Robinson for the helpful criticism and appreciation with which my
work has met.
AGNES SCHWARZSCHILD
This is an original translation not only of the main body of the work but
also of a number of quotations from foreign authors. Page references thus
usually indicate the original foreign sources.
In so far as possible, however, I have availed myself of existing translations
and have referred to the following standard works:
Karl Marx: Capital, vol. i (transl. by Moore-Aveling, London, 1920); vol. ii
(transl. by E. Untermann, Chicago, 1907); vol. iii (transl. by E.
Untermann, Chicago, 1909)
The Poverty of Philosophy (translator’s name not given, London, 1936).
Sismondi’s introduction to the second edition of Nouveaux Principes is
quoted from M. Mignet’s translation of selected passages by Sismondi,
entitled Political Economy and the Philosophy of Government, London,
1847. No English translation exists of Marx’s Theorien über den Mehrwert.
Unfortunately, not all the West European texts, and none of the Russian—
except Engels’ correspondence with Nikolayon—were accessible to me,
and I regret having been unable to trace some quotations and check up on
others. In such cases, the English version follows the German text and will
at least bring out the point the author wanted to make.
To save the reader grappling with unfamiliar concepts, I have converted
foreign currencies and measures into their English equivalents, at the
following rates:
20 marks—25 francs—$5—£1 (gold standard); 1 hectare—(roughly) 2·5
acres; 1 kilometre—5⁄8 mile.
I am glad of this opportunity to express my gratitude to Dr. W. Stark and
Mrs. J. Robinson for the helpful criticism and appreciation with which my
work has met.
AGNES SCHWARZSCHILD
Page 11
Page 12
A NOTE ON ROSA LUXEMBURG
Rosa Luxemburg was born on 5 March 1870, at Zamosc, a little town of
Russian Poland, not far from the city of Lublin. She came from a fairly
well-to-do family of Jewish merchants, and soon showed the two
outstanding traits which were to characterise all her life and work: a high
degree of intelligence, and a burning thirst for social justice which led her,
while still a schoolgirl, into the revolutionary camp. Partly to escape the
Russian police, partly to complete her education, she went to Zurich and
studied there the sciences of law and economics. Her doctoral dissertation
dealt with the industrial development of Poland and showed up the vital
integration of Polish industry with the wider economic system of
metropolitan Russia. It was a work not only of considerable promise, but
already of solid and substantial achievement.
Her doctorate won, Rosa Luxemburg looked around for a promising field of
work and decided to go to Germany, whose working-class movement
seemed destined to play a leading part in the future history of international
socialism. She settled there in 1896, and two years later contracted a formal
marriage with a German subject which secured her against the danger of
forcible deportation to Russia. Now, at that moment the German Social-
Democratic Party was in the throes of a serious crisis. In 1899, Eduard
Bernstein published his well-known work Die Voraussetzungen des
Sozialismus und die Aufgaben der Sozialdemokratie, which urged the party
to drop its revolutionary jargon and to work henceforth for tangible social
reforms within the given economic set-up, instead of trying to bring about
its final and forcible overthrow. This ‘reformism’ or ‘revisionism’ seemed to
Rosa Luxemburg a base as well as a foolish doctrine, and she published in
the same year a pamphlet Sozialreform oder Revolution? which dealt with
Bernstein’s ideas in no uncertain fashion. From this moment onward, she
was and remained one of the acknowledged leaders of the left wing within
the German working-class movement.
The events of the year 1905 gave Rosa Luxemburg a welcome opportunity
to demonstrate that revolution was to her more than a subject of purely
Rosa Luxemburg was born on 5 March 1870, at Zamosc, a little town of
Russian Poland, not far from the city of Lublin. She came from a fairly
well-to-do family of Jewish merchants, and soon showed the two
outstanding traits which were to characterise all her life and work: a high
degree of intelligence, and a burning thirst for social justice which led her,
while still a schoolgirl, into the revolutionary camp. Partly to escape the
Russian police, partly to complete her education, she went to Zurich and
studied there the sciences of law and economics. Her doctoral dissertation
dealt with the industrial development of Poland and showed up the vital
integration of Polish industry with the wider economic system of
metropolitan Russia. It was a work not only of considerable promise, but
already of solid and substantial achievement.
Her doctorate won, Rosa Luxemburg looked around for a promising field of
work and decided to go to Germany, whose working-class movement
seemed destined to play a leading part in the future history of international
socialism. She settled there in 1896, and two years later contracted a formal
marriage with a German subject which secured her against the danger of
forcible deportation to Russia. Now, at that moment the German Social-
Democratic Party was in the throes of a serious crisis. In 1899, Eduard
Bernstein published his well-known work Die Voraussetzungen des
Sozialismus und die Aufgaben der Sozialdemokratie, which urged the party
to drop its revolutionary jargon and to work henceforth for tangible social
reforms within the given economic set-up, instead of trying to bring about
its final and forcible overthrow. This ‘reformism’ or ‘revisionism’ seemed to
Rosa Luxemburg a base as well as a foolish doctrine, and she published in
the same year a pamphlet Sozialreform oder Revolution? which dealt with
Bernstein’s ideas in no uncertain fashion. From this moment onward, she
was and remained one of the acknowledged leaders of the left wing within
the German working-class movement.
The events of the year 1905 gave Rosa Luxemburg a welcome opportunity
to demonstrate that revolution was to her more than a subject of purely
Page 13
academic interest. As soon as the Russian masses began to move, she
hurried to Warsaw and threw herself into the fray. There followed a short
span of feverish activity, half a year’s imprisonment, and, finally, a return
journey to Berlin. The experiences of the Warsaw rising are reflected in a
book entitled Massenstreik, Partei und Gewerkschaften, which was
published in 1906. It recommends the general strike as the most effective
weapon in the struggle of the proletariat against the bourgeoisie.
The International Socialist Congress which met at Stuttgart in 1907
prepared and foreshadowed the sorry history of Rosa Luxemburg’s later
life. On that occasion she drafted, together with Lenin, a resolution which
demanded that the workers of the world should make any future war an
opportunity for the destruction of the capitalist system. Unlike so many
others, she stuck to her resolution when, seven years later, the time of
testing came. The result was that she had to spend nearly the whole of the
first World War in jail, either under punishment or in protective custody.
But imprisonment did not mean inactivity. In 1916, there appeared in
Switzerland her book Die Krise der Sozialdemokratie, which assailed the
leaders of the German labour party for their patriotic attitude and called the
masses to revolutionary action. The foundation of the Spartacus League in
1917, the germ cell out of which the Communist Party of Germany was
soon to develop, was vitally connected with the dissemination of Rosa
Luxemburg’s aggressive sentiments.
The collapse of the Kaiserreich on 11 November 1918, gave Rosa
Luxemburg her freedom and an undreamt-of range of opportunities. The
two months that followed must have been more crowded and more
colourful than all her previous life taken together. But the end of her career
was imminent. The fatal Spartacus week, an abortive rising of the Berlin
workers, led on 15 January 1919, to her arrest by a government composed
of former party comrades. During her removal to prison she was attacked
and severely beaten by soldiers belonging to the extreme right, a treatment
which she did not survive. Her body was recovered days later from a canal.
A type not unlike Trotsky, Rosa Luxemburg had her tender and sentimental
side, which comes to the surface in her correspondence, especially in the
Briefe aus dem Gefaengnis printed in 1922. As a thinker she showed
considerable honesty and independence of mind. The Accumulation of
Capital, first published in 1913, which is undoubtedly her finest
hurried to Warsaw and threw herself into the fray. There followed a short
span of feverish activity, half a year’s imprisonment, and, finally, a return
journey to Berlin. The experiences of the Warsaw rising are reflected in a
book entitled Massenstreik, Partei und Gewerkschaften, which was
published in 1906. It recommends the general strike as the most effective
weapon in the struggle of the proletariat against the bourgeoisie.
The International Socialist Congress which met at Stuttgart in 1907
prepared and foreshadowed the sorry history of Rosa Luxemburg’s later
life. On that occasion she drafted, together with Lenin, a resolution which
demanded that the workers of the world should make any future war an
opportunity for the destruction of the capitalist system. Unlike so many
others, she stuck to her resolution when, seven years later, the time of
testing came. The result was that she had to spend nearly the whole of the
first World War in jail, either under punishment or in protective custody.
But imprisonment did not mean inactivity. In 1916, there appeared in
Switzerland her book Die Krise der Sozialdemokratie, which assailed the
leaders of the German labour party for their patriotic attitude and called the
masses to revolutionary action. The foundation of the Spartacus League in
1917, the germ cell out of which the Communist Party of Germany was
soon to develop, was vitally connected with the dissemination of Rosa
Luxemburg’s aggressive sentiments.
The collapse of the Kaiserreich on 11 November 1918, gave Rosa
Luxemburg her freedom and an undreamt-of range of opportunities. The
two months that followed must have been more crowded and more
colourful than all her previous life taken together. But the end of her career
was imminent. The fatal Spartacus week, an abortive rising of the Berlin
workers, led on 15 January 1919, to her arrest by a government composed
of former party comrades. During her removal to prison she was attacked
and severely beaten by soldiers belonging to the extreme right, a treatment
which she did not survive. Her body was recovered days later from a canal.
A type not unlike Trotsky, Rosa Luxemburg had her tender and sentimental
side, which comes to the surface in her correspondence, especially in the
Briefe aus dem Gefaengnis printed in 1922. As a thinker she showed
considerable honesty and independence of mind. The Accumulation of
Capital, first published in 1913, which is undoubtedly her finest
Page 14
achievement, reveals her as that rarest of all rare phenomena—a Marxist
critical of Karl Marx.
W. STARK
critical of Karl Marx.
W. STARK
Page 15
INTRODUCTION
Academic economists have recently returned from the elaboration of static
equilibrium to the classical search for a dynamic model of a developing
economy. Rosa Luxemburg, neglected by Marxist and academic economists
alike, offers a theory of the dynamic development of capitalism which is of
the greatest interest. The book is one of considerable difficulty (apart from
the vivid historical chapters), and to those accustomed only to academic
analysis the difficulty is rendered well-nigh insurmountable by the Marxist
terminology in which it is expressed. The purpose of this preface is to
provide a glossary of terms, and to search for the main thread of the
argument (leaving the historical illustrations to speak for themselves) and
set it out in simpler language.
The result is no doubt too simple. The reader must sample for himself the
rich confusion in which the central core of analysis is imbedded, and must
judge for himself whether the core has been mishandled in the process of
digging it out.[1]
Our author takes her departure from the numerical examples for simple
reproduction (production with a constant stock of capital) and expanded
reproduction (production with capital accumulating) set out in volume ii of
Marx’s Capital. As she points out,[2] Marx completed the model for simple
reproduction, but the models for accumulation were left at his death in a
chaos of notes, and they are not really fit to bear all the weight she puts on
them (Heaven help us if posterity is to pore over all the backs of old
envelopes on which economists have jotted down numerical examples in
working out a piece of analysis). To follow her line of thought, however, it
is necessary to examine her version of Marx’s models closely, to see on
what assumptions they are based (explicitly or unconsciously) and to search
the assumptions for clues to the succeeding analysis.
To begin at the beginning—gross national income (for a closed economy)
for, say, a year, is written c + v + s; that is, constant capital, variable capital
and surplus. Variable capital, v, is the annual wages bill. Surplus, s, is
annual rent, interest, and net profit, so that v + s represents net national
Academic economists have recently returned from the elaboration of static
equilibrium to the classical search for a dynamic model of a developing
economy. Rosa Luxemburg, neglected by Marxist and academic economists
alike, offers a theory of the dynamic development of capitalism which is of
the greatest interest. The book is one of considerable difficulty (apart from
the vivid historical chapters), and to those accustomed only to academic
analysis the difficulty is rendered well-nigh insurmountable by the Marxist
terminology in which it is expressed. The purpose of this preface is to
provide a glossary of terms, and to search for the main thread of the
argument (leaving the historical illustrations to speak for themselves) and
set it out in simpler language.
The result is no doubt too simple. The reader must sample for himself the
rich confusion in which the central core of analysis is imbedded, and must
judge for himself whether the core has been mishandled in the process of
digging it out.[1]
Our author takes her departure from the numerical examples for simple
reproduction (production with a constant stock of capital) and expanded
reproduction (production with capital accumulating) set out in volume ii of
Marx’s Capital. As she points out,[2] Marx completed the model for simple
reproduction, but the models for accumulation were left at his death in a
chaos of notes, and they are not really fit to bear all the weight she puts on
them (Heaven help us if posterity is to pore over all the backs of old
envelopes on which economists have jotted down numerical examples in
working out a piece of analysis). To follow her line of thought, however, it
is necessary to examine her version of Marx’s models closely, to see on
what assumptions they are based (explicitly or unconsciously) and to search
the assumptions for clues to the succeeding analysis.
To begin at the beginning—gross national income (for a closed economy)
for, say, a year, is written c + v + s; that is, constant capital, variable capital
and surplus. Variable capital, v, is the annual wages bill. Surplus, s, is
annual rent, interest, and net profit, so that v + s represents net national
Page 16
income. (In this introduction surplus is used interchangeably with rent,
interest and net profit.) Constant capital, c, represents at the same time the
contribution which materials and capital equipment make to annual output,
and the cost of maintaining the stock of physical capital in existence at the
beginning of the year. When all commodities are selling at normal prices,
these two quantities are equal (normal prices are tacitly assumed always to
rule,[3] an assumption which is useful for long-period problems, though
treacherous when we have to deal with slumps and crises). Gross receipts
equal to c + v + s pass through the hands of the capitalists during the year,
of which they use an amount, c, to replace physical capital used up during
the year, so that c represents costs of raw materials and wear and tear and
amortisation of plant. An amount, v, is paid to workers and is consumed by
them (saving by workers is regarded as negligible[4] ). The surplus, s,
remains to the capitalists for their own consumption and for net saving. The
professional classes (civil servants, priests, prostitutes, etc.) are treated as
hangers-on of the capitalists, and their incomes do not appear, as they are
not regarded as producing value.[5] Expenditure upon them tends to lessen
the saving of capitalists, and their own expenditure and saving are treated as
expenditure and saving out of surplus.
In the model set out in chapter vi there is no technical progress (this is a
drastic simplification made deliberately[6] ) and the ratio of capital to labour
is constant (as the stock of capital increases employment increases in
proportion). Thus real output per worker employed is constant (hours of
work per year do not vary) and real wages per man are constant. It follows
that real surplus per man is also constant. So long as these assumptions are
retained Marxian value presents no problem. Value is the product of labour-
time. Value created per man-year is constant because hours of work are
constant. Real product per man year being constant, on the above
assumptions, the value of a unit of product is constant. For convenience we
may assume money wages per man constant. Then, on these assumptions,
both the money price of a unit of output and the value of a unit of money
are constant. This of course merely plasters over all the problems of
measurement connected with the use of index numbers, but provided that
the technique of production is unchanging, and normal prices are ruling,
those problems are not serious, and we can conduct the analysis in terms of
interest and net profit.) Constant capital, c, represents at the same time the
contribution which materials and capital equipment make to annual output,
and the cost of maintaining the stock of physical capital in existence at the
beginning of the year. When all commodities are selling at normal prices,
these two quantities are equal (normal prices are tacitly assumed always to
rule,[3] an assumption which is useful for long-period problems, though
treacherous when we have to deal with slumps and crises). Gross receipts
equal to c + v + s pass through the hands of the capitalists during the year,
of which they use an amount, c, to replace physical capital used up during
the year, so that c represents costs of raw materials and wear and tear and
amortisation of plant. An amount, v, is paid to workers and is consumed by
them (saving by workers is regarded as negligible[4] ). The surplus, s,
remains to the capitalists for their own consumption and for net saving. The
professional classes (civil servants, priests, prostitutes, etc.) are treated as
hangers-on of the capitalists, and their incomes do not appear, as they are
not regarded as producing value.[5] Expenditure upon them tends to lessen
the saving of capitalists, and their own expenditure and saving are treated as
expenditure and saving out of surplus.
In the model set out in chapter vi there is no technical progress (this is a
drastic simplification made deliberately[6] ) and the ratio of capital to labour
is constant (as the stock of capital increases employment increases in
proportion). Thus real output per worker employed is constant (hours of
work per year do not vary) and real wages per man are constant. It follows
that real surplus per man is also constant. So long as these assumptions are
retained Marxian value presents no problem. Value is the product of labour-
time. Value created per man-year is constant because hours of work are
constant. Real product per man year being constant, on the above
assumptions, the value of a unit of product is constant. For convenience we
may assume money wages per man constant. Then, on these assumptions,
both the money price of a unit of output and the value of a unit of money
are constant. This of course merely plasters over all the problems of
measurement connected with the use of index numbers, but provided that
the technique of production is unchanging, and normal prices are ruling,
those problems are not serious, and we can conduct the analysis in terms of
Page 17
money values.[7] (Rosa Luxemburg regards it as a matter of indifference
whether we calculate in money or in value.[8] )
The assumption of constant real wages presents a difficulty which we may
notice in passing. The operation of the capitalist system is presumed to
depress the level of wages down to the limit set by the minimum
subsistence of the worker and his family. But how large a family? It would
be an extraordinary fluke if the average size of family supported by the
given wage of a worker were such as to provide for a rate of growth of
population exactly adjusted to the rate of accumulation of capital, and she
certainly does not hold that this is the case.[9] There is a reserve army of
labour standing by, ready to take employment when the capitalists offer it.
While they are unemployed the workers have no source of income, but are
kept alive by sharing in the consumption of the wages of friends and
relations who are in work.[10] When an increase in the stock of capital takes
place, more workers begin to earn wages, those formerly employed are
relieved of the burden of supporting some unemployed relations, and their
own consumption rises. Thus either they were living below the subsistence
minimum before, or they are above it now. We may cut this knot by simply
postulating that real wages per man are constant,[11] without asking why.
The important point for the analysis which we are examining is that when
employment increases the total consumption of the workers as a whole
increases by the amount of the wages received by the additional workers.[12]
We may now set out the model for simple reproduction—that is, annual
national income for an economy in which the stock of capital is kept intact
but not increased. All output is divided into two departments: I, producing
capital equipment and raw materials, (producers’ goods), and II, producing
consumption goods. Then we have
I: c1 + v1 + s1 = c1 + c2
II: c2 + v2 + s2 = v1 + v2 + s1 + s2
Thus
c2 = v1 + s1
This means that the net output of the producers’ goods department is equal
to the replacement of capital in the consumers’ goods department. The
whether we calculate in money or in value.[8] )
The assumption of constant real wages presents a difficulty which we may
notice in passing. The operation of the capitalist system is presumed to
depress the level of wages down to the limit set by the minimum
subsistence of the worker and his family. But how large a family? It would
be an extraordinary fluke if the average size of family supported by the
given wage of a worker were such as to provide for a rate of growth of
population exactly adjusted to the rate of accumulation of capital, and she
certainly does not hold that this is the case.[9] There is a reserve army of
labour standing by, ready to take employment when the capitalists offer it.
While they are unemployed the workers have no source of income, but are
kept alive by sharing in the consumption of the wages of friends and
relations who are in work.[10] When an increase in the stock of capital takes
place, more workers begin to earn wages, those formerly employed are
relieved of the burden of supporting some unemployed relations, and their
own consumption rises. Thus either they were living below the subsistence
minimum before, or they are above it now. We may cut this knot by simply
postulating that real wages per man are constant,[11] without asking why.
The important point for the analysis which we are examining is that when
employment increases the total consumption of the workers as a whole
increases by the amount of the wages received by the additional workers.[12]
We may now set out the model for simple reproduction—that is, annual
national income for an economy in which the stock of capital is kept intact
but not increased. All output is divided into two departments: I, producing
capital equipment and raw materials, (producers’ goods), and II, producing
consumption goods. Then we have
I: c1 + v1 + s1 = c1 + c2
II: c2 + v2 + s2 = v1 + v2 + s1 + s2
Thus
c2 = v1 + s1
This means that the net output of the producers’ goods department is equal
to the replacement of capital in the consumers’ goods department. The
Page 18
whole surplus, as well as the whole of wages, is currently consumed.
Before proceeding to the model for accumulation there is a difficulty which
must be discussed. In the above model the stock of capital exists, so to
speak, off stage. Rosa Luxemburg is perfectly well aware of the relationship
between annual wear and tear of capital, which is part of c, and the stock of
fixed capital,[13] but as soon as she (following Marx) discusses
accumulation she equates the addition to the stock of capital made by
saving out of surplus in one year to the wear and tear of capital in the next
year. To make sense of this we must assume that all capital is consumed and
made good once a year. She seems to slip into this assumption inadvertently
at first, though later it is made explicit.[14] She also consciously postulates
that v represents the amount of capital which is paid out in wages in
advance of receipts from sales of the commodities produced. (This, as she
says, is the natural assumption to make for agricultural production, where
workers this year are paid from the proceeds of last year’s harvest.)[15] Thus
v represents at the same time the annual wages bill and the amount of
capital locked up in the wages fund, while c represents both the annual
amortisation of capital and the total stock of capital (other than the wages
fund). This is a simplification which is tiresome rather than helpful (it arises
from Marx’s ill-judged habit of writing s⁄(c + v) for the rate of profit on
capital), but it is no more than a simplification and does not invalidate the
rest of the analysis.
Another awkward assumption, which causes serious trouble later, is implicit
in the argument. Savings out of the surplus accruing in each department
(producers’ and consumers’ goods) are always invested in capital in the
same department. There is no reason to imagine that one capitalist is linked
to others in his own department more than to those in the other department,
so the conception seems to be that each capitalist invests his savings in his
own business. There is no lending by one capitalist to another and no
capitalist ever shifts his sphere of operations from one department to
another. This is a severe assumption to make even about the era before
limited liability was introduced, and becomes absurd afterwards. Moreover
it is incompatible with the postulate that the rate of profit on capital tends to
equality throughout the economy,[16] for the mechanism which equalises
profits is the flow of new investment, and the transfer of capital as
Before proceeding to the model for accumulation there is a difficulty which
must be discussed. In the above model the stock of capital exists, so to
speak, off stage. Rosa Luxemburg is perfectly well aware of the relationship
between annual wear and tear of capital, which is part of c, and the stock of
fixed capital,[13] but as soon as she (following Marx) discusses
accumulation she equates the addition to the stock of capital made by
saving out of surplus in one year to the wear and tear of capital in the next
year. To make sense of this we must assume that all capital is consumed and
made good once a year. She seems to slip into this assumption inadvertently
at first, though later it is made explicit.[14] She also consciously postulates
that v represents the amount of capital which is paid out in wages in
advance of receipts from sales of the commodities produced. (This, as she
says, is the natural assumption to make for agricultural production, where
workers this year are paid from the proceeds of last year’s harvest.)[15] Thus
v represents at the same time the annual wages bill and the amount of
capital locked up in the wages fund, while c represents both the annual
amortisation of capital and the total stock of capital (other than the wages
fund). This is a simplification which is tiresome rather than helpful (it arises
from Marx’s ill-judged habit of writing s⁄(c + v) for the rate of profit on
capital), but it is no more than a simplification and does not invalidate the
rest of the analysis.
Another awkward assumption, which causes serious trouble later, is implicit
in the argument. Savings out of the surplus accruing in each department
(producers’ and consumers’ goods) are always invested in capital in the
same department. There is no reason to imagine that one capitalist is linked
to others in his own department more than to those in the other department,
so the conception seems to be that each capitalist invests his savings in his
own business. There is no lending by one capitalist to another and no
capitalist ever shifts his sphere of operations from one department to
another. This is a severe assumption to make even about the era before
limited liability was introduced, and becomes absurd afterwards. Moreover
it is incompatible with the postulate that the rate of profit on capital tends to
equality throughout the economy,[16] for the mechanism which equalises
profits is the flow of new investment, and the transfer of capital as
Page 19
amortisation funds are re-invested, into more profitable lines of production
and away from less profitable lines.[17]
The assumption that there is no lending by one capitalist to another puts
limitation upon the model. Not only must the total rate of investment be
equal to the total of planned saving, but investment in each department must
be equal to saving in that department, and not only must the rate of increase
of capital lead to an increase of total output compatible with total demand,
but the increase in output of each department, dictated by the increase in
capital in that department, must be divided between consumers’ and
producers’ goods in proportions compatible with the demand for each,
dictated by the consumption and the investment plans in each department.
There is no difficulty, however, in choosing numbers which satisfy the
requirements of the model. The numerical examples derived from Marx’s
jottings are cumbersome and confusing, but a clear and simple model can
be constructed on the basis of the assumptions set out in chapter vii. In each
department, constant capital is four times variable capital.[18] (Constant
capital is the stock of raw materials which is turned over once a year;
variable capital is the wages bill, which is equal to the capital represented
by the wages fund.) Surplus is equal to variable capital (net income is
divided equally between wages and surplus) and half of surplus is saved.[19]
Savings are allotted between constant and variable capital in such a way as
to preserve the 4 to 1 ratio. Thus four-fifths of savings represents a demand
for producers’ goods, and is added to constant capital each year, and one-
fifth represents a demand for consumers’ goods, and is added to the wages
fund (variable capital). These ratios dictate the relationship between
Department I (producers’ goods) and Department II (consumers’ goods).[20]
It can easily be seen that the basic assumptions require that the output of
Department I must stand in the ratio of 11 to 4 to the output of Department
II.[21] We can now construct a much simpler model than those provided in
the text.
c v s Gross Output
Department I 4411 11 66
Department II 16 4 4 24
Total 90
and away from less profitable lines.[17]
The assumption that there is no lending by one capitalist to another puts
limitation upon the model. Not only must the total rate of investment be
equal to the total of planned saving, but investment in each department must
be equal to saving in that department, and not only must the rate of increase
of capital lead to an increase of total output compatible with total demand,
but the increase in output of each department, dictated by the increase in
capital in that department, must be divided between consumers’ and
producers’ goods in proportions compatible with the demand for each,
dictated by the consumption and the investment plans in each department.
There is no difficulty, however, in choosing numbers which satisfy the
requirements of the model. The numerical examples derived from Marx’s
jottings are cumbersome and confusing, but a clear and simple model can
be constructed on the basis of the assumptions set out in chapter vii. In each
department, constant capital is four times variable capital.[18] (Constant
capital is the stock of raw materials which is turned over once a year;
variable capital is the wages bill, which is equal to the capital represented
by the wages fund.) Surplus is equal to variable capital (net income is
divided equally between wages and surplus) and half of surplus is saved.[19]
Savings are allotted between constant and variable capital in such a way as
to preserve the 4 to 1 ratio. Thus four-fifths of savings represents a demand
for producers’ goods, and is added to constant capital each year, and one-
fifth represents a demand for consumers’ goods, and is added to the wages
fund (variable capital). These ratios dictate the relationship between
Department I (producers’ goods) and Department II (consumers’ goods).[20]
It can easily be seen that the basic assumptions require that the output of
Department I must stand in the ratio of 11 to 4 to the output of Department
II.[21] We can now construct a much simpler model than those provided in
the text.
c v s Gross Output
Department I 4411 11 66
Department II 16 4 4 24
Total 90
Page 20
In Department I, 5·5 units are saved (half of s) of which 4·4 are invested in
constant capital and 1·1 in variable capital. In Department II 2 units are
saved, 1·6 being added to constant and 0·4 to variable capital. The 66 units
of producers’ goods provide 44 + 4·4 constant capital for Department I and
16 + 1·6 constant capital for Department II and the 24 units of consumers’
goods provide 11 + 4 wages of labour already employed, 5·5 + 2 for
consumption out of surplus, and 1·1 + 0·4 addition to variable capital,
which provide for an addition to employment.
After the investment has been made, and the labour force increased in
proportion to the wages bill, we have
c v s Gross Output
Department I 48·4 12·1 12·1 72·6
Department II 17·6 4·4 4·4 26·4
Total 99
The two departments are now equipped to carry out another round of
investment at the prescribed rate, and the process of accumulation
continues. The ratios happen to have been chosen so that the total labour
force, and total gross output, increase by 10 per cent per annum.[22]
But all this, as Rosa Luxemburg remarks, is just arithmetic.[23] The only
point of substance which she deduces from Marx’s numerical examples is
that it is always Department I which takes the initiative. She maintains that
the capitalists in Department I decide how much producers’ goods to
produce, and that Department II has to arrange its affairs so as to absorb an
amount of producers’ goods which will fit in with their plans.[24] On the
face of it, this is obviously absurd. The arithmetic is perfectly neutral
between the two departments, and, as she herself shows, will serve equally
well for the imagined case of a socialist society where investment is
planned with a view to consumption.[25]
But behind all this rigmarole lies the real problem which she is trying to
formulate. Where does the demand come from which keeps accumulation
going?
She is not concerned with the problem, nowadays so familiar, of the balance
between saving and investment. Marx himself was aware of that problem,
as is seen in his analysis of disequilibrium under conditions of simple
constant capital and 1·1 in variable capital. In Department II 2 units are
saved, 1·6 being added to constant and 0·4 to variable capital. The 66 units
of producers’ goods provide 44 + 4·4 constant capital for Department I and
16 + 1·6 constant capital for Department II and the 24 units of consumers’
goods provide 11 + 4 wages of labour already employed, 5·5 + 2 for
consumption out of surplus, and 1·1 + 0·4 addition to variable capital,
which provide for an addition to employment.
After the investment has been made, and the labour force increased in
proportion to the wages bill, we have
c v s Gross Output
Department I 48·4 12·1 12·1 72·6
Department II 17·6 4·4 4·4 26·4
Total 99
The two departments are now equipped to carry out another round of
investment at the prescribed rate, and the process of accumulation
continues. The ratios happen to have been chosen so that the total labour
force, and total gross output, increase by 10 per cent per annum.[22]
But all this, as Rosa Luxemburg remarks, is just arithmetic.[23] The only
point of substance which she deduces from Marx’s numerical examples is
that it is always Department I which takes the initiative. She maintains that
the capitalists in Department I decide how much producers’ goods to
produce, and that Department II has to arrange its affairs so as to absorb an
amount of producers’ goods which will fit in with their plans.[24] On the
face of it, this is obviously absurd. The arithmetic is perfectly neutral
between the two departments, and, as she herself shows, will serve equally
well for the imagined case of a socialist society where investment is
planned with a view to consumption.[25]
But behind all this rigmarole lies the real problem which she is trying to
formulate. Where does the demand come from which keeps accumulation
going?
She is not concerned with the problem, nowadays so familiar, of the balance
between saving and investment. Marx himself was aware of that problem,
as is seen in his analysis of disequilibrium under conditions of simple
Page 21
reproduction (zero net investment).[26] When new fixed capital comes into
existence, part of gross receipts are set aside in amortisation funds without
any actual outlay being made on renewals. Then total demand falls short of
equilibrium output, and the system runs into a slump. Contrariwise, when a
burst of renewals falls due, in excess of the current rate of amortisation, a
boom sets in. For equilibrium it is necessary for the age composition of the
stock of capital to be such that current renewals just absorb current
amortisation funds. Similarly, when accumulation is taking place, current
investment must absorb current net saving.[27]
It is in connection with the problem of effective demand, in this sense, that
Marx brings gold-mining into the analysis. When real output expands at
constant money prices, the increasing total of money value of output
requires an increase in the stock of money in circulation (unless the velocity
of circulation rises appropriately). The capitalists therefore have to devote
part of their savings to increasing their holdings of cash (for there is no
borrowing). This causes a deficiency of effective demand. But the increase
in the quantity of money in circulation comes from newly mined gold, and
the expenditure of the gold mining industry upon the other departments just
makes up the deficiency in demand.[28]
Rosa Luxemburg garbles this argument considerably, and brushes it away as
beside the point. And it is beside the point that she is concerned with. She
does not admit the savings and investment problem, for she takes it for
granted that each individual act of saving out of surplus is accompanied by
a corresponding amount of real investment, and that every piece of
investment is financed by saving out of surplus of the same capitalist who
makes it.[29] What she appears to be concerned with is rather the
inducement to invest. What motive have the capitalists for enlarging their
stock of real capital?[30] How do they know that there will be demand for
the increased output of goods which the new capital will produce, so that
they can ‘capitalise’ their surplus in a profitable form? (On the purely
analytical plane her affinity seems to be with Hobson rather than Keynes.)
Needless to say, our author does not formulate the problem of the
inducement to invest in modern terminology, and the ambiguities and
contradictions in her exposition have left ample scope for her critics to
represent her theory as irredeemable nonsense.[31] But the most natural way
existence, part of gross receipts are set aside in amortisation funds without
any actual outlay being made on renewals. Then total demand falls short of
equilibrium output, and the system runs into a slump. Contrariwise, when a
burst of renewals falls due, in excess of the current rate of amortisation, a
boom sets in. For equilibrium it is necessary for the age composition of the
stock of capital to be such that current renewals just absorb current
amortisation funds. Similarly, when accumulation is taking place, current
investment must absorb current net saving.[27]
It is in connection with the problem of effective demand, in this sense, that
Marx brings gold-mining into the analysis. When real output expands at
constant money prices, the increasing total of money value of output
requires an increase in the stock of money in circulation (unless the velocity
of circulation rises appropriately). The capitalists therefore have to devote
part of their savings to increasing their holdings of cash (for there is no
borrowing). This causes a deficiency of effective demand. But the increase
in the quantity of money in circulation comes from newly mined gold, and
the expenditure of the gold mining industry upon the other departments just
makes up the deficiency in demand.[28]
Rosa Luxemburg garbles this argument considerably, and brushes it away as
beside the point. And it is beside the point that she is concerned with. She
does not admit the savings and investment problem, for she takes it for
granted that each individual act of saving out of surplus is accompanied by
a corresponding amount of real investment, and that every piece of
investment is financed by saving out of surplus of the same capitalist who
makes it.[29] What she appears to be concerned with is rather the
inducement to invest. What motive have the capitalists for enlarging their
stock of real capital?[30] How do they know that there will be demand for
the increased output of goods which the new capital will produce, so that
they can ‘capitalise’ their surplus in a profitable form? (On the purely
analytical plane her affinity seems to be with Hobson rather than Keynes.)
Needless to say, our author does not formulate the problem of the
inducement to invest in modern terminology, and the ambiguities and
contradictions in her exposition have left ample scope for her critics to
represent her theory as irredeemable nonsense.[31] But the most natural way
Page 22
to read it is also the clearest. Investment can take place in an ever-
accumulating stock of capital only if the capitalists are assured of an ever-
expanding market for the goods which the capital will produce. On this
reading, the statement of the problem leads straightforwardly to the solution
propounded in the third Section of this book.
Marx has his own answer to the problem of inducement to invest, which she
refers to in the first chapter.[32] The pressure of competition forces each
individual capitalist to increase his capital in order to take advantage of
economies of large-scale production, for if he does not his rivals will, and
he will be undersold. Rosa Luxemburg does not discuss whether this
mechanism provides an adequate drive to keep accumulation going, but
looks for some prospective demand outside the circle of production. Here
the numerical examples, as she shows, fail to help. And this is in the nature
of the case, for (in modern jargon) the examples deal with ex post
quantities, while she is looking for ex ante prospects of increased demand
for commodities. If accumulation does take place, demand will absorb
output, as the model shows, but what is it that makes accumulation take
place?
In Section II our author sets out to find what answers have been given to her
problem. The analysis she has in mind is now broader than the strict
confines of the arithmetical model. Technical progress is going on, and the
output of an hour’s labour rises as time goes by. (The concept of value now
becomes treacherous, for the value of commodities is continuously falling.)
Real wages tend to be constant in terms of commodities, thus the value of
labour power is falling, and the share of surplus in net income is rising (s⁄v,
the rate of exploitation, is rising). The amount of saving in real terms is
therefore rising (she suggests later that the proportion of surplus saved rises
with surplus, in which case real savings increase all the more[33] ). The
problem is thus more formidable than appears in the model, for the
equilibrium rate of accumulation of capital, in real terms, is greater than in
the model, where the rate of exploitation is constant. At the same time the
proportion of constant to variable capital is rising. She regards this not as
something which is likely to happen for technical reasons, but as being
necessarily bound up with the very nature of technical progress. As
productivity increases, the amount of producers’ goods handled per man-
hour of labour increases; therefore, she says, the proportion of c to v must
accumulating stock of capital only if the capitalists are assured of an ever-
expanding market for the goods which the capital will produce. On this
reading, the statement of the problem leads straightforwardly to the solution
propounded in the third Section of this book.
Marx has his own answer to the problem of inducement to invest, which she
refers to in the first chapter.[32] The pressure of competition forces each
individual capitalist to increase his capital in order to take advantage of
economies of large-scale production, for if he does not his rivals will, and
he will be undersold. Rosa Luxemburg does not discuss whether this
mechanism provides an adequate drive to keep accumulation going, but
looks for some prospective demand outside the circle of production. Here
the numerical examples, as she shows, fail to help. And this is in the nature
of the case, for (in modern jargon) the examples deal with ex post
quantities, while she is looking for ex ante prospects of increased demand
for commodities. If accumulation does take place, demand will absorb
output, as the model shows, but what is it that makes accumulation take
place?
In Section II our author sets out to find what answers have been given to her
problem. The analysis she has in mind is now broader than the strict
confines of the arithmetical model. Technical progress is going on, and the
output of an hour’s labour rises as time goes by. (The concept of value now
becomes treacherous, for the value of commodities is continuously falling.)
Real wages tend to be constant in terms of commodities, thus the value of
labour power is falling, and the share of surplus in net income is rising (s⁄v,
the rate of exploitation, is rising). The amount of saving in real terms is
therefore rising (she suggests later that the proportion of surplus saved rises
with surplus, in which case real savings increase all the more[33] ). The
problem is thus more formidable than appears in the model, for the
equilibrium rate of accumulation of capital, in real terms, is greater than in
the model, where the rate of exploitation is constant. At the same time the
proportion of constant to variable capital is rising. She regards this not as
something which is likely to happen for technical reasons, but as being
necessarily bound up with the very nature of technical progress. As
productivity increases, the amount of producers’ goods handled per man-
hour of labour increases; therefore, she says, the proportion of c to v must
Page 23
increase.[34] This is an error. It arises from thinking of constant capital in
terms of goods, and contrasting it with variable capital in terms of value,
that is, hours of labour. She forgets Marx’s warning that, as progress takes
place, the value of the commodities making up constant capital also falls.
[35]
It is perfectly possible for productivity to increase without any increase
in the value of capital per man employed. This would occur if
improvements in the productivity of labour in making producers’ goods
kept pace with the productivity of labour in using producers’ goods to make
consumers’ goods (capital-saving inventions balance labour-saving
inventions, so that technical progress is ‘neutral’). However, we can easily
get out of this difficulty by postulating that as a matter of fact technical
progress is mainly labour-saving, or, a better term, capital-using, so that
capital per man employed is rising through time.
Rosa Luxemburg treats the authors whom she examines in Section II with a
good deal of sarcasm, and dismisses them all as useless. To some of the
points raised her answers seem scarcely adequate. For instance, Rodbertus
sees the source of all the troubles of capitalism in the falling proportion of
wages in national income.[36] He can be interpreted to refer to the
proportion of wages in gross income. In that case, she is right (on the
assumption of capital-using inventions) in arguing that a fall in the
proportion of wages is bound up with technical progress, and that the
proportion could be held constant only by stopping progress. He can also be
taken to refer to the share of wages in net output, and this is the more
natural reading. On this reading she argues that the fall in share of wages
(or rise in rate of exploitation) is necessary to prevent a fall in the rate of
profit on capital[37] (as capital per man employed rises, profit per man
employed must rise if profit per unit of capital is constant). But she does not
follow up the argument and inquire what rise in the rate of exploitation is
necessary to keep capitalism going (actually, the statisticians tell us, the
share of wages in net income has been fairly constant in modern industrial
economies[38] ). It is obvious that the less the rate of exploitation rises, the
smaller is the rise in the rate of saving which the system has to digest, while
the rise in real consumption by workers, which takes place when the rate of
exploitation rises more slowly than productivity in the consumption good
industries, creates an outlet for investment in productive capacity in those
industries. The horrors of capitalism, and the difficulties which it creates for
terms of goods, and contrasting it with variable capital in terms of value,
that is, hours of labour. She forgets Marx’s warning that, as progress takes
place, the value of the commodities making up constant capital also falls.
[35]
It is perfectly possible for productivity to increase without any increase
in the value of capital per man employed. This would occur if
improvements in the productivity of labour in making producers’ goods
kept pace with the productivity of labour in using producers’ goods to make
consumers’ goods (capital-saving inventions balance labour-saving
inventions, so that technical progress is ‘neutral’). However, we can easily
get out of this difficulty by postulating that as a matter of fact technical
progress is mainly labour-saving, or, a better term, capital-using, so that
capital per man employed is rising through time.
Rosa Luxemburg treats the authors whom she examines in Section II with a
good deal of sarcasm, and dismisses them all as useless. To some of the
points raised her answers seem scarcely adequate. For instance, Rodbertus
sees the source of all the troubles of capitalism in the falling proportion of
wages in national income.[36] He can be interpreted to refer to the
proportion of wages in gross income. In that case, she is right (on the
assumption of capital-using inventions) in arguing that a fall in the
proportion of wages is bound up with technical progress, and that the
proportion could be held constant only by stopping progress. He can also be
taken to refer to the share of wages in net output, and this is the more
natural reading. On this reading she argues that the fall in share of wages
(or rise in rate of exploitation) is necessary to prevent a fall in the rate of
profit on capital[37] (as capital per man employed rises, profit per man
employed must rise if profit per unit of capital is constant). But she does not
follow up the argument and inquire what rise in the rate of exploitation is
necessary to keep capitalism going (actually, the statisticians tell us, the
share of wages in net income has been fairly constant in modern industrial
economies[38] ). It is obvious that the less the rate of exploitation rises, the
smaller is the rise in the rate of saving which the system has to digest, while
the rise in real consumption by workers, which takes place when the rate of
exploitation rises more slowly than productivity in the consumption good
industries, creates an outlet for investment in productive capacity in those
industries. The horrors of capitalism, and the difficulties which it creates for
Page 24
itself, are both exaggerated by the assumption of constant real-wage rates
and, although it would be impossible to defend Rodbertus’ position that a
constant rate of exploitation is all that is needed to put everything right, he
certainly makes a contribution to the argument which ought to be taken into
account.
Tugan-Baranovski also seems to be treated too lightly. His conception is
that the rising proportion of constant capital in both departments (machines
to make machines as well as machines to make consumers’ goods) provides
an outlet for accumulation, and that competition is the driving force which
keeps capitalists accumulating. Rosa Luxemburg is no doubt correct in
saying that his argument does not carry the analysis beyond the stage at
which Marx left it,[39] but he certainly elaborates a point which she seems
perversely to overlook. Her real objection to Tugan-Baranovski is that he
shows how, in certain conditions, capitalist accumulation might be self-
perpetuating, while she wishes to establish that the coming disintegration of
the capitalist system is not merely probable on the evidence, but is a logical
necessity.[40]
The authors such as Sismondi, Malthus and Vorontsov, who are groping
after the problem of equilibrium between saving and investment, are treated
with even less sympathy (though she has a kindly feeling for Sismondi, to
whom she considers that Marx gave too little recognition[41] ) for she is
either oblivious that there is such a problem, or regards it as trivial.[42] We
leave the discussion, at the end of Section II, at the same point where we
entered it, with the clue to the inducement to invest still to find.
Section III is broader, more vigorous and in general more rewarding than
the two preceding parts. It opens with a return to Marx’s model for a
capitalist system with accumulation going on. Our author then sets out a
fresh model allowing for technical progress. The rate of exploitation (the
ratio of surplus to wages) is rising, for real wages remain constant while
output per man increases. In the model the proportion of surplus saved is
assumed constant for simplicity, though in reality, she holds, it would tend
to rise with the real income of the capitalists.[43] The ratio of constant to
variable capital is rising for technical reasons. (The convention by which
the annual wear and tear of capital is identified with the stock of capital
now becomes a great impediment to clear thinking.) The arithmetical model
and, although it would be impossible to defend Rodbertus’ position that a
constant rate of exploitation is all that is needed to put everything right, he
certainly makes a contribution to the argument which ought to be taken into
account.
Tugan-Baranovski also seems to be treated too lightly. His conception is
that the rising proportion of constant capital in both departments (machines
to make machines as well as machines to make consumers’ goods) provides
an outlet for accumulation, and that competition is the driving force which
keeps capitalists accumulating. Rosa Luxemburg is no doubt correct in
saying that his argument does not carry the analysis beyond the stage at
which Marx left it,[39] but he certainly elaborates a point which she seems
perversely to overlook. Her real objection to Tugan-Baranovski is that he
shows how, in certain conditions, capitalist accumulation might be self-
perpetuating, while she wishes to establish that the coming disintegration of
the capitalist system is not merely probable on the evidence, but is a logical
necessity.[40]
The authors such as Sismondi, Malthus and Vorontsov, who are groping
after the problem of equilibrium between saving and investment, are treated
with even less sympathy (though she has a kindly feeling for Sismondi, to
whom she considers that Marx gave too little recognition[41] ) for she is
either oblivious that there is such a problem, or regards it as trivial.[42] We
leave the discussion, at the end of Section II, at the same point where we
entered it, with the clue to the inducement to invest still to find.
Section III is broader, more vigorous and in general more rewarding than
the two preceding parts. It opens with a return to Marx’s model for a
capitalist system with accumulation going on. Our author then sets out a
fresh model allowing for technical progress. The rate of exploitation (the
ratio of surplus to wages) is rising, for real wages remain constant while
output per man increases. In the model the proportion of surplus saved is
assumed constant for simplicity, though in reality, she holds, it would tend
to rise with the real income of the capitalists.[43] The ratio of constant to
variable capital is rising for technical reasons. (The convention by which
the annual wear and tear of capital is identified with the stock of capital
now becomes a great impediment to clear thinking.) The arithmetical model
Page 25
shows the system running into an impasse because the output of
Department I falls short of the requirements of constant capital in the two
departments taken together, while the output of Department II exceeds
consumption.[44] The method of argument is by no means rigorous. Nothing
follows from the fact that one particular numerical example fails to give a
solution, and the example is troublesome to interpret as it is necessary to
distinguish between discrepancies due to rounding off the figures from
those which are intended to illustrate a point of principle.[45] But there is no
need to paddle in the arithmetic to find where the difficulty lies. The model
is over-determined because of the rule that the increment of capital within
each department at the end of a year must equal the saving made within the
same department during the year. If capitalists from Department II were
permitted to lend part of their savings to Department I to be invested in its
capital, a breakdown would no longer be inevitable. Suppose that total real
wages are constant and that real consumption by capitalists increases
slowly, so that the real output of Department II rises at a slower rate than
productivity, then the amount of labour employed in it is shrinking. The
ratio of capital to labour however is rising as a consequence of capital-using
technical progress. The output of Department I, and its productive capacity,
is growing through time. Capital invested in Department I is accumulating
faster than the saving of the capitalists in Department I, and capitalists of
Department II, who have no profitable outlet in their own industries for
their savings, acquire titles to part of the capital in Department I by
supplying the difference between investment in Department I and its own
saving.[46] For any increase in the stock of capital of both departments taken
together, required by technical progress and demand conditions, there is an
appropriate amount of saving, and so long as the total accumulation
required and total saving fit, there is no breakdown.
But here we find the clue to the real contradiction. These quantities might
conceivably fit, but there is no guarantee that they will. If the ratio of saving
which the capitalists (taken together) choose to make exceeds the rate of
accumulation dictated by technical progress, the excess savings can only be
‘capitalised’ if there is an outlet for investment outside the system. (The
opposite case of deficient savings is also possible. Progress would then be
slowed down below the technically possible maximum; but this case is not
contemplated by our author, and it would be irrelevant to elaborate upon it.)
Department I falls short of the requirements of constant capital in the two
departments taken together, while the output of Department II exceeds
consumption.[44] The method of argument is by no means rigorous. Nothing
follows from the fact that one particular numerical example fails to give a
solution, and the example is troublesome to interpret as it is necessary to
distinguish between discrepancies due to rounding off the figures from
those which are intended to illustrate a point of principle.[45] But there is no
need to paddle in the arithmetic to find where the difficulty lies. The model
is over-determined because of the rule that the increment of capital within
each department at the end of a year must equal the saving made within the
same department during the year. If capitalists from Department II were
permitted to lend part of their savings to Department I to be invested in its
capital, a breakdown would no longer be inevitable. Suppose that total real
wages are constant and that real consumption by capitalists increases
slowly, so that the real output of Department II rises at a slower rate than
productivity, then the amount of labour employed in it is shrinking. The
ratio of capital to labour however is rising as a consequence of capital-using
technical progress. The output of Department I, and its productive capacity,
is growing through time. Capital invested in Department I is accumulating
faster than the saving of the capitalists in Department I, and capitalists of
Department II, who have no profitable outlet in their own industries for
their savings, acquire titles to part of the capital in Department I by
supplying the difference between investment in Department I and its own
saving.[46] For any increase in the stock of capital of both departments taken
together, required by technical progress and demand conditions, there is an
appropriate amount of saving, and so long as the total accumulation
required and total saving fit, there is no breakdown.
But here we find the clue to the real contradiction. These quantities might
conceivably fit, but there is no guarantee that they will. If the ratio of saving
which the capitalists (taken together) choose to make exceeds the rate of
accumulation dictated by technical progress, the excess savings can only be
‘capitalised’ if there is an outlet for investment outside the system. (The
opposite case of deficient savings is also possible. Progress would then be
slowed down below the technically possible maximum; but this case is not
contemplated by our author, and it would be irrelevant to elaborate upon it.)
Page 26
Once more we can substitute for a supposed logical necessity a plausible
hypothesis about the nature of the real case, and so rescue the succeeding
argument. If in reality the distribution of income between workers and
capitalists, and the propensity to save of capitalists, are such as to require a
rate of accumulation which exceeds the rate of increase in the stock of
capital appropriate to technical conditions, then there is a chronic excess of
the potential supply of real capital over the demand for it and the system
must fall into chronic depression. (This is the ‘stagnation thesis’ thrown out
by Keynes and elaborated by modern American economists, notably Alvin
Hansen). How then is it that capitalist expansion had not yet (in 1912)
shown any sign of slackening?
In chapter xxvi Rosa Luxemburg advances her central thesis—that it is the
invasion of primitive economies by capitalism which keeps the system
alive. There follows a scorching account of the manner in which the
capitalist system, by trade, conquest and theft, swallowed up the pre-
capitalist economies,—some reduced to colonies of capitalist nations, some
remaining nominally independent—and fed itself upon their ruins. The
thread of analysis running through the historical illustrations is not easy to
pick up, but the main argument seems to be as follows: As soon as a
primitive closed economy has been broken into, by force or guile, cheap
mass-produced consumption goods displace the old hand production of the
family or village communities, so that a market is provided for ever-
increasing outputs from the industries of Department II in the old centres of
capitalism, without the standard of life of the workers who consume these
commodities being raised.[47] The ever-growing capacity of the export
industries requires the products of Department I, thus maintaining
investment at home. At the same time great capital works, such as railways,
are undertaken in the new territories.[48] This investment is matched partly
by savings from surplus extracted on the spot, but mainly by loans from the
old capitalist countries. There is no difficulty here in accounting for the
inducement to invest, for the new territories yield commodities
unobtainable at home.[49] We might set out the essence of the argument as
follows: Cloth from Lancashire pays for labour in America, which is used to
produce wheat and cotton. These provide wages and raw materials to the
Lancashire mills, while the profits acquired both on the plantations and in
the mills are invested in steel rails and rolling stock, which open up fresh
hypothesis about the nature of the real case, and so rescue the succeeding
argument. If in reality the distribution of income between workers and
capitalists, and the propensity to save of capitalists, are such as to require a
rate of accumulation which exceeds the rate of increase in the stock of
capital appropriate to technical conditions, then there is a chronic excess of
the potential supply of real capital over the demand for it and the system
must fall into chronic depression. (This is the ‘stagnation thesis’ thrown out
by Keynes and elaborated by modern American economists, notably Alvin
Hansen). How then is it that capitalist expansion had not yet (in 1912)
shown any sign of slackening?
In chapter xxvi Rosa Luxemburg advances her central thesis—that it is the
invasion of primitive economies by capitalism which keeps the system
alive. There follows a scorching account of the manner in which the
capitalist system, by trade, conquest and theft, swallowed up the pre-
capitalist economies,—some reduced to colonies of capitalist nations, some
remaining nominally independent—and fed itself upon their ruins. The
thread of analysis running through the historical illustrations is not easy to
pick up, but the main argument seems to be as follows: As soon as a
primitive closed economy has been broken into, by force or guile, cheap
mass-produced consumption goods displace the old hand production of the
family or village communities, so that a market is provided for ever-
increasing outputs from the industries of Department II in the old centres of
capitalism, without the standard of life of the workers who consume these
commodities being raised.[47] The ever-growing capacity of the export
industries requires the products of Department I, thus maintaining
investment at home. At the same time great capital works, such as railways,
are undertaken in the new territories.[48] This investment is matched partly
by savings from surplus extracted on the spot, but mainly by loans from the
old capitalist countries. There is no difficulty here in accounting for the
inducement to invest, for the new territories yield commodities
unobtainable at home.[49] We might set out the essence of the argument as
follows: Cloth from Lancashire pays for labour in America, which is used to
produce wheat and cotton. These provide wages and raw materials to the
Lancashire mills, while the profits acquired both on the plantations and in
the mills are invested in steel rails and rolling stock, which open up fresh
Page 27
territories, so that the whole process is continuously expanding. Moreover,
apart from profits earned on capital actually invested in the new territories,
great capital gains are made simply by acquiring possession of land and
other natural resources.[50] Labour to work the resources may be provided
by the local dispossessed peasantry or by immigration from the centres of
capitalism.[51] Investment in equipment for it to use is more profitable than
in that operated by home labour, partly because the wretched condition of
the colonial workers makes the rate of exploitation higher,[52] but mainly
just because they are on the spot, and can turn the natural resources seized
by the capitalists into means of production. No amount of investment in
equipment for British labour would produce soil bearing cotton, rubber or
copper. Thus investment is deflected abroad[53] and the promise of profit
represented by the natural resources calls into existence, by fair means or
foul, the labour and capital to make it come true. The process of building up
this capital provides an outlet for the old industries and rescues them from
the contradictions inherent in deficiency of demand.
The analysis of militarism in the last chapter over-reaches itself by trying to
prove too much. The argument is that armaments are built up out of taxes
which fall entirely on wages.[54] This can be regarded as a kind of ‘forced
saving’ imposed on the workers. These savings are extra to the saving out of
surplus. They are invested in armaments, and that ends the story. On this
basis the armaments, in themselves, cannot be held to provide an outlet for
the investment of surplus (though the use of the armaments, as in the
Opium War,[55] to break up primitive economies is a necessary condition for
the colonial investment already described) and capital equipment to produce
armaments is merely substituted for capital formerly producing consumers’
goods. The analysis which best fits Rosa Luxemburg’s own argument, and
the facts, is that armaments provide an outlet for the investment of surplus
(over and above any contribution there may be from forced saving out of
wages), which, unlike other kinds of investment, creates no further problem
by increasing productive capacity (not to mention the huge new investment
opportunities created by reconstruction after the capitalist nations have
turned their weapons against each other).
All this is perhaps too neat an account of what our author is saying. The
argument streams along bearing a welter of historical examples in its flood,
apart from profits earned on capital actually invested in the new territories,
great capital gains are made simply by acquiring possession of land and
other natural resources.[50] Labour to work the resources may be provided
by the local dispossessed peasantry or by immigration from the centres of
capitalism.[51] Investment in equipment for it to use is more profitable than
in that operated by home labour, partly because the wretched condition of
the colonial workers makes the rate of exploitation higher,[52] but mainly
just because they are on the spot, and can turn the natural resources seized
by the capitalists into means of production. No amount of investment in
equipment for British labour would produce soil bearing cotton, rubber or
copper. Thus investment is deflected abroad[53] and the promise of profit
represented by the natural resources calls into existence, by fair means or
foul, the labour and capital to make it come true. The process of building up
this capital provides an outlet for the old industries and rescues them from
the contradictions inherent in deficiency of demand.
The analysis of militarism in the last chapter over-reaches itself by trying to
prove too much. The argument is that armaments are built up out of taxes
which fall entirely on wages.[54] This can be regarded as a kind of ‘forced
saving’ imposed on the workers. These savings are extra to the saving out of
surplus. They are invested in armaments, and that ends the story. On this
basis the armaments, in themselves, cannot be held to provide an outlet for
the investment of surplus (though the use of the armaments, as in the
Opium War,[55] to break up primitive economies is a necessary condition for
the colonial investment already described) and capital equipment to produce
armaments is merely substituted for capital formerly producing consumers’
goods. The analysis which best fits Rosa Luxemburg’s own argument, and
the facts, is that armaments provide an outlet for the investment of surplus
(over and above any contribution there may be from forced saving out of
wages), which, unlike other kinds of investment, creates no further problem
by increasing productive capacity (not to mention the huge new investment
opportunities created by reconstruction after the capitalist nations have
turned their weapons against each other).
All this is perhaps too neat an account of what our author is saying. The
argument streams along bearing a welter of historical examples in its flood,
Page 28
and ideas emerge and disappear again bewilderingly. But something like the
above seems to be intended. And something like it is now widely accepted
as being true. Rosa Luxemburg, as we have seen, neglects the rise in real
wages which takes place as capitalism develops, and denies the internal
inducement to invest provided by technical progress, two factors which help
to rescue capitalism from the difficulties which it creates for itself. She is
left with only one influence (economic imperialism) to account for
continuous capital accumulation, so that her analysis is incomplete. All the
same, few would deny that the extension of capitalism into new territories
was the mainspring of what an academic economist has called the ‘vast
secular boom’ of the last two hundred years,[56] and many academic
economists account for the uneasy condition of capitalism in the twentieth
century largely by the ‘closing of the frontier’ all over the world.[57] But the
academic economists are being wise after the event. For all its confusions
and exaggerations, this book shows more prescience than any orthodox
contemporary could claim.
JOAN ROBINSON
Cambridge.
above seems to be intended. And something like it is now widely accepted
as being true. Rosa Luxemburg, as we have seen, neglects the rise in real
wages which takes place as capitalism develops, and denies the internal
inducement to invest provided by technical progress, two factors which help
to rescue capitalism from the difficulties which it creates for itself. She is
left with only one influence (economic imperialism) to account for
continuous capital accumulation, so that her analysis is incomplete. All the
same, few would deny that the extension of capitalism into new territories
was the mainspring of what an academic economist has called the ‘vast
secular boom’ of the last two hundred years,[56] and many academic
economists account for the uneasy condition of capitalism in the twentieth
century largely by the ‘closing of the frontier’ all over the world.[57] But the
academic economists are being wise after the event. For all its confusions
and exaggerations, this book shows more prescience than any orthodox
contemporary could claim.
JOAN ROBINSON
Cambridge.
Page 29
SECTION ONE
★
★
Page 30
THE PROBLEM OF REPRODUCTION
Page 31
CHAPTER I
Page 32
THE OBJECT OF OUR INVESTIGATION
Karl Marx made a contribution of lasting service to the theory of economics
when he drew attention to the problem of the reproduction of the entire
social capital. It is significant that in the history of economics we find only
two attempts at an exact exposition of this problem: one by Quesnay, the
father of the Physiocrats, at its very inception; and in its final stage this
attempt by Marx. In the interim, the problem was ever with bourgeois
economics. Yet bourgeois economists have never been fully aware of this
problem in its pure aspects, detached from related and intersecting minor
problems; they have never been able to formulate it precisely, let alone
solve it. Seeing that the problem is of paramount importance, their attempts
may all the same help us to some understanding of the trend of scientific
economics.
What is it precisely that constitutes this problem of the reproduction of total
capital? The literal meaning of the word ‘reproduction’ is repetition,
renewal of the process of production. At first sight it may be difficult to see
in what respect the idea of reproduction differs from that of repetition which
we can all understand—why such a new and unfamiliar term should be
required. But in the sort of repetition which we shall consider, in the
continual recurrence of the process of production, there are certain
distinctive features. First, the regular repetition of reproduction is the
general sine qua non of regular consumption which in its turn has been the
precondition of human civilisation in every one of its historical forms. The
concept of reproduction, viewed in this way, reflects an aspect of the history
of civilisation. Production can never be resumed, there can be no
reproduction, unless certain prerequisites such as tools, raw materials and
labour have been established during the preceding period of production.
However, at the most primitive level of man’s civilisation, at the initial
stage of man’s power over nature; this possibility to re-engage in production
depended more or less on chance. So long as hunting and fishing were the
main foundations of social existence, frequent periods of general starvation
interrupted the regular repetition of production. Some primitive peoples
recognised at a very early stage that for reproduction as a regularly
Karl Marx made a contribution of lasting service to the theory of economics
when he drew attention to the problem of the reproduction of the entire
social capital. It is significant that in the history of economics we find only
two attempts at an exact exposition of this problem: one by Quesnay, the
father of the Physiocrats, at its very inception; and in its final stage this
attempt by Marx. In the interim, the problem was ever with bourgeois
economics. Yet bourgeois economists have never been fully aware of this
problem in its pure aspects, detached from related and intersecting minor
problems; they have never been able to formulate it precisely, let alone
solve it. Seeing that the problem is of paramount importance, their attempts
may all the same help us to some understanding of the trend of scientific
economics.
What is it precisely that constitutes this problem of the reproduction of total
capital? The literal meaning of the word ‘reproduction’ is repetition,
renewal of the process of production. At first sight it may be difficult to see
in what respect the idea of reproduction differs from that of repetition which
we can all understand—why such a new and unfamiliar term should be
required. But in the sort of repetition which we shall consider, in the
continual recurrence of the process of production, there are certain
distinctive features. First, the regular repetition of reproduction is the
general sine qua non of regular consumption which in its turn has been the
precondition of human civilisation in every one of its historical forms. The
concept of reproduction, viewed in this way, reflects an aspect of the history
of civilisation. Production can never be resumed, there can be no
reproduction, unless certain prerequisites such as tools, raw materials and
labour have been established during the preceding period of production.
However, at the most primitive level of man’s civilisation, at the initial
stage of man’s power over nature; this possibility to re-engage in production
depended more or less on chance. So long as hunting and fishing were the
main foundations of social existence, frequent periods of general starvation
interrupted the regular repetition of production. Some primitive peoples
recognised at a very early stage that for reproduction as a regularly
Page 33
recurring process certain measures were essential; these they incorporated
into ceremonies of a religious nature; and in this way they accepted such
measures as traditional social commitments. Thus, as the thorough
researches of Spencer and Gillen have taught us, the totem cult of the
Australian negroes is fundamentally nothing but certain measures taken by
social groups for the purpose of securing and preserving their animal and
vegetable foodstuffs; these precautions had been taken year by year since
time immemorial and thus they became fossilised into religious
ceremonials. Yet the circle of consumption and production which forms the
essence of reproduction became possible only with the invention of tillage
with the hoe, with the taming of domestic animals, and with cattle-raising
for the purpose of consumption. Reproduction is something more than mere
repetition in so far as it presupposes a certain level of society’s supremacy
over nature, or, in economic terms, a certain standard of labour productivity.
On the other hand, at all stages of social development, the process of
production is based on the continuation of two different, though closely
connected factors, the technical and social conditions—on the precise
relationship between man and nature and that between men and men.
Reproduction depends to the same degree on both these conditions. We
have just seen how reproduction is bound up with the conditions of human
working techniques, how far it is indeed solely the result of a certain level
of labour productivity; but the social forms of production prevailing in each
case are no less decisive. In a primitive communist agrarian community,
reproduction as well as the whole plan of economic life is determined by
the community of all workers and their democratic organs. The decision to
re-engage in labour—the organisation of labour—the provision of raw
materials, tools, and man-power as the essential preliminaries of labour—
the arrangement of reproduction and the determination of its volume are all
results of a planned co-operation in which everybody within the boundaries
of the community takes his part. In an economic system based on slave
labour or corvée, reproduction is enforced and regulated in all details by
personal relations of domination. Here the volume of reproduction is
determined by the right of disposal held by the ruling élites over smaller or
larger circles of other people’s labour. In a society producing by capitalist
methods, reproduction assumes a peculiar form, as a mere glance at certain
striking phenomena will show us. In every other society known to history,
reproduction recurs in a regular sequence as far as its preconditions, the
into ceremonies of a religious nature; and in this way they accepted such
measures as traditional social commitments. Thus, as the thorough
researches of Spencer and Gillen have taught us, the totem cult of the
Australian negroes is fundamentally nothing but certain measures taken by
social groups for the purpose of securing and preserving their animal and
vegetable foodstuffs; these precautions had been taken year by year since
time immemorial and thus they became fossilised into religious
ceremonials. Yet the circle of consumption and production which forms the
essence of reproduction became possible only with the invention of tillage
with the hoe, with the taming of domestic animals, and with cattle-raising
for the purpose of consumption. Reproduction is something more than mere
repetition in so far as it presupposes a certain level of society’s supremacy
over nature, or, in economic terms, a certain standard of labour productivity.
On the other hand, at all stages of social development, the process of
production is based on the continuation of two different, though closely
connected factors, the technical and social conditions—on the precise
relationship between man and nature and that between men and men.
Reproduction depends to the same degree on both these conditions. We
have just seen how reproduction is bound up with the conditions of human
working techniques, how far it is indeed solely the result of a certain level
of labour productivity; but the social forms of production prevailing in each
case are no less decisive. In a primitive communist agrarian community,
reproduction as well as the whole plan of economic life is determined by
the community of all workers and their democratic organs. The decision to
re-engage in labour—the organisation of labour—the provision of raw
materials, tools, and man-power as the essential preliminaries of labour—
the arrangement of reproduction and the determination of its volume are all
results of a planned co-operation in which everybody within the boundaries
of the community takes his part. In an economic system based on slave
labour or corvée, reproduction is enforced and regulated in all details by
personal relations of domination. Here the volume of reproduction is
determined by the right of disposal held by the ruling élites over smaller or
larger circles of other people’s labour. In a society producing by capitalist
methods, reproduction assumes a peculiar form, as a mere glance at certain
striking phenomena will show us. In every other society known to history,
reproduction recurs in a regular sequence as far as its preconditions, the
Page 34
existing means of production and labour power, make this possible. As a
rule, only external influences such as a devastating war or a great
pestilence, depopulating vast areas of former cultural life, and consequently
destroying masses of labour power and of accumulated means of
production, can result in a complete interruption of reproduction or in its
contraction to any considerable extent for longer or shorter periods. A
despotic organisation of the plan of production may on occasion lead to
similar phenomena. When in ancient Egypt Pharaoh’s will chained
thousands of fellaheen for decades to the building of the pyramids; when in
modern Egypt Ismail Pasha ordered 20,000 fellaheen to forced labour on
the Suez Canal; or when, about two hundred years before Christ, the
Emperor Shi Hoang Ti, founder of the Chin dynasty, allowed 400,000
people to perish of hunger and exhaustion and thus sacrificed a whole
generation to his purpose of consolidating the Great Wall at China’s
northern frontier, the result was always that vast stretches of arable land
were left fallow and that regular economic life was interrupted for long
periods. In all these cases the causes of these interruptions of reproduction
obviously lay in the one-sided determination of the plan of reproduction by
those in power.
Societies which produce according to capitalist methods present a different
picture. We observe that in certain periods all the ingredients of
reproduction may be available, both labour and means of production, and
yet some vital needs of society for consumer goods may be left unfulfilled.
We find that in spite of these resources reproduction may in part be
completely suspended and in part curtailed. Here it is no despotic
interference with the economic plan that is responsible for the difficulties in
the process of production. Quite apart from all technical conditions,
reproduction here depends on purely social considerations: only those
goods are produced which can with certainty be expected to sell, and not
merely to sell, but to sell at the customary profit. Thus profit becomes an
end in itself, the decisive factor which determines not only production but
also reproduction. Not only does it decide in each case what work is to be
undertaken, how it is to be carried out, and how the products are to be
distributed; what is more, profit decides, also, at the end of every working
period, whether the labour process is to be resumed, and, if so, to what
extent and in what direction it should be made to operate.[58]
rule, only external influences such as a devastating war or a great
pestilence, depopulating vast areas of former cultural life, and consequently
destroying masses of labour power and of accumulated means of
production, can result in a complete interruption of reproduction or in its
contraction to any considerable extent for longer or shorter periods. A
despotic organisation of the plan of production may on occasion lead to
similar phenomena. When in ancient Egypt Pharaoh’s will chained
thousands of fellaheen for decades to the building of the pyramids; when in
modern Egypt Ismail Pasha ordered 20,000 fellaheen to forced labour on
the Suez Canal; or when, about two hundred years before Christ, the
Emperor Shi Hoang Ti, founder of the Chin dynasty, allowed 400,000
people to perish of hunger and exhaustion and thus sacrificed a whole
generation to his purpose of consolidating the Great Wall at China’s
northern frontier, the result was always that vast stretches of arable land
were left fallow and that regular economic life was interrupted for long
periods. In all these cases the causes of these interruptions of reproduction
obviously lay in the one-sided determination of the plan of reproduction by
those in power.
Societies which produce according to capitalist methods present a different
picture. We observe that in certain periods all the ingredients of
reproduction may be available, both labour and means of production, and
yet some vital needs of society for consumer goods may be left unfulfilled.
We find that in spite of these resources reproduction may in part be
completely suspended and in part curtailed. Here it is no despotic
interference with the economic plan that is responsible for the difficulties in
the process of production. Quite apart from all technical conditions,
reproduction here depends on purely social considerations: only those
goods are produced which can with certainty be expected to sell, and not
merely to sell, but to sell at the customary profit. Thus profit becomes an
end in itself, the decisive factor which determines not only production but
also reproduction. Not only does it decide in each case what work is to be
undertaken, how it is to be carried out, and how the products are to be
distributed; what is more, profit decides, also, at the end of every working
period, whether the labour process is to be resumed, and, if so, to what
extent and in what direction it should be made to operate.[58]
Page 35
In capitalist society, therefore, the process of reproduction as a whole,
constitutes a peculiar and most complicated problem, in consequence of
these purely historical and social factors. There is, as we shall see, an
external characteristic which shows clearly this specific historical
peculiarity of the capitalist process of reproduction. Comprising not only
production but also circulation (the process of exchange), it unites these two
elements. Capitalist production is primarily production by innumerable
private producers without any planned regulation. The only social link
between these producers is the act of exchange. In taking account of social
requirements reproduction has no clue to go on other than the experiences
of the preceding labour period. These experiences, however, remain the
private experiences of individual producers and are not integrated into a
comprehensive and social form. Moreover, they do not always refer
positively and directly to the needs of society. They are often rather indirect
and negative, for it is only on the basis of price fluctuations that they
indicate whether the aggregate of produced commodities falls short of the
effective demand or exceeds it. Yet the individual private producers make
recurrent use of these experiences of the preceding labour period when they
re-engage in reproduction, so that glut or shortage are bound to occur again
in the following period. Individual branches of production may develop
independently, so that there may be a surplus in one branch and a deficiency
in another. But as nearly all individual branches of production are
interdependent technically, glut or shortage in some of the larger branches
of production lead to the same phenomenon in most of the others. Thus the
general supply of products may alternate periodically between shortage and
surplus relative to the social demand.
Herein lies the peculiar character of reproduction in a capitalist society,
which differs from all other known forms of production. In the first place,
every branch of production develops independently within certain limits, in
a way that leads to periodical interruptions of production of shorter or
longer duration. Secondly, the individual branches of reproduction show
deviations from social requirements amounting to all-round disparity and
thus resulting in a general interruption of reproduction. These features of
capitalist reproduction are quite characteristic. In all other economic
systems, reproduction runs its uninterrupted and regular course, apart from
external disturbance by violence. Capitalist reproduction, however, to quote
Sismondi’s well-known dictum, can only be represented as a continuous
constitutes a peculiar and most complicated problem, in consequence of
these purely historical and social factors. There is, as we shall see, an
external characteristic which shows clearly this specific historical
peculiarity of the capitalist process of reproduction. Comprising not only
production but also circulation (the process of exchange), it unites these two
elements. Capitalist production is primarily production by innumerable
private producers without any planned regulation. The only social link
between these producers is the act of exchange. In taking account of social
requirements reproduction has no clue to go on other than the experiences
of the preceding labour period. These experiences, however, remain the
private experiences of individual producers and are not integrated into a
comprehensive and social form. Moreover, they do not always refer
positively and directly to the needs of society. They are often rather indirect
and negative, for it is only on the basis of price fluctuations that they
indicate whether the aggregate of produced commodities falls short of the
effective demand or exceeds it. Yet the individual private producers make
recurrent use of these experiences of the preceding labour period when they
re-engage in reproduction, so that glut or shortage are bound to occur again
in the following period. Individual branches of production may develop
independently, so that there may be a surplus in one branch and a deficiency
in another. But as nearly all individual branches of production are
interdependent technically, glut or shortage in some of the larger branches
of production lead to the same phenomenon in most of the others. Thus the
general supply of products may alternate periodically between shortage and
surplus relative to the social demand.
Herein lies the peculiar character of reproduction in a capitalist society,
which differs from all other known forms of production. In the first place,
every branch of production develops independently within certain limits, in
a way that leads to periodical interruptions of production of shorter or
longer duration. Secondly, the individual branches of reproduction show
deviations from social requirements amounting to all-round disparity and
thus resulting in a general interruption of reproduction. These features of
capitalist reproduction are quite characteristic. In all other economic
systems, reproduction runs its uninterrupted and regular course, apart from
external disturbance by violence. Capitalist reproduction, however, to quote
Sismondi’s well-known dictum, can only be represented as a continuous
Page 36
sequence of individual spirals. Every such spiral starts with small loops
which become increasingly larger and eventually very large indeed. Then
they contract, and a new spiral starts again with small loops, repeating the
figure up to the point of interruption. This periodical fluctuation between
the largest volume of reproduction and its contraction to partial suspension,
this cycle of slump, boom, and crisis, as it has been called, is the most
striking peculiarity of capitalist reproduction.
It is very important, however, to establish quite firmly and from the very
outset that this cyclical movement of boom, slump, and crisis, does not
represent the whole problem of capitalist reproduction, although it is an
essential element of it. Periodical cycles and crises are specific phases of
reproduction in a capitalist system of economy, but not the whole of this
process. In order to demonstrate the pure implications of capitalist
reproduction we must rather consider it quite apart from the periodical
cycles and crises. Strange as this may appear, the method is quite rational; it
is indeed the only method of inquiry that is scientifically tenable. In order to
demonstrate and to solve the problem of pure value we must leave price
fluctuations out of consideration. The approach of vulgar economics always
attempts to solve the problem of value by reference to fluctuations in
demand and supply. Classical economists, from Adam Smith to Karl Marx,
attack the problem in the opposite way, pointing out that fluctuations in the
mutual relation between demand and supply can explain only disparities
between price and value, not value itself. In order to find the value of a
commodity, we must start by assuming that demand and supply are in a
state of equilibrium, that the price of a commodity and its value closely
correspond to one another. Thus the scientific problem of value begins at
the very point where the effect of demand and supply ceases to operate.
In consequence of periodical cycles and crises capitalist reproduction
fluctuates as a rule around the level of the effective total demand of society,
sometimes rising above and sometimes falling below this level, contracting
occasionally even to the point of almost complete interruption of
reproduction. However, if we consider a longer period, a whole cycle with
its alternating phases of prosperity and depression, of boom and slump, that
is if we consider reproduction at its highest and lowest volume, including
the stage of suspension, we can set off boom against slump and work out an
average, a mean volume of reproduction for the whole cycle. This average
which become increasingly larger and eventually very large indeed. Then
they contract, and a new spiral starts again with small loops, repeating the
figure up to the point of interruption. This periodical fluctuation between
the largest volume of reproduction and its contraction to partial suspension,
this cycle of slump, boom, and crisis, as it has been called, is the most
striking peculiarity of capitalist reproduction.
It is very important, however, to establish quite firmly and from the very
outset that this cyclical movement of boom, slump, and crisis, does not
represent the whole problem of capitalist reproduction, although it is an
essential element of it. Periodical cycles and crises are specific phases of
reproduction in a capitalist system of economy, but not the whole of this
process. In order to demonstrate the pure implications of capitalist
reproduction we must rather consider it quite apart from the periodical
cycles and crises. Strange as this may appear, the method is quite rational; it
is indeed the only method of inquiry that is scientifically tenable. In order to
demonstrate and to solve the problem of pure value we must leave price
fluctuations out of consideration. The approach of vulgar economics always
attempts to solve the problem of value by reference to fluctuations in
demand and supply. Classical economists, from Adam Smith to Karl Marx,
attack the problem in the opposite way, pointing out that fluctuations in the
mutual relation between demand and supply can explain only disparities
between price and value, not value itself. In order to find the value of a
commodity, we must start by assuming that demand and supply are in a
state of equilibrium, that the price of a commodity and its value closely
correspond to one another. Thus the scientific problem of value begins at
the very point where the effect of demand and supply ceases to operate.
In consequence of periodical cycles and crises capitalist reproduction
fluctuates as a rule around the level of the effective total demand of society,
sometimes rising above and sometimes falling below this level, contracting
occasionally even to the point of almost complete interruption of
reproduction. However, if we consider a longer period, a whole cycle with
its alternating phases of prosperity and depression, of boom and slump, that
is if we consider reproduction at its highest and lowest volume, including
the stage of suspension, we can set off boom against slump and work out an
average, a mean volume of reproduction for the whole cycle. This average
Page 37
is not only a theoretical figment of thought, it is also a real objective fact.
For in spite of the sharp rises and falls in the course of a cycle, in spite of
crises, the needs of society are always satisfied more or less, reproduction
continues on its complicated course, and productive capacities develop
progressively. How can this take place, leaving cycles and crises out of
consideration? Here the real question begins. The attempt to solve the
problem of reproduction in terms of the periodical character of crises is
fundamentally a device of vulgar economics, just like the attempt to solve
the problem of value in terms of fluctuations in demand and supply.
Nevertheless, we shall see in the course of our observations that as soon as
economic theory gets an inkling of the problem of reproduction, as soon as
it has at least started guessing at the problem, it reveals a persistent
tendency suddenly to transform the problem of reproduction into the
problem of crises, thus barring its own way to the solution of the question.
When we speak of capitalist reproduction in the following exposition, we
shall always understand by this term a mean volume of productivity which
is an average taken over the various phases of a cycle.
Now, the total of capitalist reproduction is created by an unlimited and
constantly changing number of private producers. They produce
independently of one another; apart from the observation of price
fluctuations there is no social control—no social link exists between the
individual producers other than the exchange of commodities. The question
arises how these innumerable disconnected operations can lead to the actual
total of production. This general aspect of our problem indeed strikes us
immediately as one of prime importance. But if we put it this way, we
overlook the fact that such private producers are not simply producers of
commodities but are essentially capitalist producers, that the total
production of society is not simply production for the sake of satisfying
social requirements, and equally not merely production of commodities, but
essentially capitalist production.
Let us examine our problem anew in the light of this fact. A producer who
produces not only commodities but capital must above all create surplus
value. The capitalist producer’s final goal, his main incentive, is the
production of surplus value. The proceeds from the commodities he has
manufactured must not only recompense him for all his outlay, but in
addition they must yield him a value which does not correspond with any
For in spite of the sharp rises and falls in the course of a cycle, in spite of
crises, the needs of society are always satisfied more or less, reproduction
continues on its complicated course, and productive capacities develop
progressively. How can this take place, leaving cycles and crises out of
consideration? Here the real question begins. The attempt to solve the
problem of reproduction in terms of the periodical character of crises is
fundamentally a device of vulgar economics, just like the attempt to solve
the problem of value in terms of fluctuations in demand and supply.
Nevertheless, we shall see in the course of our observations that as soon as
economic theory gets an inkling of the problem of reproduction, as soon as
it has at least started guessing at the problem, it reveals a persistent
tendency suddenly to transform the problem of reproduction into the
problem of crises, thus barring its own way to the solution of the question.
When we speak of capitalist reproduction in the following exposition, we
shall always understand by this term a mean volume of productivity which
is an average taken over the various phases of a cycle.
Now, the total of capitalist reproduction is created by an unlimited and
constantly changing number of private producers. They produce
independently of one another; apart from the observation of price
fluctuations there is no social control—no social link exists between the
individual producers other than the exchange of commodities. The question
arises how these innumerable disconnected operations can lead to the actual
total of production. This general aspect of our problem indeed strikes us
immediately as one of prime importance. But if we put it this way, we
overlook the fact that such private producers are not simply producers of
commodities but are essentially capitalist producers, that the total
production of society is not simply production for the sake of satisfying
social requirements, and equally not merely production of commodities, but
essentially capitalist production.
Let us examine our problem anew in the light of this fact. A producer who
produces not only commodities but capital must above all create surplus
value. The capitalist producer’s final goal, his main incentive, is the
production of surplus value. The proceeds from the commodities he has
manufactured must not only recompense him for all his outlay, but in
addition they must yield him a value which does not correspond with any
Page 38
expense on his part, and is pure gain. If we consider the process of
production from the point of view of the creation of surplus value, we see
that the capital advanced by the capitalist is divided into two parts: the first
part represents his expenses on means of production such as premises, raw
material, partly finished goods and machinery. The second part is spent on
wages. This holds good, even if the capitalist producer does not know it
himself, and in spite of the pious stuff about fixed and circulating capital
with which he may delude himself and the world. Marx called this first part
constant capital. Its value is not changed by its utilisation in the labour
process—it is transferred in toto to the finished product. The second part
Marx calls the variable capital. This gives rise to an additional value, which
materialises when the results of unpaid labour are appropriated. The various
components which make up the value of every commodity produced by
capitalist methods may be expressed by the formula: c + v + s. In this
formula c stands for the value of the constant capital laid out in inanimate
means of production and transferred to the commodity, v stands for the
value of the variable capital advanced in form of wages, and s stands for the
surplus value, the additional value of the unpaid part of wage labour. Every
type of goods shows these three components of value, whether we consider
an individual commodity or the aggregate of commodities as a whole,
whether we consider cotton textiles or ballet performances, cast-iron tubes
or liberal newspapers. Thus for the capitalist producer the manufacture of
commodities is not an end in itself, it is only a means to the appropriation of
surplus value. This surplus value, however, can be of no use to the capitalist
so long as it remains hidden in the commodity form of the product. Once
the commodity has been produced, it must be realised, it must be converted
into a form of pure value; that is, into money. All capital expenses
incorporated in the commodity must shed their commodity-form and revert
to the capitalist as money to make this conversion possible so that he can
appropriate the surplus value in cash. The purpose of production is fulfilled
only when this conversion has been successful, only when the aggregate of
commodities has been sold according to its value. The proceeds of this sale
of commodities, the money that has been received for them, contains the
same components of value as the former aggregate of commodities and can
be expressed by the same formula c + v + s. Part c recompenses the
capitalist for his advances on means of production that have been used up,
production from the point of view of the creation of surplus value, we see
that the capital advanced by the capitalist is divided into two parts: the first
part represents his expenses on means of production such as premises, raw
material, partly finished goods and machinery. The second part is spent on
wages. This holds good, even if the capitalist producer does not know it
himself, and in spite of the pious stuff about fixed and circulating capital
with which he may delude himself and the world. Marx called this first part
constant capital. Its value is not changed by its utilisation in the labour
process—it is transferred in toto to the finished product. The second part
Marx calls the variable capital. This gives rise to an additional value, which
materialises when the results of unpaid labour are appropriated. The various
components which make up the value of every commodity produced by
capitalist methods may be expressed by the formula: c + v + s. In this
formula c stands for the value of the constant capital laid out in inanimate
means of production and transferred to the commodity, v stands for the
value of the variable capital advanced in form of wages, and s stands for the
surplus value, the additional value of the unpaid part of wage labour. Every
type of goods shows these three components of value, whether we consider
an individual commodity or the aggregate of commodities as a whole,
whether we consider cotton textiles or ballet performances, cast-iron tubes
or liberal newspapers. Thus for the capitalist producer the manufacture of
commodities is not an end in itself, it is only a means to the appropriation of
surplus value. This surplus value, however, can be of no use to the capitalist
so long as it remains hidden in the commodity form of the product. Once
the commodity has been produced, it must be realised, it must be converted
into a form of pure value; that is, into money. All capital expenses
incorporated in the commodity must shed their commodity-form and revert
to the capitalist as money to make this conversion possible so that he can
appropriate the surplus value in cash. The purpose of production is fulfilled
only when this conversion has been successful, only when the aggregate of
commodities has been sold according to its value. The proceeds of this sale
of commodities, the money that has been received for them, contains the
same components of value as the former aggregate of commodities and can
be expressed by the same formula c + v + s. Part c recompenses the
capitalist for his advances on means of production that have been used up,
Page 39
part v recompenses him for his advances on wages, and the last part, s,
represents the expected surplus, the capitalist’s clear profit in cash.[59]
This conversion of capital from its original form, from the starting point of
all capitalist production, into means of production, dead and living, such as
raw materials, instruments, and labour; its further conversion into
commodities by a living labour process; and its final reconversion into
money, a greater amount of money indeed than at the initial stage—this
transformation of capital is, however, required for more than the production
and appropriation of surplus value. The aim and incentive of capitalist
production is not a surplus value pure and simple, to be appropriated in any
desired quantity, but a surplus value ever growing into larger quantities,
surplus value ad infinitum. But to achieve this aim, the same magic means
must be used over and over again, the means of capitalist production—the
ever repeated appropriation of the proceeds of unpaid wage labour in the
process of commodity manufacture, and the subsequent realisation of the
commodities so produced.
Thus quite a new incentive is given to constantly renewed production, to the
process of reproduction as a regular phenomenon in capitalist society, an
incentive unknown to any other system of production. In every other
economic system known to history, reproduction is determined by the
unceasing need of society for consumer goods, whether they are the needs
of all the workers determined in a democratic manner as in an agrarian and
communist market community, or the despotically determined needs of an
antagonistic class society, as in an economy of slave labour or corvée and
the like. But in a capitalist system of production, it is not consideration of
social needs which actuates the individual private producer who alone
matters in this connection. His production is determined entirely by the
effective demand, and even this is to him a mere means for the realisation
of surplus value which for him is indispensable. Appropriation of surplus
value is his real incentive, and production of consumer goods for the
satisfaction of the effective demand is only a detour when we look to the
real motive, that of appropriation of surplus value, although for the
individual capitalist it is also a rule of necessity. This motive, to appropriate
surplus value, also urges him to re-engage in reproduction over and over
again. It is the production of surplus value which turns reproduction of
social necessities into a perpetuum mobile. Reproduction, for its part, can
represents the expected surplus, the capitalist’s clear profit in cash.[59]
This conversion of capital from its original form, from the starting point of
all capitalist production, into means of production, dead and living, such as
raw materials, instruments, and labour; its further conversion into
commodities by a living labour process; and its final reconversion into
money, a greater amount of money indeed than at the initial stage—this
transformation of capital is, however, required for more than the production
and appropriation of surplus value. The aim and incentive of capitalist
production is not a surplus value pure and simple, to be appropriated in any
desired quantity, but a surplus value ever growing into larger quantities,
surplus value ad infinitum. But to achieve this aim, the same magic means
must be used over and over again, the means of capitalist production—the
ever repeated appropriation of the proceeds of unpaid wage labour in the
process of commodity manufacture, and the subsequent realisation of the
commodities so produced.
Thus quite a new incentive is given to constantly renewed production, to the
process of reproduction as a regular phenomenon in capitalist society, an
incentive unknown to any other system of production. In every other
economic system known to history, reproduction is determined by the
unceasing need of society for consumer goods, whether they are the needs
of all the workers determined in a democratic manner as in an agrarian and
communist market community, or the despotically determined needs of an
antagonistic class society, as in an economy of slave labour or corvée and
the like. But in a capitalist system of production, it is not consideration of
social needs which actuates the individual private producer who alone
matters in this connection. His production is determined entirely by the
effective demand, and even this is to him a mere means for the realisation
of surplus value which for him is indispensable. Appropriation of surplus
value is his real incentive, and production of consumer goods for the
satisfaction of the effective demand is only a detour when we look to the
real motive, that of appropriation of surplus value, although for the
individual capitalist it is also a rule of necessity. This motive, to appropriate
surplus value, also urges him to re-engage in reproduction over and over
again. It is the production of surplus value which turns reproduction of
social necessities into a perpetuum mobile. Reproduction, for its part, can
Page 40
obviously be only resumed when the products of the previous period, the
commodities, have been realised; that is, converted into money; for capital
in the form of money, in the form of pure value, must always be the starting
point of reproduction in a capitalist system. The first condition of
reproduction for the capitalist producer is thus seen to be a successful
realisation of the commodities produced during the preceding period of
production.
Now we come to a second important point. Under a system of private
economy, it is the individual producer who determines the volume of
reproduction at his discretion. His main incentive is appropriation of surplus
value, indeed an appropriation increasing as rapidly as possible. An
accelerated appropriation of surplus value, however, necessitates an
increased production of capital to generate this surplus value. Here a large-
scale enterprise enjoys advantages over a small one in every respect. In
fine, the capitalist method of production furnishes not only a permanent
incentive to reproduction in general, but also a motive for its expansion, for
reproduction on an ever larger scale.
Nor is that all. Capitalist methods of production do more than awaken in the
capitalist this thirst for surplus value whereby he is impelled to ceaseless
expansion of reproduction. Expansion becomes in truth a coercive law, an
economic condition of existence for the individual capitalist. Under the rule
of competition, cheapness of commodities is the most important weapon of
the individual capitalist in his struggle for a place in the market. Now all
methods of reducing the cost of commodity production permanently amount
in the end to an expansion of production; excepting those only which aim at
a specific increase of the rate of surplus value by measures such as wage-
cutting or lengthening the hours of work. As for these latter devices, they
are as such likely to encounter many obstacles. In this respect, a large
enterprise invariably enjoys advantages of every kind over a small or
medium concern. They may range from a saving in premises or instruments,
in the application of more efficient means of production, in extensive
replacement of manual labour by machinery, down to a speedy exploitation
of a favourable turn of the market so as to acquire raw materials cheaply.
Within very wide limits, these advantages increase in direct proportion to
the expansion of the enterprise. Thus, as soon as a few capitalist enterprises
have been enlarged, competition itself forces all others to expand likewise.
commodities, have been realised; that is, converted into money; for capital
in the form of money, in the form of pure value, must always be the starting
point of reproduction in a capitalist system. The first condition of
reproduction for the capitalist producer is thus seen to be a successful
realisation of the commodities produced during the preceding period of
production.
Now we come to a second important point. Under a system of private
economy, it is the individual producer who determines the volume of
reproduction at his discretion. His main incentive is appropriation of surplus
value, indeed an appropriation increasing as rapidly as possible. An
accelerated appropriation of surplus value, however, necessitates an
increased production of capital to generate this surplus value. Here a large-
scale enterprise enjoys advantages over a small one in every respect. In
fine, the capitalist method of production furnishes not only a permanent
incentive to reproduction in general, but also a motive for its expansion, for
reproduction on an ever larger scale.
Nor is that all. Capitalist methods of production do more than awaken in the
capitalist this thirst for surplus value whereby he is impelled to ceaseless
expansion of reproduction. Expansion becomes in truth a coercive law, an
economic condition of existence for the individual capitalist. Under the rule
of competition, cheapness of commodities is the most important weapon of
the individual capitalist in his struggle for a place in the market. Now all
methods of reducing the cost of commodity production permanently amount
in the end to an expansion of production; excepting those only which aim at
a specific increase of the rate of surplus value by measures such as wage-
cutting or lengthening the hours of work. As for these latter devices, they
are as such likely to encounter many obstacles. In this respect, a large
enterprise invariably enjoys advantages of every kind over a small or
medium concern. They may range from a saving in premises or instruments,
in the application of more efficient means of production, in extensive
replacement of manual labour by machinery, down to a speedy exploitation
of a favourable turn of the market so as to acquire raw materials cheaply.
Within very wide limits, these advantages increase in direct proportion to
the expansion of the enterprise. Thus, as soon as a few capitalist enterprises
have been enlarged, competition itself forces all others to expand likewise.
Page 41
Expansion becomes a condition of existence. A growing tendency towards
reproduction at a progressively increasing scale thus ensues, which spreads
automatically like a tidal wave over ever larger surfaces of reproduction.
Expanding reproduction is not a new discovery of capital. On the contrary,
it had been the rule since time immemorial in every form of society that
displayed economic and cultural progress. It is true, of course, that simple
reproduction as a mere continuous repetition of the process of production
on the same scale as before can be observed over long periods of social
history. In the ancient agrarian and communist village communities, for
instance, increase in population did not lead to a gradual expansion of
production, but rather to the new generation being expelled and the
subsequent founding of equally small and self-sufficient colonies. The old
small handicraft units of India and China provide similar instances of a
traditional repetition of production in the same forms and on the same scale,
handed down from generation to generation. But simple reproduction is in
all these cases the source and unmistakable sign of a general economic and
cultural stagnation. No important forward step in production, no memorial
of civilisation, such as the great waterworks of the East, the pyramids of
Egypt, the military roads of Rome, the Arts and Sciences of Greece, or the
development of craftsmanship and towns in the Middle Ages would have
been possible without expanding reproduction; for the basis and also the
social incentive for a decisive advancement of civilisation lies solely in the
gradual expansion of production beyond immediate requirements, and in a
continual growth of the population itself as well as of its demands.
Exchange in particular, which brought about a class society, and its
historical development into the capitalist form of economy, would have
been unthinkable without expanding reproduction. In a capitalist society,
moreover, expanding reproduction acquires certain characteristics. As we
have already mentioned, it becomes right away a coercive law to the
individual capitalist. Capitalist methods of production do not exclude
simple or even retrogressive reproduction; indeed, this is responsible for the
periodical phenomenon of crises following phases, likewise periodical, of
overstrained expansion of reproduction in times of boom. But ignoring
periodical fluctuations, the general trend of reproduction is ever towards
expansion. For the individual capitalist, failure to keep abreast of this
expansion means quitting the competitive struggle, economic death.
reproduction at a progressively increasing scale thus ensues, which spreads
automatically like a tidal wave over ever larger surfaces of reproduction.
Expanding reproduction is not a new discovery of capital. On the contrary,
it had been the rule since time immemorial in every form of society that
displayed economic and cultural progress. It is true, of course, that simple
reproduction as a mere continuous repetition of the process of production
on the same scale as before can be observed over long periods of social
history. In the ancient agrarian and communist village communities, for
instance, increase in population did not lead to a gradual expansion of
production, but rather to the new generation being expelled and the
subsequent founding of equally small and self-sufficient colonies. The old
small handicraft units of India and China provide similar instances of a
traditional repetition of production in the same forms and on the same scale,
handed down from generation to generation. But simple reproduction is in
all these cases the source and unmistakable sign of a general economic and
cultural stagnation. No important forward step in production, no memorial
of civilisation, such as the great waterworks of the East, the pyramids of
Egypt, the military roads of Rome, the Arts and Sciences of Greece, or the
development of craftsmanship and towns in the Middle Ages would have
been possible without expanding reproduction; for the basis and also the
social incentive for a decisive advancement of civilisation lies solely in the
gradual expansion of production beyond immediate requirements, and in a
continual growth of the population itself as well as of its demands.
Exchange in particular, which brought about a class society, and its
historical development into the capitalist form of economy, would have
been unthinkable without expanding reproduction. In a capitalist society,
moreover, expanding reproduction acquires certain characteristics. As we
have already mentioned, it becomes right away a coercive law to the
individual capitalist. Capitalist methods of production do not exclude
simple or even retrogressive reproduction; indeed, this is responsible for the
periodical phenomenon of crises following phases, likewise periodical, of
overstrained expansion of reproduction in times of boom. But ignoring
periodical fluctuations, the general trend of reproduction is ever towards
expansion. For the individual capitalist, failure to keep abreast of this
expansion means quitting the competitive struggle, economic death.
Page 42
Moreover, there are certain other aspects to be considered. The concept of
expanding reproduction applies only to the quantity of products, to the
aggregate of manufactured objects. So long as production rests solely or
mainly upon a natural economy, consumption determines the extent and
character of the individual labour process, as well as that of reproduction in
general, as an end in itself: this applies to the agrarian and communist
village communities of India, to the Roman villa with its economy of slave
labour, and to the medieval feudal farm based on corvée. But the picture is
different in a capitalist economic system. Capitalist production is not
production for the purpose of consumption, it is production for the purpose
of creating value. The whole process of production as well as of
reproduction is ruled by value relationships. Capitalist production is not the
production of consumer goods, nor is it merely the production of
commodities: it is pre-eminently the production of surplus value.
Expanding reproduction, from a capitalist point of view, is expanding
production of surplus value, though it takes place in the forms of
commodity production and is thus in the last instance the production of
consumer goods. Changes in the productivity of labour during the course of
reproduction cause continual discrepancies between these two aspects. If
productivity increases, the same amount of capital and surplus value may
represent a progressively larger amount of consumer goods. Expanding
production, understood as the creation of a greater amount of surplus value,
need not therefore necessarily imply expanding reproduction in the
capitalist meaning of the term. Conversely, capital may, within limits, yield
a greater surplus value in consequence of a higher degree of exploitation
such as is brought about by wage-cutting and the like, without actually
producing a greater amount of goods. But in both cases the surplus value
has a twofold aspect: it is a quantity of value as well as an aggregate of
material products, and from a capitalist point of view, its elements in both
instances are thus the same.
As a rule, an increased production of surplus value results from an increase
of capital brought about by addition of part of the appropriated surplus
value to the original capital, no matter whether this capitalist surplus value
is used for the expansion of an old enterprise or for founding a new one, an
independent offshoot. Capitalist expanding reproduction thus acquires the
specific characteristics of an increase in capital by means of a progressive
expanding reproduction applies only to the quantity of products, to the
aggregate of manufactured objects. So long as production rests solely or
mainly upon a natural economy, consumption determines the extent and
character of the individual labour process, as well as that of reproduction in
general, as an end in itself: this applies to the agrarian and communist
village communities of India, to the Roman villa with its economy of slave
labour, and to the medieval feudal farm based on corvée. But the picture is
different in a capitalist economic system. Capitalist production is not
production for the purpose of consumption, it is production for the purpose
of creating value. The whole process of production as well as of
reproduction is ruled by value relationships. Capitalist production is not the
production of consumer goods, nor is it merely the production of
commodities: it is pre-eminently the production of surplus value.
Expanding reproduction, from a capitalist point of view, is expanding
production of surplus value, though it takes place in the forms of
commodity production and is thus in the last instance the production of
consumer goods. Changes in the productivity of labour during the course of
reproduction cause continual discrepancies between these two aspects. If
productivity increases, the same amount of capital and surplus value may
represent a progressively larger amount of consumer goods. Expanding
production, understood as the creation of a greater amount of surplus value,
need not therefore necessarily imply expanding reproduction in the
capitalist meaning of the term. Conversely, capital may, within limits, yield
a greater surplus value in consequence of a higher degree of exploitation
such as is brought about by wage-cutting and the like, without actually
producing a greater amount of goods. But in both cases the surplus value
has a twofold aspect: it is a quantity of value as well as an aggregate of
material products, and from a capitalist point of view, its elements in both
instances are thus the same.
As a rule, an increased production of surplus value results from an increase
of capital brought about by addition of part of the appropriated surplus
value to the original capital, no matter whether this capitalist surplus value
is used for the expansion of an old enterprise or for founding a new one, an
independent offshoot. Capitalist expanding reproduction thus acquires the
specific characteristics of an increase in capital by means of a progressive
Page 43
capitalisation of surplus value, or, as Marx has put it, by the accumulation
of capital.
The general formula for enlarged reproduction under the rule of capital thus
runs as follows: c + v + s⁄x + s´. Here s⁄x stands for the capitalised part of the
surplus value appropriated in an earlier period of production; s´ stands for
the new surplus value created by the increased capital. Part of this new
surplus value is capitalised again, and expanding reproduction is thus, from
the capitalist point of view, a constantly flowing process of alternate
appropriation and capitalisation of surplus value.
So far, however, we have only arrived at a general and abstract formula for
reproduction. Let us now consider more closely the concrete conditions
which are necessary to apply this formula.
The surplus value which has been appropriated, after it has successfully cast
off its commodity-form in the market, appears as a given amount of money.
This money-form is the form of its absolute value, the beginning of its
career as capital. But as it is impossible to create surplus value with money,
it cannot, in this form, advance beyond the threshold of its career. Capital
must assume commodity-form, so that the particular portion of it which is
earmarked for accumulation can be capitalised. For only in this form can it
become productive capital; that is, capital begetting new surplus value.
Therefore, like the original capital, it must again be divided into two parts; a
constant part, comprising the inanimate means of production, and a variable
part, the wages. Only then will our formula c + v + s apply to it in the same
way as it applied to the old capital.
But the good intent of the capitalist to accumulate, his thrift and abstinence
which make him use the greater part of his surplus value for production
instead of squandering it on personal luxuries, is not sufficient for this
purpose. On the contrary, it is essential that he should find on the
commodity market the concrete forms which he intends to give his new
surplus value. In the first place, he must secure the material means of
production such as raw materials, machines etc. required for the branch of
production he has chosen and planned, so that the particular part of the
surplus value which corresponds to his constant capital may assume a
productive form. Secondly, the other, variable part of his surplus value must
also be convertible, and two essentials are necessary for this conversion: of
of capital.
The general formula for enlarged reproduction under the rule of capital thus
runs as follows: c + v + s⁄x + s´. Here s⁄x stands for the capitalised part of the
surplus value appropriated in an earlier period of production; s´ stands for
the new surplus value created by the increased capital. Part of this new
surplus value is capitalised again, and expanding reproduction is thus, from
the capitalist point of view, a constantly flowing process of alternate
appropriation and capitalisation of surplus value.
So far, however, we have only arrived at a general and abstract formula for
reproduction. Let us now consider more closely the concrete conditions
which are necessary to apply this formula.
The surplus value which has been appropriated, after it has successfully cast
off its commodity-form in the market, appears as a given amount of money.
This money-form is the form of its absolute value, the beginning of its
career as capital. But as it is impossible to create surplus value with money,
it cannot, in this form, advance beyond the threshold of its career. Capital
must assume commodity-form, so that the particular portion of it which is
earmarked for accumulation can be capitalised. For only in this form can it
become productive capital; that is, capital begetting new surplus value.
Therefore, like the original capital, it must again be divided into two parts; a
constant part, comprising the inanimate means of production, and a variable
part, the wages. Only then will our formula c + v + s apply to it in the same
way as it applied to the old capital.
But the good intent of the capitalist to accumulate, his thrift and abstinence
which make him use the greater part of his surplus value for production
instead of squandering it on personal luxuries, is not sufficient for this
purpose. On the contrary, it is essential that he should find on the
commodity market the concrete forms which he intends to give his new
surplus value. In the first place, he must secure the material means of
production such as raw materials, machines etc. required for the branch of
production he has chosen and planned, so that the particular part of the
surplus value which corresponds to his constant capital may assume a
productive form. Secondly, the other, variable part of his surplus value must
also be convertible, and two essentials are necessary for this conversion: of
Page 44
first importance, the labour market must offer a sufficient quantity of
additional labour, and secondly, as the workers cannot live on money alone,
the commodity market, too, must offer an additional amount of provisions,
which the workers newly to be employed may exchange against the variable
part of the surplus value they will get from the capitalist.
All these prerequisites found, the capitalist can set his capitalised surplus
value to work and make it, as operating capital, beget new surplus value.
But still his task is not completely done. Both the new capital and the
surplus value produced still exist for the time being in the shape of an
additional quantity of some commodity or other. In this form the new
capital is but advanced, and the new surplus value created by it is still in a
form in which it is of no use to the capitalist. The new capital as well as the
surplus value which it has created must cast off their commodity-form, re-
assume the form of pure value, and thus revert to the capitalist as money.
Unless this process is successfully concluded, the new capital and surplus
value will be wholly or partly lost, the capitalisation of surplus value will
have miscarried, and there will have been no accumulation. It is absolutely
essential to the accumulation of capital that a sufficient quantity of
commodities created by the new capital should win a place for itself on the
market and be realised.
Thus we see that expanding reproduction as accumulation of capital in a
capitalist system is bound up with a whole series of special conditions. Let
us look at these more closely. The first condition is that production should
create surplus value, for surplus value is the elementary form in which
alone increased production is possible under capitalist conditions. The
entire process of production must abide by this condition when determining
the relations between capitalist and worker in the production of
commodities. Once this first condition is given, the second is that surplus
value must be realised, converted into the form of money, so that it can be
appropriated for the purposes of expanding reproduction. This second
condition thus leads us to the commodity market. Here, the hazards of
exchange decide the further fate of the surplus value, and thus the future of
reproduction. The third condition is as follows: provided that part of the
realised surplus value has been added to capital for the purpose of
accumulation, this new capital must first assume its productive form of
labour and inanimate means of production. Moreover, that part of it which
additional labour, and secondly, as the workers cannot live on money alone,
the commodity market, too, must offer an additional amount of provisions,
which the workers newly to be employed may exchange against the variable
part of the surplus value they will get from the capitalist.
All these prerequisites found, the capitalist can set his capitalised surplus
value to work and make it, as operating capital, beget new surplus value.
But still his task is not completely done. Both the new capital and the
surplus value produced still exist for the time being in the shape of an
additional quantity of some commodity or other. In this form the new
capital is but advanced, and the new surplus value created by it is still in a
form in which it is of no use to the capitalist. The new capital as well as the
surplus value which it has created must cast off their commodity-form, re-
assume the form of pure value, and thus revert to the capitalist as money.
Unless this process is successfully concluded, the new capital and surplus
value will be wholly or partly lost, the capitalisation of surplus value will
have miscarried, and there will have been no accumulation. It is absolutely
essential to the accumulation of capital that a sufficient quantity of
commodities created by the new capital should win a place for itself on the
market and be realised.
Thus we see that expanding reproduction as accumulation of capital in a
capitalist system is bound up with a whole series of special conditions. Let
us look at these more closely. The first condition is that production should
create surplus value, for surplus value is the elementary form in which
alone increased production is possible under capitalist conditions. The
entire process of production must abide by this condition when determining
the relations between capitalist and worker in the production of
commodities. Once this first condition is given, the second is that surplus
value must be realised, converted into the form of money, so that it can be
appropriated for the purposes of expanding reproduction. This second
condition thus leads us to the commodity market. Here, the hazards of
exchange decide the further fate of the surplus value, and thus the future of
reproduction. The third condition is as follows: provided that part of the
realised surplus value has been added to capital for the purpose of
accumulation, this new capital must first assume its productive form of
labour and inanimate means of production. Moreover, that part of it which
Page 45
had been exchanged for labour must be converted into provisions for the
workers. Thus we are led again to the markets of labour and commodities.
If all these requirements have been met and enlarged reproduction of
commodities has taken place, a fourth condition must be added: the
additional quantity of commodities representing the new capital plus
surplus value will have to be realised, that is, reconverted into money. Only
if this conversion has been successful, can it be said that expanding
capitalist reproduction has actually taken place. This last condition leads us
back to the commodity market.
Thus capitalist production and reproduction imply a constant shifting
between the place of production and the commodity market, a shuttle
movement from the private office and the factory where unauthorised
persons are strictly excluded, where the sovereign will of the individual
capitalist is the highest law, to the commodity market where nobody sets up
any laws and where neither will nor reason assert themselves. But it is this
very licence and anarchy of the commodity market which brings home to
the individual capitalist that he is dependent upon society, upon the entirety
of its producing and consuming members. The individual capitalist may
need additional means of production, additional labour and provisions for
these workers in order to expand reproduction, but whether he can get what
he needs depends upon factors and events beyond his control, materialising,
as it were, behind his back. In order to realise his increased aggregate of
products, the individual capitalist requires a larger market for his goods, but
he has no control whatever over the actual increase of demand in general, or
of the particular demand for his special kind of good.
The conditions we have enumerated here, which all give expression to the
inherent contradiction between consumption and private production and
their social interconnection, are nothing new, and it is not only at the stage
of reproduction that they become apparent. These conditions express the
general contradiction inherent in capitalist production. They involve,
however, particular difficulties as regards the process of reproduction for
the following reasons. With regard to reproduction, especially expanding
reproduction, the capitalist method of production not only reveals its
general fundamental character, but, what is more, it shows, in the various
periods of production, a definite rhythm within a continuous progression—
the characteristic interplay of individual wills. From this point of view, we
workers. Thus we are led again to the markets of labour and commodities.
If all these requirements have been met and enlarged reproduction of
commodities has taken place, a fourth condition must be added: the
additional quantity of commodities representing the new capital plus
surplus value will have to be realised, that is, reconverted into money. Only
if this conversion has been successful, can it be said that expanding
capitalist reproduction has actually taken place. This last condition leads us
back to the commodity market.
Thus capitalist production and reproduction imply a constant shifting
between the place of production and the commodity market, a shuttle
movement from the private office and the factory where unauthorised
persons are strictly excluded, where the sovereign will of the individual
capitalist is the highest law, to the commodity market where nobody sets up
any laws and where neither will nor reason assert themselves. But it is this
very licence and anarchy of the commodity market which brings home to
the individual capitalist that he is dependent upon society, upon the entirety
of its producing and consuming members. The individual capitalist may
need additional means of production, additional labour and provisions for
these workers in order to expand reproduction, but whether he can get what
he needs depends upon factors and events beyond his control, materialising,
as it were, behind his back. In order to realise his increased aggregate of
products, the individual capitalist requires a larger market for his goods, but
he has no control whatever over the actual increase of demand in general, or
of the particular demand for his special kind of good.
The conditions we have enumerated here, which all give expression to the
inherent contradiction between consumption and private production and
their social interconnection, are nothing new, and it is not only at the stage
of reproduction that they become apparent. These conditions express the
general contradiction inherent in capitalist production. They involve,
however, particular difficulties as regards the process of reproduction for
the following reasons. With regard to reproduction, especially expanding
reproduction, the capitalist method of production not only reveals its
general fundamental character, but, what is more, it shows, in the various
periods of production, a definite rhythm within a continuous progression—
the characteristic interplay of individual wills. From this point of view, we
Page 46
must inquire in a general way how it is possible for every individual
capitalist to find on the market the means of production and the labour he
requires for the purpose of realising the commodities he has produced,
although there exists no social control whatever, no plan to harmonize
production and demand. This question may be answered by saying that the
capitalist’s greed for surplus value, enhanced by competition, and the
automatic effects of capitalist exploitation, lead to the production of every
kind of commodity, including means of production, and also that a growing
class of proletarianised workers becomes generally available for the
purposes of capital. On the other hand, the lack of a plan in this respect
shows itself in the fact that the balance between demand and supply in all
spheres can be achieved only by continuous deviations, by hourly
fluctuations of prices, and by periodical crises and changes of the market
situation.
From the point of view of reproduction the question is a different one. How
is it possible that the unplanned supply in the market for labour and means
of production, and the unplanned and incalculable changes in demand
nevertheless provide adequate quantities and qualities of means of
production, labour and opportunities for selling which the individual
capitalist needs in order to make a sale? How can it be assured that every
one of these factors increases in the right proportion? Let us put the
problem more precisely. According to our well-known formula, let the
composition of the individual capitalist’s production be expressed by the
proportion 40c + 10v + 10s. His constant capital is consequently four times
as much as his variable capital, and the rate of exploitation is 100 per cent.
The aggregate of commodities is thus represented by a value of 60. Let us
now assume that the capitalist is in a position to capitalise and to add to the
old capital of this given composition half of his surplus value. In this case,
the formula 44c + 11v + 11s = 66 would apply to the next period of
production.
Let us assume now that the capitalist can continue the annual capitalisation
of half his surplus value for a number of years. For this purpose it is not
sufficient that means of production, labour and markets in general should be
forthcoming, but he must find these factors in a proportion that is strictly in
keeping with his progress in accumulation.
capitalist to find on the market the means of production and the labour he
requires for the purpose of realising the commodities he has produced,
although there exists no social control whatever, no plan to harmonize
production and demand. This question may be answered by saying that the
capitalist’s greed for surplus value, enhanced by competition, and the
automatic effects of capitalist exploitation, lead to the production of every
kind of commodity, including means of production, and also that a growing
class of proletarianised workers becomes generally available for the
purposes of capital. On the other hand, the lack of a plan in this respect
shows itself in the fact that the balance between demand and supply in all
spheres can be achieved only by continuous deviations, by hourly
fluctuations of prices, and by periodical crises and changes of the market
situation.
From the point of view of reproduction the question is a different one. How
is it possible that the unplanned supply in the market for labour and means
of production, and the unplanned and incalculable changes in demand
nevertheless provide adequate quantities and qualities of means of
production, labour and opportunities for selling which the individual
capitalist needs in order to make a sale? How can it be assured that every
one of these factors increases in the right proportion? Let us put the
problem more precisely. According to our well-known formula, let the
composition of the individual capitalist’s production be expressed by the
proportion 40c + 10v + 10s. His constant capital is consequently four times
as much as his variable capital, and the rate of exploitation is 100 per cent.
The aggregate of commodities is thus represented by a value of 60. Let us
now assume that the capitalist is in a position to capitalise and to add to the
old capital of this given composition half of his surplus value. In this case,
the formula 44c + 11v + 11s = 66 would apply to the next period of
production.
Let us assume now that the capitalist can continue the annual capitalisation
of half his surplus value for a number of years. For this purpose it is not
sufficient that means of production, labour and markets in general should be
forthcoming, but he must find these factors in a proportion that is strictly in
keeping with his progress in accumulation.
Page 47
Page 48
CHAPTER II
Page 49
QUESNAY’S AND ADAM SMITH’S ANALYSES
OF THE PROCESS OF REPRODUCTION
So far we have taken account only of the individual capitalist in our survey
of reproduction; he is its typical representative, its agent, for reproduction is
indeed brought about entirely by individual capitalist enterprises. This
approach has already shown us that the problem involves difficulties
enough. Yet these difficulties increase to an extraordinary degree and
become even more complicated, when we turn our attention from the
individual capitalist to the totality of capitalists.
A superficial glance suffices to show that capitalist reproduction as a social
whole must not be regarded simply as a mechanical summation of all the
separate processes of individual capitalist reproduction. We have seen, for
instance, that one of the fundamental conditions for enlarged reproduction
by an individual capitalist is a corresponding increase of his opportunities to
sell on the commodity market. But the individual capitalist may not always
expand because of an absolute increase in the absorptive capacity of the
market, but also as a result of the competitive struggle, at the cost of other
individual capitalists. Thus one capitalist may win what another or many
others who have been shouldered from the market must write off as a loss.
This process will enable one capitalist to increase his reproduction by the
amount that it compels others by losses to restrict their own. One capitalist
will be able to engage in enlarged reproduction because others cannot even
achieve simple reproduction. In the same way, one capitalist may enlarge
his reproduction by using labour power and means of production which
another’s bankruptcy, that is his partial or complete retirement from
reproduction, has set free.
These commonplaces prove that reproduction of the social capital as a
whole is not the same as the reproduction of the individual capitalist raised
to the nth degree. They show that the reproductive activities of individual
capitalists ceaselessly cut across one another and to a greater or smaller
degree may cancel each other out.
OF THE PROCESS OF REPRODUCTION
So far we have taken account only of the individual capitalist in our survey
of reproduction; he is its typical representative, its agent, for reproduction is
indeed brought about entirely by individual capitalist enterprises. This
approach has already shown us that the problem involves difficulties
enough. Yet these difficulties increase to an extraordinary degree and
become even more complicated, when we turn our attention from the
individual capitalist to the totality of capitalists.
A superficial glance suffices to show that capitalist reproduction as a social
whole must not be regarded simply as a mechanical summation of all the
separate processes of individual capitalist reproduction. We have seen, for
instance, that one of the fundamental conditions for enlarged reproduction
by an individual capitalist is a corresponding increase of his opportunities to
sell on the commodity market. But the individual capitalist may not always
expand because of an absolute increase in the absorptive capacity of the
market, but also as a result of the competitive struggle, at the cost of other
individual capitalists. Thus one capitalist may win what another or many
others who have been shouldered from the market must write off as a loss.
This process will enable one capitalist to increase his reproduction by the
amount that it compels others by losses to restrict their own. One capitalist
will be able to engage in enlarged reproduction because others cannot even
achieve simple reproduction. In the same way, one capitalist may enlarge
his reproduction by using labour power and means of production which
another’s bankruptcy, that is his partial or complete retirement from
reproduction, has set free.
These commonplaces prove that reproduction of the social capital as a
whole is not the same as the reproduction of the individual capitalist raised
to the nth degree. They show that the reproductive activities of individual
capitalists ceaselessly cut across one another and to a greater or smaller
degree may cancel each other out.
Page 50
Therefore we must clarify our concept of reproduction of capital as a whole,
before we examine the laws and mechanisms of capitalist total
reproduction. We must raise the question whether it is even possible to
deduce anything like total reproduction from the disorderly jumble of
individual capitals in constant motion, changing from moment to moment
according to uncontrollable and incalculable laws, partly running a parallel
course, and partly intersecting and cancelling each other out. Can one
actually talk of total social capital of society as an entity, and if so, what is
the real meaning of this concept? That is the first question a scientific
examination of the laws of reproduction has to consider. At the dawn of
economic theory and bourgeois economics, Quesnay, the father of the
Physiocrats, approached the problem with classical fearlessness and
simplicity and took it for granted that total capital exists as a real and active
entity. In his famous Tableau Économique, so intricate that no one before
Marx could understand it, Quesnay demonstrated the phases of the
reproduction of aggregate capital with a few figures, at the same time taking
into account that it must also be considered from the aspect of commodity
exchange, that is as a process of circulation.[60]
Society as Quesnay sees it consists of three classes: the productive class of
agriculturists; the sterile class containing all those who are active outside
the sphere of agriculture—industry, commerce, and the liberal professions;
and lastly the class of landowners, including the Sovereign and the
collectors of tithes. The national aggregate product materialises in the hands
of the productive class as an aggregate of provisions and raw materials to
the value of some 5,000 million livres. Of this sum, 2,000 millions
represent the annual working capital of agriculture, 1,000 millions represent
the annual wear and tear of fixed capital, and 2,000 millions are the net
revenue accruing to the landowners. Apart from this total produce, the
agriculturists, here conceived quite in capitalist terms as tenant farmers,
have 2,000 million livres cash in hand. Circulation now takes place in such
a way that the tenant class pay the landowners 2,000 millions cash as rent
(as the cost of the previous period of production). For this money the
landowning class buy provisions from the tenants for 1,000 millions and
industrial products from the sterile class for the remaining 1,000 millions.
The tenants in their turn buy industrial products for the 1,000 millions
handed back to them, whereupon the sterile class buy agricultural products
for the 2,000 millions they have in hand: for 1,000 millions raw materials
before we examine the laws and mechanisms of capitalist total
reproduction. We must raise the question whether it is even possible to
deduce anything like total reproduction from the disorderly jumble of
individual capitals in constant motion, changing from moment to moment
according to uncontrollable and incalculable laws, partly running a parallel
course, and partly intersecting and cancelling each other out. Can one
actually talk of total social capital of society as an entity, and if so, what is
the real meaning of this concept? That is the first question a scientific
examination of the laws of reproduction has to consider. At the dawn of
economic theory and bourgeois economics, Quesnay, the father of the
Physiocrats, approached the problem with classical fearlessness and
simplicity and took it for granted that total capital exists as a real and active
entity. In his famous Tableau Économique, so intricate that no one before
Marx could understand it, Quesnay demonstrated the phases of the
reproduction of aggregate capital with a few figures, at the same time taking
into account that it must also be considered from the aspect of commodity
exchange, that is as a process of circulation.[60]
Society as Quesnay sees it consists of three classes: the productive class of
agriculturists; the sterile class containing all those who are active outside
the sphere of agriculture—industry, commerce, and the liberal professions;
and lastly the class of landowners, including the Sovereign and the
collectors of tithes. The national aggregate product materialises in the hands
of the productive class as an aggregate of provisions and raw materials to
the value of some 5,000 million livres. Of this sum, 2,000 millions
represent the annual working capital of agriculture, 1,000 millions represent
the annual wear and tear of fixed capital, and 2,000 millions are the net
revenue accruing to the landowners. Apart from this total produce, the
agriculturists, here conceived quite in capitalist terms as tenant farmers,
have 2,000 million livres cash in hand. Circulation now takes place in such
a way that the tenant class pay the landowners 2,000 millions cash as rent
(as the cost of the previous period of production). For this money the
landowning class buy provisions from the tenants for 1,000 millions and
industrial products from the sterile class for the remaining 1,000 millions.
The tenants in their turn buy industrial products for the 1,000 millions
handed back to them, whereupon the sterile class buy agricultural products
for the 2,000 millions they have in hand: for 1,000 millions raw materials
Page 51
etc., to replace their annual working capital, and provisions for the
remaining 1,000 millions. Thus the money has in the end returned to its
starting point, the tenant class; the product is distributed among all classes
so that consumption is ensured for everyone; at the same time the means of
production of the sterile as well as of the productive class have been
renewed and the landowning class has received its revenue. The
prerequisites of reproduction are all present, the conditions of circulation
have all been fulfilled, and reproduction can start again on its regular
course.[61]
We shall see later in the course of our investigation that this exposition,
though showing flashes of genius, remains deficient and primitive. In any
case, we must stress here that Quesnay, on the threshold of scientific
economics, had not the slightest doubt as to the possibility of demonstrating
total social capital and its reproduction. Adam Smith, on the other hand,
while giving a more profound analysis of the relations of capital, laid out
what seems like a maze when compared with the clear and sweeping
outlines of the Physiocrat conception. By his wrong analysis of prices,
Smith upset the whole foundation of the scientific demonstration of the
capitalist process as a whole. This wrong analysis of prices ruled bourgeois
economics for a long time; it is the theory which maintains that, although
the value of a commodity represents the amount of labour spent in its
production, yet the price consists of three elements only: the wage of
labour, the profit of capital, and the rent.
As this obviously must also apply to the aggregate of commodities, the
national product, we are faced with the startling discovery that, although the
value of the aggregate of commodities manufactured by capitalist methods
represents all paid wages together with the profits of capital and the rents,
that is the aggregate surplus value, and consequently can replace these,
there is no component of value which corresponds to the constant capital
used in production. According to Smith, v + s is the formula expressing the
value of the capitalist product as a whole. Demonstrating his view with the
example of corn, Smith says as follows:
‘These three parts (wages, profit, and rent) seem either immediately or
ultimately to make up the whole price of corn. A fourth part, it may perhaps
be thought, is necessary for replacing the stock of the farmer, or for
compensating the wear and tear of his labouring cattle, and other
remaining 1,000 millions. Thus the money has in the end returned to its
starting point, the tenant class; the product is distributed among all classes
so that consumption is ensured for everyone; at the same time the means of
production of the sterile as well as of the productive class have been
renewed and the landowning class has received its revenue. The
prerequisites of reproduction are all present, the conditions of circulation
have all been fulfilled, and reproduction can start again on its regular
course.[61]
We shall see later in the course of our investigation that this exposition,
though showing flashes of genius, remains deficient and primitive. In any
case, we must stress here that Quesnay, on the threshold of scientific
economics, had not the slightest doubt as to the possibility of demonstrating
total social capital and its reproduction. Adam Smith, on the other hand,
while giving a more profound analysis of the relations of capital, laid out
what seems like a maze when compared with the clear and sweeping
outlines of the Physiocrat conception. By his wrong analysis of prices,
Smith upset the whole foundation of the scientific demonstration of the
capitalist process as a whole. This wrong analysis of prices ruled bourgeois
economics for a long time; it is the theory which maintains that, although
the value of a commodity represents the amount of labour spent in its
production, yet the price consists of three elements only: the wage of
labour, the profit of capital, and the rent.
As this obviously must also apply to the aggregate of commodities, the
national product, we are faced with the startling discovery that, although the
value of the aggregate of commodities manufactured by capitalist methods
represents all paid wages together with the profits of capital and the rents,
that is the aggregate surplus value, and consequently can replace these,
there is no component of value which corresponds to the constant capital
used in production. According to Smith, v + s is the formula expressing the
value of the capitalist product as a whole. Demonstrating his view with the
example of corn, Smith says as follows:
‘These three parts (wages, profit, and rent) seem either immediately or
ultimately to make up the whole price of corn. A fourth part, it may perhaps
be thought, is necessary for replacing the stock of the farmer, or for
compensating the wear and tear of his labouring cattle, and other
Page 52
instruments of husbandry. But it must be considered that the price of any
instrument of husbandry, such as a labouring horse, is itself made up of the
same three parts: the rent of the land upon which he is reared, the labour of
tending and rearing him, and the profits of the farmer who advances both
the rent of this land and the wages of this labour. Though the price of the
corn, therefore, may pay the price as well as the maintenance of the horse,
the whole price still resolves itself either immediately or ultimately into the
same three parts of rent, of labour and profit.’[62]
Sending us in this manner ‘from pillar to post’, as Marx has put it, Smith
again and again resolved constant capital into v + s. However, he had
occasional doubts and from time to time relapsed into the contrary opinion.
He says in the second book:
‘It has been shown in the first Book, that the price of the greater part of
commodities resolves itself into three parts, of which one pays the wages of
the labour, another the profits of the stock, and a third the rent of the land
which had been employed in producing and bringing them to market....
Since this is the case ... with regard to every particular commodity, taken
separately; it must be so with regard to all the commodities which compose
the whole annual produce of the land and labour of every country, taken
complexly. The whole price or exchangeable value of that annual produce
must resolve itself into the same three parts, and be parcelled out among the
different inhabitants of the country, either as the wages of their labour, the
profits of their stock, or the rent of their land.’[63]
Here Smith hesitates and immediately below explains: ‘But though the
whole value of the annual produce of the land and labour of every country
is thus divided among and constitutes a revenue to its different inhabitants,
yet as in the rent of a private estate we distinguish between the gross rent
and the neat rent, so may we likewise in the revenue of all the inhabitants of
a great country.
‘The gross rent of a private estate comprehends whatever is paid by the
farmer; the neat rent, what remains free to the landlord after deducting the
expense of management, of repairs, and all other necessary charges; or
what, without hurting his estate, he can afford to place in his stock reserved
for immediate consumption, or to spend upon his table, equipage, the
ornaments of his house and furniture, his private enjoyments and
instrument of husbandry, such as a labouring horse, is itself made up of the
same three parts: the rent of the land upon which he is reared, the labour of
tending and rearing him, and the profits of the farmer who advances both
the rent of this land and the wages of this labour. Though the price of the
corn, therefore, may pay the price as well as the maintenance of the horse,
the whole price still resolves itself either immediately or ultimately into the
same three parts of rent, of labour and profit.’[62]
Sending us in this manner ‘from pillar to post’, as Marx has put it, Smith
again and again resolved constant capital into v + s. However, he had
occasional doubts and from time to time relapsed into the contrary opinion.
He says in the second book:
‘It has been shown in the first Book, that the price of the greater part of
commodities resolves itself into three parts, of which one pays the wages of
the labour, another the profits of the stock, and a third the rent of the land
which had been employed in producing and bringing them to market....
Since this is the case ... with regard to every particular commodity, taken
separately; it must be so with regard to all the commodities which compose
the whole annual produce of the land and labour of every country, taken
complexly. The whole price or exchangeable value of that annual produce
must resolve itself into the same three parts, and be parcelled out among the
different inhabitants of the country, either as the wages of their labour, the
profits of their stock, or the rent of their land.’[63]
Here Smith hesitates and immediately below explains: ‘But though the
whole value of the annual produce of the land and labour of every country
is thus divided among and constitutes a revenue to its different inhabitants,
yet as in the rent of a private estate we distinguish between the gross rent
and the neat rent, so may we likewise in the revenue of all the inhabitants of
a great country.
‘The gross rent of a private estate comprehends whatever is paid by the
farmer; the neat rent, what remains free to the landlord after deducting the
expense of management, of repairs, and all other necessary charges; or
what, without hurting his estate, he can afford to place in his stock reserved
for immediate consumption, or to spend upon his table, equipage, the
ornaments of his house and furniture, his private enjoyments and
Page 53
amusements. His real wealth is in proportion, not to his gross, but to his
neat rent.
‘The gross revenue of all the inhabitants of a great country comprehends the
whole annual produce of their land and labour; the neat revenue, what
remains free to them after deducting the expense of maintaining, first, their
fixed, and secondly, their circulating capital, or what, without encroaching
upon their capital, they can place in their stock reserved for immediate
consumption, or spend upon their subsistence, conveniences, and
amusements. Their real wealth too is in proportion, not to their gross, but to
their neat revenue.’[64]
Here Smith introduces a portion of value which corresponds to constant
capital, only to eliminate it the very next moment by resolving it into
wages, profits, and rents. And in the end, the matter rests with this
explanation:
‘As the machines and instruments of trade, etc. which compose the fixed
capital either of an individual or of a society, make no part either of the
gross or the neat revenue of either, so money, by means of which the whole
revenue of the society is regularly distributed among all its different
members, makes itself no part of that revenue.’[65]
Constant capital, the fixed capital of Adam Smith, is thus put on the same
level as money and does not enter into the total produce of society, its gross
revenue. It does not exist within this total product as an element of value.
You cannot get blood out of a stone, and so circulation, the mutual
exchange of the total product constituted in this manner, can only lead to
realisation of the wages (v) and of the surplus value (s). However, as it
cannot by any means replace the constant capital, continued reproduction
evidently must become impossible. Smith indeed knew quite well, and did
not dream of denying, that every individual capitalist requires constant
capital in addition to his wages fund, his variable capital, in order to run his
enterprise. Yet the above analysis of commodity prices, when it comes to
take note of capitalist production as a whole, allows constant capital to
disappear without a trace in a puzzling way. Thus the problem of the
reproduction of capital is completely muddled up. It is plain that if the most
elementary premise of the problem, the demonstration of social capital as a
whole, were on the rocks, the whole analysis was bound to fail. Ricardo,
neat rent.
‘The gross revenue of all the inhabitants of a great country comprehends the
whole annual produce of their land and labour; the neat revenue, what
remains free to them after deducting the expense of maintaining, first, their
fixed, and secondly, their circulating capital, or what, without encroaching
upon their capital, they can place in their stock reserved for immediate
consumption, or spend upon their subsistence, conveniences, and
amusements. Their real wealth too is in proportion, not to their gross, but to
their neat revenue.’[64]
Here Smith introduces a portion of value which corresponds to constant
capital, only to eliminate it the very next moment by resolving it into
wages, profits, and rents. And in the end, the matter rests with this
explanation:
‘As the machines and instruments of trade, etc. which compose the fixed
capital either of an individual or of a society, make no part either of the
gross or the neat revenue of either, so money, by means of which the whole
revenue of the society is regularly distributed among all its different
members, makes itself no part of that revenue.’[65]
Constant capital, the fixed capital of Adam Smith, is thus put on the same
level as money and does not enter into the total produce of society, its gross
revenue. It does not exist within this total product as an element of value.
You cannot get blood out of a stone, and so circulation, the mutual
exchange of the total product constituted in this manner, can only lead to
realisation of the wages (v) and of the surplus value (s). However, as it
cannot by any means replace the constant capital, continued reproduction
evidently must become impossible. Smith indeed knew quite well, and did
not dream of denying, that every individual capitalist requires constant
capital in addition to his wages fund, his variable capital, in order to run his
enterprise. Yet the above analysis of commodity prices, when it comes to
take note of capitalist production as a whole, allows constant capital to
disappear without a trace in a puzzling way. Thus the problem of the
reproduction of capital is completely muddled up. It is plain that if the most
elementary premise of the problem, the demonstration of social capital as a
whole, were on the rocks, the whole analysis was bound to fail. Ricardo,
Page 54
Say, Sismondi and others took up this erroneous theory of Adam Smith, and
they all stumbled in their observations on the problem of reproduction over
this most elementary difficulty: the demonstration of social capital.
Another difficulty is mixed up with the foregoing from the very outset of
scientific analysis. What is the nature of the total capital of a society? As
regards the individual producer, the position is clear: his capital consists of
the expenses of his enterprise. Assuming capitalist methods of production,
the value of his product yields him a surplus over and above his expenses,
that surplus value which does not replace his capital but constitutes his net
income, which he can consume completely without encroaching upon his
capital and which is thus his fund of consumption. It is true that the
capitalist may save part of this net income, not consuming it himself but
adding it to his capital. But that is another matter, a new step, the formation
of a new capital which again must be replaced by subsequent reproduction
and must again yield him a surplus. In any case, the capital of an individual
always consists of what he requires for production, together with his
advances on the running of his enterprise, and his income is what he
himself actually consumes or may consume, his fund of consumption. If we
ask a capitalist: ‘What are the wages you pay your workers?’ his answer
will be: ‘They are obviously part of my working capital.’ But if we ask:
‘What are these wages for the workers who have received them?’—it is
impossible that he should describe them as capital, for wages received are
not capital for the workers but income, their fund of consumption.
Let us now take another example. A manufacturer of machinery produces
machines in his factory. The annual output is a certain number of machines.
In its value, however, this annual output contains the capital advanced by
the manufacturer as well as the net income that has been earned. Part of the
manufactured machines thus represent income for the manufacturer and are
destined to realise this income in the process of circulation and exchange.
But the person who buys these machines from the manufacturer does not
buy them as income but in order to use them as a means of production; for
him they are capital.
These examples make it seem plausible that an object which is capital for
one person may be income for another and vice versa. How can it be
possible under these circumstances to construct anything in the nature of a
total capital of society? Indeed almost every scientific economist up to the
they all stumbled in their observations on the problem of reproduction over
this most elementary difficulty: the demonstration of social capital.
Another difficulty is mixed up with the foregoing from the very outset of
scientific analysis. What is the nature of the total capital of a society? As
regards the individual producer, the position is clear: his capital consists of
the expenses of his enterprise. Assuming capitalist methods of production,
the value of his product yields him a surplus over and above his expenses,
that surplus value which does not replace his capital but constitutes his net
income, which he can consume completely without encroaching upon his
capital and which is thus his fund of consumption. It is true that the
capitalist may save part of this net income, not consuming it himself but
adding it to his capital. But that is another matter, a new step, the formation
of a new capital which again must be replaced by subsequent reproduction
and must again yield him a surplus. In any case, the capital of an individual
always consists of what he requires for production, together with his
advances on the running of his enterprise, and his income is what he
himself actually consumes or may consume, his fund of consumption. If we
ask a capitalist: ‘What are the wages you pay your workers?’ his answer
will be: ‘They are obviously part of my working capital.’ But if we ask:
‘What are these wages for the workers who have received them?’—it is
impossible that he should describe them as capital, for wages received are
not capital for the workers but income, their fund of consumption.
Let us now take another example. A manufacturer of machinery produces
machines in his factory. The annual output is a certain number of machines.
In its value, however, this annual output contains the capital advanced by
the manufacturer as well as the net income that has been earned. Part of the
manufactured machines thus represent income for the manufacturer and are
destined to realise this income in the process of circulation and exchange.
But the person who buys these machines from the manufacturer does not
buy them as income but in order to use them as a means of production; for
him they are capital.
These examples make it seem plausible that an object which is capital for
one person may be income for another and vice versa. How can it be
possible under these circumstances to construct anything in the nature of a
total capital of society? Indeed almost every scientific economist up to the
Page 55
time of Marx concluded that there is no social capital.[66] Smith was still
doubtful, undecided, vacillating about this question; so was Ricardo. But
already Say declared categorically:
‘It is in this way, that the total value of products is distributed amongst the
members of the community; I say, the total value, because such part of the
whole value produced, as does not go to one of the consuming producers, is
received by the rest. The clothier buys wool of the farmer, pays his
workmen in every department, and sells the cloth, the result of their united
exertion, at a price that reimburses all his advances, and affords himself a
profit. He never reckons as profit, or as the revenue of his own industry,
anything more than the net surplus, after deducting all charges and
outgoings; but those outgoings are merely an advance of their respective
revenues to the previous producers, which are refunded by the gross value
of the cloth. The price paid to the farmer for his wool is the compound of
the several revenues of the cultivator, the shepherd and the landlord.
Although the farmer reckons as net produce only the surplus remaining
after payment of his landlord and his servants in husbandry, yet to them
these payments are items of revenue—rent to the one and wages to the other
—to the one, the revenue of the land, to the other, the revenue of his
industry. The aggregate of all these is defrayed out of the value of the cloth,
the whole of which forms the revenue of some one or other, and is entirely
absorbed in that way.—Whence it appears that the term net produce applies
only to the individual revenue of each separate producer or adventurer in
industry, but that the aggregate of individual revenue, the total revenue of
the community, is equal to the gross produce of its land, capital and
industry, which entirely subverts the system of the economists of the last
century, who considered nothing but the net produce of the land as farming
revenue, and therefore concluded, that this net produce was all that the
community had to consume; instead of closing with the obvious inference,
that the whole of what had been created, may also be consumed by
mankind.’[67]
Say proves his theory in his own peculiar fashion. Whereas Adam Smith
tried to give a proof by referring each private capital unit to its place of
production in order to resolve it into a mere product of labour, but
conceived of every product of labour in strictly capitalist terms as a sum of
paid and unpaid labour, as v + s, and thus came to resolve the total product
doubtful, undecided, vacillating about this question; so was Ricardo. But
already Say declared categorically:
‘It is in this way, that the total value of products is distributed amongst the
members of the community; I say, the total value, because such part of the
whole value produced, as does not go to one of the consuming producers, is
received by the rest. The clothier buys wool of the farmer, pays his
workmen in every department, and sells the cloth, the result of their united
exertion, at a price that reimburses all his advances, and affords himself a
profit. He never reckons as profit, or as the revenue of his own industry,
anything more than the net surplus, after deducting all charges and
outgoings; but those outgoings are merely an advance of their respective
revenues to the previous producers, which are refunded by the gross value
of the cloth. The price paid to the farmer for his wool is the compound of
the several revenues of the cultivator, the shepherd and the landlord.
Although the farmer reckons as net produce only the surplus remaining
after payment of his landlord and his servants in husbandry, yet to them
these payments are items of revenue—rent to the one and wages to the other
—to the one, the revenue of the land, to the other, the revenue of his
industry. The aggregate of all these is defrayed out of the value of the cloth,
the whole of which forms the revenue of some one or other, and is entirely
absorbed in that way.—Whence it appears that the term net produce applies
only to the individual revenue of each separate producer or adventurer in
industry, but that the aggregate of individual revenue, the total revenue of
the community, is equal to the gross produce of its land, capital and
industry, which entirely subverts the system of the economists of the last
century, who considered nothing but the net produce of the land as farming
revenue, and therefore concluded, that this net produce was all that the
community had to consume; instead of closing with the obvious inference,
that the whole of what had been created, may also be consumed by
mankind.’[67]
Say proves his theory in his own peculiar fashion. Whereas Adam Smith
tried to give a proof by referring each private capital unit to its place of
production in order to resolve it into a mere product of labour, but
conceived of every product of labour in strictly capitalist terms as a sum of
paid and unpaid labour, as v + s, and thus came to resolve the total product
Page 56
of society into v + s; Say, of course, is cocksure enough to ‘correct’ these
classical errors by inflating them into common vulgarities. His argument is
based upon the fact that the entrepreneur at every stage of production pays
other people, the representatives of previous stages of production, for the
means of production which are capital for him, and that these people in
their turn put part of this payment into their own pockets as their income
and partly use it to recoup themselves for expenses advanced in order to
provide yet another set of people with an income. Say converts Adam
Smith’s endless chain of labour processes into an equally unending chain of
mutual advances on income and their repayment from the proceeds of sales.
The worker appears here as the absolute equal of the entrepreneur. He has
his income advanced in the form of wages, paying for it in turn by the
labour he performs. Thus the final value of the aggregate social product
appears as the sum of a large number of advanced incomes and is spent in
the process of exchange on repayment of all these advances. It is
characteristic of Say’s superficiality that he illustrates the social connections
of capitalist reproduction by the example of watch manufacture—a branch
of production which at that time and partly even to-day is pure
‘manufacture’ where every worker is also an entrepreneur on a small scale
and the process of production of surplus value is masked by a series of
successive acts of exchange typical of simple commodity production.
Thus Say gives an extremely crude expression to the confusion inaugurated
by Adam Smith. The aggregate of annual social produce can be completely
resolved as regards its value into a sequence of various incomes. Therefore
it is completely consumed every year. It remains an enigma how production
can be taken up again without capital and means of production, and
capitalist reproduction appears to be an insoluble problem.
If we compare the varying approaches to the problem from the time of the
Physiocrats to that of Adam Smith, we cannot fail to recognise partial
progress as well as partial regression. The main characteristic of the
economic conception of the Physiocrats was their assumption that
agriculture alone creates a surplus, that is surplus value, and that
agricultural labour is the only kind of labour which is productive in the
capitalist sense of the term. Consequently we see in the Tableau
Économique that the unproductive class of industrial workers creates value
only to the extent of the same 2,000 million livres which it consumes as raw
classical errors by inflating them into common vulgarities. His argument is
based upon the fact that the entrepreneur at every stage of production pays
other people, the representatives of previous stages of production, for the
means of production which are capital for him, and that these people in
their turn put part of this payment into their own pockets as their income
and partly use it to recoup themselves for expenses advanced in order to
provide yet another set of people with an income. Say converts Adam
Smith’s endless chain of labour processes into an equally unending chain of
mutual advances on income and their repayment from the proceeds of sales.
The worker appears here as the absolute equal of the entrepreneur. He has
his income advanced in the form of wages, paying for it in turn by the
labour he performs. Thus the final value of the aggregate social product
appears as the sum of a large number of advanced incomes and is spent in
the process of exchange on repayment of all these advances. It is
characteristic of Say’s superficiality that he illustrates the social connections
of capitalist reproduction by the example of watch manufacture—a branch
of production which at that time and partly even to-day is pure
‘manufacture’ where every worker is also an entrepreneur on a small scale
and the process of production of surplus value is masked by a series of
successive acts of exchange typical of simple commodity production.
Thus Say gives an extremely crude expression to the confusion inaugurated
by Adam Smith. The aggregate of annual social produce can be completely
resolved as regards its value into a sequence of various incomes. Therefore
it is completely consumed every year. It remains an enigma how production
can be taken up again without capital and means of production, and
capitalist reproduction appears to be an insoluble problem.
If we compare the varying approaches to the problem from the time of the
Physiocrats to that of Adam Smith, we cannot fail to recognise partial
progress as well as partial regression. The main characteristic of the
economic conception of the Physiocrats was their assumption that
agriculture alone creates a surplus, that is surplus value, and that
agricultural labour is the only kind of labour which is productive in the
capitalist sense of the term. Consequently we see in the Tableau
Économique that the unproductive class of industrial workers creates value
only to the extent of the same 2,000 million livres which it consumes as raw
Page 57
materials and foodstuffs. Consequently, too, in the process of exchange, the
total of manufactured products is divided into two parts, one of which goes
to the tenant class and the other to the landowning class, while the
manufacturing class does not consume its own products. Thus in the value
of its commodities, the manufacturing class reproduces, strictly speaking,
only that circulating capital which has been consumed, and no income is
created for the class of entrepreneurs. The only income of society that
comes into circulation in excess of all capital advances, is created in
agriculture and is consumed by the landowning class in the form of rents,
while even the tenant class do no more than replace their capital: to wit,
1,000 million livres interest from the fixed capital and 2,000 million
circulating capital, two-thirds being raw materials and foodstuffs, and one-
third industrial products. Further it is striking that it is in agriculture alone
that Quesnay assumes the existence of fixed capital which he calls avances
primitives as distinct from avances annuelles. Industry, as he sees it,
apparently works without any fixed capital, only with circulating capital
turned over each year, and consequently does not create in its annual output
of commodities any element of value for making good the wear and tear of
fixed capital (such as premises, tools, and so on).[68]
In contrast with this obvious defect, the English classical school shows a
decisive advance above all in proclaiming every kind of labour as
productive, thus revealing the creation of surplus value in manufacture as
well as in agriculture. We say: the English classical school, because on this
point Adam Smith himself occasionally relapses quietly into the Physiocrat
point of view. It is only Ricardo who develops the theory of the value of
labour as highly and logically as it could advance within the limits of the
bourgeois approach. The consequence is that we must assume all capital
investment to produce annual surplus value, in the manufacturing part of
social production as a whole no less than in agriculture.[69]
On the other hand, the discovery of the productive, value-creating property
of every kind of labour, alike in agriculture and in manufacture, suggested
to Smith that agricultural labour, too, must produce, apart from the rent for
the landowning class, a surplus for the tenant class over and above the total
of their capital expenses. Thus, in addition to the replacement of capital, an
annual income of the tenant class comes into being.[70]
total of manufactured products is divided into two parts, one of which goes
to the tenant class and the other to the landowning class, while the
manufacturing class does not consume its own products. Thus in the value
of its commodities, the manufacturing class reproduces, strictly speaking,
only that circulating capital which has been consumed, and no income is
created for the class of entrepreneurs. The only income of society that
comes into circulation in excess of all capital advances, is created in
agriculture and is consumed by the landowning class in the form of rents,
while even the tenant class do no more than replace their capital: to wit,
1,000 million livres interest from the fixed capital and 2,000 million
circulating capital, two-thirds being raw materials and foodstuffs, and one-
third industrial products. Further it is striking that it is in agriculture alone
that Quesnay assumes the existence of fixed capital which he calls avances
primitives as distinct from avances annuelles. Industry, as he sees it,
apparently works without any fixed capital, only with circulating capital
turned over each year, and consequently does not create in its annual output
of commodities any element of value for making good the wear and tear of
fixed capital (such as premises, tools, and so on).[68]
In contrast with this obvious defect, the English classical school shows a
decisive advance above all in proclaiming every kind of labour as
productive, thus revealing the creation of surplus value in manufacture as
well as in agriculture. We say: the English classical school, because on this
point Adam Smith himself occasionally relapses quietly into the Physiocrat
point of view. It is only Ricardo who develops the theory of the value of
labour as highly and logically as it could advance within the limits of the
bourgeois approach. The consequence is that we must assume all capital
investment to produce annual surplus value, in the manufacturing part of
social production as a whole no less than in agriculture.[69]
On the other hand, the discovery of the productive, value-creating property
of every kind of labour, alike in agriculture and in manufacture, suggested
to Smith that agricultural labour, too, must produce, apart from the rent for
the landowning class, a surplus for the tenant class over and above the total
of their capital expenses. Thus, in addition to the replacement of capital, an
annual income of the tenant class comes into being.[70]
Page 58
Lastly, by a systematic elaboration of the concepts of avances primitives
and avances annuelles introduced by Quesnay, which he calls fixed and
circulating capital, Smith has made clear, among other things, that the
manufacturing side of social production requires a fixed as well as a
circulating capital. Thus he was well on the way to restoring to order the
concepts of capital and revenue of society, and to describing them in precise
terms. The following exposition represents the highest level of clarity which
he achieved in this respect:
‘Though the whole annual produce of the land and labour of every country
is, no doubt, ultimately destined for supplying the consumption of its
inhabitants and for procuring a revenue to them, yet when it first comes
either from the ground or from the hands of the productive labourer, it
naturally divides itself into two parts. One of them, and frequently the
largest, is, in the first place, destined for replacing a capital, or for renewing
the provisions, materials, and finished work, which had been withdrawn
from a capital; the other for constituting a revenue either to the owner of
this capital, as the profit of his stock, or to some other person, as the rent of
his land.’[71]
‘The gross revenue of all the inhabitants of a great country comprehends the
whole annual produce of their land and labour; the neat revenue, what
remains free to them after deducting the expense of maintaining, first, their
fixed, and secondly, their circulating capital; or what, without encroaching
upon their capital, they can place in their stock reserved for immediate
consumption, or spend upon their subsistence, conveniencies, and
amusements. Their real wealth too is in proportion, not to their gross, but to
their neat revenue.’[72]
The concepts of total capital and income appear here in a more
comprehensive and stricter form than in the Tableau Économique. The one-
sided connection of social income with agriculture is severed and social
income becomes a broader concept; and a broader concept of capital in its
two forms, fixed and circulating capital, is made the basis of social
production as a whole. Instead of the misleading differentiation of
production into two departments, agriculture and industry, other categories
of real importance are here brought to the fore: the distinction between
capital and income and the distinction, further, between fixed and
circulating capital.
and avances annuelles introduced by Quesnay, which he calls fixed and
circulating capital, Smith has made clear, among other things, that the
manufacturing side of social production requires a fixed as well as a
circulating capital. Thus he was well on the way to restoring to order the
concepts of capital and revenue of society, and to describing them in precise
terms. The following exposition represents the highest level of clarity which
he achieved in this respect:
‘Though the whole annual produce of the land and labour of every country
is, no doubt, ultimately destined for supplying the consumption of its
inhabitants and for procuring a revenue to them, yet when it first comes
either from the ground or from the hands of the productive labourer, it
naturally divides itself into two parts. One of them, and frequently the
largest, is, in the first place, destined for replacing a capital, or for renewing
the provisions, materials, and finished work, which had been withdrawn
from a capital; the other for constituting a revenue either to the owner of
this capital, as the profit of his stock, or to some other person, as the rent of
his land.’[71]
‘The gross revenue of all the inhabitants of a great country comprehends the
whole annual produce of their land and labour; the neat revenue, what
remains free to them after deducting the expense of maintaining, first, their
fixed, and secondly, their circulating capital; or what, without encroaching
upon their capital, they can place in their stock reserved for immediate
consumption, or spend upon their subsistence, conveniencies, and
amusements. Their real wealth too is in proportion, not to their gross, but to
their neat revenue.’[72]
The concepts of total capital and income appear here in a more
comprehensive and stricter form than in the Tableau Économique. The one-
sided connection of social income with agriculture is severed and social
income becomes a broader concept; and a broader concept of capital in its
two forms, fixed and circulating capital, is made the basis of social
production as a whole. Instead of the misleading differentiation of
production into two departments, agriculture and industry, other categories
of real importance are here brought to the fore: the distinction between
capital and income and the distinction, further, between fixed and
circulating capital.
Page 59
Now Smith proceeds to a further analysis of the mutual relations of these
categories and of how they change in the course of the social process, in
production and circulation—in the reproductive process of society. He
emphasises here a radical distinction between fixed and circulating capital
from the point of view of the society:
‘The whole expense of maintaining the fixed capital must evidently be
excluded from the neat revenue of the society. Neither the materials
necessary for supporting their useful machines and instruments of trade,
their profitable buildings, etc., nor the produce of the labour necessary for
fashioning those materials into the proper form, can ever make any part of
it. The price of that labour may indeed make a part of it; as the workmen so
employed may place the whole value of their wages in their stock reserved
for immediate consumption. But in other sorts of labour, both the price and
the produce go to this stock, the price to that of the workmen, the produce
to that of other people whose subsistence, convenience and amusements are
augmented by the labour of those workmen.’[73]
Here Smith comes up against the important distinction between workers
who produce means of production and those who produce consumer goods.
With regard to the former he remarks that they create the value—destined to
replace their wages and to serve as their income—in the form of means of
production such as raw materials and instruments which in their natural
form cannot be consumed. With regard to the latter category of workers,
Smith observes that conversely the total product, or better that part of value
contained in it which replaces the wages, the income of the workers
together with its other remaining value, appears here in the form of
consumer goods. (The real meaning latent in this conclusion, though Smith
does not say so explicitly, is that the part of the product which represents
the fixed capital employed in its production appears likewise in this form.)
In the further course of our investigation we shall see how close Smith has
here come to the vantage point from which Marx tackled the problem. The
general conclusion, however, maintained by Smith without any further
examination of the fundamental question, is that, in any case, whatever is
destined for the preservation and renewal of the fixed capital of society
cannot be added to society’s net income.
The position is different with regard to circulating capital. ‘But though the
whole expenses of maintaining the fixed capital is thus necessarily excluded
categories and of how they change in the course of the social process, in
production and circulation—in the reproductive process of society. He
emphasises here a radical distinction between fixed and circulating capital
from the point of view of the society:
‘The whole expense of maintaining the fixed capital must evidently be
excluded from the neat revenue of the society. Neither the materials
necessary for supporting their useful machines and instruments of trade,
their profitable buildings, etc., nor the produce of the labour necessary for
fashioning those materials into the proper form, can ever make any part of
it. The price of that labour may indeed make a part of it; as the workmen so
employed may place the whole value of their wages in their stock reserved
for immediate consumption. But in other sorts of labour, both the price and
the produce go to this stock, the price to that of the workmen, the produce
to that of other people whose subsistence, convenience and amusements are
augmented by the labour of those workmen.’[73]
Here Smith comes up against the important distinction between workers
who produce means of production and those who produce consumer goods.
With regard to the former he remarks that they create the value—destined to
replace their wages and to serve as their income—in the form of means of
production such as raw materials and instruments which in their natural
form cannot be consumed. With regard to the latter category of workers,
Smith observes that conversely the total product, or better that part of value
contained in it which replaces the wages, the income of the workers
together with its other remaining value, appears here in the form of
consumer goods. (The real meaning latent in this conclusion, though Smith
does not say so explicitly, is that the part of the product which represents
the fixed capital employed in its production appears likewise in this form.)
In the further course of our investigation we shall see how close Smith has
here come to the vantage point from which Marx tackled the problem. The
general conclusion, however, maintained by Smith without any further
examination of the fundamental question, is that, in any case, whatever is
destined for the preservation and renewal of the fixed capital of society
cannot be added to society’s net income.
The position is different with regard to circulating capital. ‘But though the
whole expenses of maintaining the fixed capital is thus necessarily excluded
Page 60
from the neat revenue of the society, it is not the same case with that of
maintaining the circulating capital. Of the four parts of which this latter
capital is composed, money, provisions, materials and finished work, the
three last, it has already been observed, are regularly withdrawn from it and
placed either in the fixed capital of the society, or in their stock reserved for
immediate consumption. Whatever portion of those consumable goods is
not employed in maintaining the former, goes all to the latter, and makes a
part of the neat revenue of the society, besides what is necessary for
maintaining the fixed capital.’[74]
We see that Smith here simply includes in this category of circulating
capital everything but the fixed capital already employed, that is to say,
foodstuffs and raw materials and in part commodities which, according to
their natural form, belong to the replacement of fixed capital. Thus he has
made the concept of circulating capital vague and ambiguous. But a further
and most important distinction crops up and cuts right through this
conception: ‘The circulating capital of a society is in this respect different
from that of an individual. That of an individual is totally excluded from
making any part of his neat revenue, which must consist altogether in his
profits. But though the circulating capital of every individual makes a part
of that of the society to which he belongs, it is not upon that account totally
excluded from making a part likewise of their neat revenues.’[75]
In the following illustration Smith expounds what he means: ‘Though the
whole goods in a merchant’s shop must by no means be placed in his own
stock reserved for immediate consumption, they may in that of other
people, who, from a revenue derived from other funds, may regularly
replace their value to him, together with its profits, without occasioning any
diminution either of his capital or theirs.’[76]
Here Smith has established fundamental categories with regard to the
reproduction and movement of circulating social capital. Fixed and
circulating capital, private and social capital, private and social revenue,
means of production and consumer goods, are marked out as
comprehensive categories, and their real, objective interrelation is partly
indicated and partly drowned in the subjective and theoretical
contradictions of Smith’s analysis. The concise, strict, and classically clear
scheme of the Physiocrat theory is dissolved here into a disorderly jumble
maintaining the circulating capital. Of the four parts of which this latter
capital is composed, money, provisions, materials and finished work, the
three last, it has already been observed, are regularly withdrawn from it and
placed either in the fixed capital of the society, or in their stock reserved for
immediate consumption. Whatever portion of those consumable goods is
not employed in maintaining the former, goes all to the latter, and makes a
part of the neat revenue of the society, besides what is necessary for
maintaining the fixed capital.’[74]
We see that Smith here simply includes in this category of circulating
capital everything but the fixed capital already employed, that is to say,
foodstuffs and raw materials and in part commodities which, according to
their natural form, belong to the replacement of fixed capital. Thus he has
made the concept of circulating capital vague and ambiguous. But a further
and most important distinction crops up and cuts right through this
conception: ‘The circulating capital of a society is in this respect different
from that of an individual. That of an individual is totally excluded from
making any part of his neat revenue, which must consist altogether in his
profits. But though the circulating capital of every individual makes a part
of that of the society to which he belongs, it is not upon that account totally
excluded from making a part likewise of their neat revenues.’[75]
In the following illustration Smith expounds what he means: ‘Though the
whole goods in a merchant’s shop must by no means be placed in his own
stock reserved for immediate consumption, they may in that of other
people, who, from a revenue derived from other funds, may regularly
replace their value to him, together with its profits, without occasioning any
diminution either of his capital or theirs.’[76]
Here Smith has established fundamental categories with regard to the
reproduction and movement of circulating social capital. Fixed and
circulating capital, private and social capital, private and social revenue,
means of production and consumer goods, are marked out as
comprehensive categories, and their real, objective interrelation is partly
indicated and partly drowned in the subjective and theoretical
contradictions of Smith’s analysis. The concise, strict, and classically clear
scheme of the Physiocrat theory is dissolved here into a disorderly jumble
Page 61
of concepts and relations which at first glance appears an absolute chaos.
But we may already perceive new connections within the social process of
reproduction, understood by Smith in a deeper, more modern and vital way
than was within Quesnay’s grasp, though, like Michelangelo’s slave in the
unhewn block of marble, they are still inchoate.
This is the only illustration Smith gives of this problem. But at the same
time he attacks it from another angle—by an analysis of value. This very
same theory which represents an advance beyond the Physiocrats—the
theory that it is an essential quality of all labour to create value; the strictly
capitalist distinction between paid labour replacing wages, and unpaid
labour creating surplus value; and, finally, the strict division of surplus
value into its two main categories, of profit and rent—all this progress from
the analysis of the Physiocrats leads Smith to the strange proposition that
the price of every commodity consists of wages, plus profits, plus rent, or,
in Marx’s shorthand, of v + s. In consequence, the commodities annually
produced by society as a whole can be resolved completely, as to value, into
the two components: wages and surplus value. Here the category of capital
has disappeared all of a sudden; society produces nothing but income,
nothing but consumer goods, which it also consumes completely.
Reproduction without capital becomes a paradox, and the treatment of the
problem as a whole has taken an immense backward step against that of the
Physiocrats.
The followers of Adam Smith have tackled this twofold theory from
precisely the wrong approach. Before Marx nobody concerned himself with
the important beginnings of an exact exposition of the problem in Smith’s
second book, while most of his followers jealously preserved Smith’s
radically wrong analysis of prices, accepting it, like Ricardo, without
question, or else, like Say, elaborating it into a trite doctrine. Where Smith
raised fruitful doubts and stimulating contradictions, Say flaunted the
opinionated presumption of a commonplace mind. Smith’s observation that
the capital of one person may be the revenue of another induced Say to
proclaim every distinction between capital and income on the social scale to
be absurd. The absurdity, however, that income should completely absorb
the total value of annual production which is thus consumed completely,
assumes in Say’s treatment the character of an absolutely valid dogma. If
society annually consumes its own total product completely, social
But we may already perceive new connections within the social process of
reproduction, understood by Smith in a deeper, more modern and vital way
than was within Quesnay’s grasp, though, like Michelangelo’s slave in the
unhewn block of marble, they are still inchoate.
This is the only illustration Smith gives of this problem. But at the same
time he attacks it from another angle—by an analysis of value. This very
same theory which represents an advance beyond the Physiocrats—the
theory that it is an essential quality of all labour to create value; the strictly
capitalist distinction between paid labour replacing wages, and unpaid
labour creating surplus value; and, finally, the strict division of surplus
value into its two main categories, of profit and rent—all this progress from
the analysis of the Physiocrats leads Smith to the strange proposition that
the price of every commodity consists of wages, plus profits, plus rent, or,
in Marx’s shorthand, of v + s. In consequence, the commodities annually
produced by society as a whole can be resolved completely, as to value, into
the two components: wages and surplus value. Here the category of capital
has disappeared all of a sudden; society produces nothing but income,
nothing but consumer goods, which it also consumes completely.
Reproduction without capital becomes a paradox, and the treatment of the
problem as a whole has taken an immense backward step against that of the
Physiocrats.
The followers of Adam Smith have tackled this twofold theory from
precisely the wrong approach. Before Marx nobody concerned himself with
the important beginnings of an exact exposition of the problem in Smith’s
second book, while most of his followers jealously preserved Smith’s
radically wrong analysis of prices, accepting it, like Ricardo, without
question, or else, like Say, elaborating it into a trite doctrine. Where Smith
raised fruitful doubts and stimulating contradictions, Say flaunted the
opinionated presumption of a commonplace mind. Smith’s observation that
the capital of one person may be the revenue of another induced Say to
proclaim every distinction between capital and income on the social scale to
be absurd. The absurdity, however, that income should completely absorb
the total value of annual production which is thus consumed completely,
assumes in Say’s treatment the character of an absolutely valid dogma. If
society annually consumes its own total product completely, social
Page 62
reproduction without any means of production whatever must become an
annual repetition of the Miracle of the Creation.
In this state the problem of reproduction remained up to the time of Karl
Marx.
annual repetition of the Miracle of the Creation.
In this state the problem of reproduction remained up to the time of Karl
Marx.
Page 63
CHAPTER III
Page 64
A CRITICISM OF SMITH’S ANALYSIS
Let us recapitulate the conclusions to which Smith’s analysis has brought
us:
(1) There is a fixed capital of society, no part of which enters into its net
revenue. This fixed capital consists in ‘the materials necessary for
supporting their useful machines and instruments of trade’ and ‘the produce
of labour necessary for fashioning those materials into the proper form’.[77]
By singling out the production of such fixed capital as of a special kind, and
explicitly contrasting it with the production of consumer goods, Smith in
effect transformed fixed capital into what Marx calls ‘constant capital’—
that part of capital which consists of all material means of production, as
opposed to labour power.
(2) There is a circulating capital of society. After eliminating the part of
fixed, or constant, capital, there remains only the category of consumer
goods; these are not capital for society but net revenue, a fund of
consumption.
(3) Capital and net revenue of an individual do not strictly correspond with
capital and net revenue of society. What is nothing but fixed, or constant
capital for society as a whole cannot be capital for the individual; it must be
revenue, too, a fund of consumption, comprising as it does those parts of
fixed capital which represent the workers’ wages and the capitalists’ profits.
On the other hand, the circulating capital of the individuals cannot be
capital for society but must be revenue, especially in so far as it takes the
form of provisions.
(4) As regards the value of the total annual social product, no trace of
capital remains. It can be resolved completely into the three kinds of
income: wages, profits of capital, and rents.
If we tried from this haphazard collection of odd ideas to build up a picture
of the annual reproduction of total social capital, and of its mechanism, we
should soon despair of our task. Indeed, all these observations leave us
infinitely remote from the solution of the problem how social capital is
Let us recapitulate the conclusions to which Smith’s analysis has brought
us:
(1) There is a fixed capital of society, no part of which enters into its net
revenue. This fixed capital consists in ‘the materials necessary for
supporting their useful machines and instruments of trade’ and ‘the produce
of labour necessary for fashioning those materials into the proper form’.[77]
By singling out the production of such fixed capital as of a special kind, and
explicitly contrasting it with the production of consumer goods, Smith in
effect transformed fixed capital into what Marx calls ‘constant capital’—
that part of capital which consists of all material means of production, as
opposed to labour power.
(2) There is a circulating capital of society. After eliminating the part of
fixed, or constant, capital, there remains only the category of consumer
goods; these are not capital for society but net revenue, a fund of
consumption.
(3) Capital and net revenue of an individual do not strictly correspond with
capital and net revenue of society. What is nothing but fixed, or constant
capital for society as a whole cannot be capital for the individual; it must be
revenue, too, a fund of consumption, comprising as it does those parts of
fixed capital which represent the workers’ wages and the capitalists’ profits.
On the other hand, the circulating capital of the individuals cannot be
capital for society but must be revenue, especially in so far as it takes the
form of provisions.
(4) As regards the value of the total annual social product, no trace of
capital remains. It can be resolved completely into the three kinds of
income: wages, profits of capital, and rents.
If we tried from this haphazard collection of odd ideas to build up a picture
of the annual reproduction of total social capital, and of its mechanism, we
should soon despair of our task. Indeed, all these observations leave us
infinitely remote from the solution of the problem how social capital is
Page 65
annually renewed, how everybody’s consumption is ensured by his income,
while the individuals can nevertheless adhere to their own points of view on
capital and income. Yet if we wish to appreciate fully Marx’s contribution
to the elucidation of this problem, we must be fully aware of all this
confusion of ideas, the mass of conflicting points of view.
Let us begin with Adam Smith’s last thesis which alone would suffice to
wreck the treatment of the problem of reproduction in classical economics.
Smith’s basic principle is that the total produce of society, when we
consider its value, resolves itself completely into wages, profits and rents:
this conception is deeply rooted in his scientific theory that value is nothing
but the product of labour. All labour performed, however, is wage labour.
This identification of human labour with capitalist wage labour is indeed
the classical element in Smith’s doctrine. The value of the aggregate
product of society comprises both the recompense for wages advanced and
a surplus from unpaid labour appearing as profit for the capitalist and rent
for the landowner. What holds good for the individual commodity must
hold good equally for the aggregate of commodities. The whole mass of
commodities produced by society—taken as a quantity of value—is nothing
but a product of labour, of paid as well as unpaid labour, and thus it is also
to be completely resolved into wages, profits, and rents.
It is of course true that raw materials, instruments, and the like, must be
taken into consideration in connection with all labour. Yet is it not true also
that these raw materials and instruments in their turn are equally products of
labour which again may have been paid or unpaid? We may go back as far
as we choose, we may twist and turn the problem as much as we like, yet
we shall find no element in the value of any commodity—and therefore
none in the price—which cannot be resolved purely in terms of human
labour. We can distinguish, however, two parts in all labour: one part repays
the wages and the other accrues to the capitalist and landlord. There seems
nothing left but wages and profits—and yet, there is capital, individual and
social capital. How can we overcome this blatant contradiction? The fact
that Marx himself stubbornly pursued this matter for a long time without
getting anywhere at first as witness his Theories of the Surplus Value,[78]
proves that this theoretical problem is indeed extremely hard to solve. Yet
the solution he eventually hit on was strikingly successful, and it is based
upon his theory of value. Adam Smith was perfectly right: nothing but
while the individuals can nevertheless adhere to their own points of view on
capital and income. Yet if we wish to appreciate fully Marx’s contribution
to the elucidation of this problem, we must be fully aware of all this
confusion of ideas, the mass of conflicting points of view.
Let us begin with Adam Smith’s last thesis which alone would suffice to
wreck the treatment of the problem of reproduction in classical economics.
Smith’s basic principle is that the total produce of society, when we
consider its value, resolves itself completely into wages, profits and rents:
this conception is deeply rooted in his scientific theory that value is nothing
but the product of labour. All labour performed, however, is wage labour.
This identification of human labour with capitalist wage labour is indeed
the classical element in Smith’s doctrine. The value of the aggregate
product of society comprises both the recompense for wages advanced and
a surplus from unpaid labour appearing as profit for the capitalist and rent
for the landowner. What holds good for the individual commodity must
hold good equally for the aggregate of commodities. The whole mass of
commodities produced by society—taken as a quantity of value—is nothing
but a product of labour, of paid as well as unpaid labour, and thus it is also
to be completely resolved into wages, profits, and rents.
It is of course true that raw materials, instruments, and the like, must be
taken into consideration in connection with all labour. Yet is it not true also
that these raw materials and instruments in their turn are equally products of
labour which again may have been paid or unpaid? We may go back as far
as we choose, we may twist and turn the problem as much as we like, yet
we shall find no element in the value of any commodity—and therefore
none in the price—which cannot be resolved purely in terms of human
labour. We can distinguish, however, two parts in all labour: one part repays
the wages and the other accrues to the capitalist and landlord. There seems
nothing left but wages and profits—and yet, there is capital, individual and
social capital. How can we overcome this blatant contradiction? The fact
that Marx himself stubbornly pursued this matter for a long time without
getting anywhere at first as witness his Theories of the Surplus Value,[78]
proves that this theoretical problem is indeed extremely hard to solve. Yet
the solution he eventually hit on was strikingly successful, and it is based
upon his theory of value. Adam Smith was perfectly right: nothing but
Page 66
labour constitutes the value of the individual commodity and of the
aggregate of commodities. He was equally right in saying that from a
capitalist point of view all labour is either paid labour which restores the
wages, or unpaid labour which, as surplus value, accrues to the various
classes owning the means of production. What he forgot, however, or rather
overlooked, is the fact that, apart from being able to create new value,
labour can also transfer to the new commodities the old values incorporated
in the means of production employed. A baker’s working day of ten hours
is, from the capitalist point of view, divided into paid and unpaid hours, into
v + s. But the commodity produced in these ten hours will represent a
greater value than that of ten hours’ labour, for it will also contain the value
of the flour, of the oven which is used, of the premises, of the fuel and so
on, in short the value of all the means of production necessary for baking.
Under one condition alone could the value of any one commodity be strictly
equal to v + s; if a man were to work in mid-air, without raw materials,
without tools or workshop. But since all work on materials (material labour)
presupposes means of production of some sort which themselves result
from preceding labour, the value of this past labour is of necessity
transferred to the new product.
The process in question does not only take place in capitalist production; it
is the general foundation of human labour, quite independent of the
historical form of society. The handling of man-made tools is a fundamental
characteristic of human civilisation. The concept of past labour which
precedes all new labour and prepares its basis, expresses the nexus between
man and nature evolved in the history of civilisation. This is the eternal
chain of closely interwoven labouring efforts of human society, the
beginnings of which are lost in the grey dawn of the socialisation of
mankind, and the termination of which would imply the end of the whole of
civilised mankind. Therefore we have to picture all human labour as
performed with the help of tools which themselves are already products of
antecedent labour. Every new product thus contains not only the new labour
whereby it is given its final form, but also past labour which had supplied
the materials for it, the instruments of labour and so forth. In the production
of value, that is commodity production into which capitalist production also
enters, this phenomenon is not suspended, it only receives a particular
expression. Here the labour which produces commodities assumes a
twofold characteristic: it is on the one hand useful concrete labour of some
aggregate of commodities. He was equally right in saying that from a
capitalist point of view all labour is either paid labour which restores the
wages, or unpaid labour which, as surplus value, accrues to the various
classes owning the means of production. What he forgot, however, or rather
overlooked, is the fact that, apart from being able to create new value,
labour can also transfer to the new commodities the old values incorporated
in the means of production employed. A baker’s working day of ten hours
is, from the capitalist point of view, divided into paid and unpaid hours, into
v + s. But the commodity produced in these ten hours will represent a
greater value than that of ten hours’ labour, for it will also contain the value
of the flour, of the oven which is used, of the premises, of the fuel and so
on, in short the value of all the means of production necessary for baking.
Under one condition alone could the value of any one commodity be strictly
equal to v + s; if a man were to work in mid-air, without raw materials,
without tools or workshop. But since all work on materials (material labour)
presupposes means of production of some sort which themselves result
from preceding labour, the value of this past labour is of necessity
transferred to the new product.
The process in question does not only take place in capitalist production; it
is the general foundation of human labour, quite independent of the
historical form of society. The handling of man-made tools is a fundamental
characteristic of human civilisation. The concept of past labour which
precedes all new labour and prepares its basis, expresses the nexus between
man and nature evolved in the history of civilisation. This is the eternal
chain of closely interwoven labouring efforts of human society, the
beginnings of which are lost in the grey dawn of the socialisation of
mankind, and the termination of which would imply the end of the whole of
civilised mankind. Therefore we have to picture all human labour as
performed with the help of tools which themselves are already products of
antecedent labour. Every new product thus contains not only the new labour
whereby it is given its final form, but also past labour which had supplied
the materials for it, the instruments of labour and so forth. In the production
of value, that is commodity production into which capitalist production also
enters, this phenomenon is not suspended, it only receives a particular
expression. Here the labour which produces commodities assumes a
twofold characteristic: it is on the one hand useful concrete labour of some
Page 67
kind or other, creating the useful object, the value-in-use. On the other
hand, it is abstract, general, socially necessary labour and as such creates
value. In its first aspect it does what labour has always done: it transfers to
the new product past labour, incorporated in the means of production
employed, with this distinction only, that this past labour, too, now appears
as value, as old value. In its second aspect, labour creates new value which,
in capitalist terms, can be reduced to paid and unpaid labour, to v + s. Thus
the value of every commodity must contain old value which has been
transferred by labour qua useful concrete labour from the means of
production to the commodity, as well as the new value, created by the same
labour qua socially necessary labour merely as this labour is expended hour
by hour.
This distinction was beyond Smith: he did not differentiate the twofold
character of value-creating labour. Marx once claimed to have discovered
the ultimate source of Smith’s strange dogma—that the aggregate of
produced values can be completely resolved into v + s—in his
fundamentally erroneous theory of value.[79] Failure to differentiate
between the two aspects of commodity-producing labour as concrete and
useful labour on the one hand, and abstract and socially necessary labour on
the other, indeed forms one of the most important characteristics of the
theory of value as conceived not only by Smith but by all members of the
classical school.
Disregarding all social consequences, classical economics recognised that
human labour alone is the factor which creates value, and it worked out this
theory to that degree of clarity which we meet in Ricardo’s formulation.
There is a fundamental distinction, however, between Marx’s theory of
value and Ricardo’s, a distinction which has been misunderstood not only
by bourgeois economists but also in most cases by the popularisers of
Marx’s doctrine: Ricardo, conceiving as he did, of bourgeois economy in
terms of natural law, believed also that the creation of value, too, is a
natural property of human labour, of the specific and concrete labour of the
individual human being.
This view is even more blatantly revealed in the writings of Adam Smith
who for instance declares what he calls the ‘propensity to exchange’ to be a
quality peculiar to human nature, having looked for it in vain in animals,
particularly in dogs. And although he doubted the existence of the
hand, it is abstract, general, socially necessary labour and as such creates
value. In its first aspect it does what labour has always done: it transfers to
the new product past labour, incorporated in the means of production
employed, with this distinction only, that this past labour, too, now appears
as value, as old value. In its second aspect, labour creates new value which,
in capitalist terms, can be reduced to paid and unpaid labour, to v + s. Thus
the value of every commodity must contain old value which has been
transferred by labour qua useful concrete labour from the means of
production to the commodity, as well as the new value, created by the same
labour qua socially necessary labour merely as this labour is expended hour
by hour.
This distinction was beyond Smith: he did not differentiate the twofold
character of value-creating labour. Marx once claimed to have discovered
the ultimate source of Smith’s strange dogma—that the aggregate of
produced values can be completely resolved into v + s—in his
fundamentally erroneous theory of value.[79] Failure to differentiate
between the two aspects of commodity-producing labour as concrete and
useful labour on the one hand, and abstract and socially necessary labour on
the other, indeed forms one of the most important characteristics of the
theory of value as conceived not only by Smith but by all members of the
classical school.
Disregarding all social consequences, classical economics recognised that
human labour alone is the factor which creates value, and it worked out this
theory to that degree of clarity which we meet in Ricardo’s formulation.
There is a fundamental distinction, however, between Marx’s theory of
value and Ricardo’s, a distinction which has been misunderstood not only
by bourgeois economists but also in most cases by the popularisers of
Marx’s doctrine: Ricardo, conceiving as he did, of bourgeois economy in
terms of natural law, believed also that the creation of value, too, is a
natural property of human labour, of the specific and concrete labour of the
individual human being.
This view is even more blatantly revealed in the writings of Adam Smith
who for instance declares what he calls the ‘propensity to exchange’ to be a
quality peculiar to human nature, having looked for it in vain in animals,
particularly in dogs. And although he doubted the existence of the
Page 68
propensity to exchange in animals, Smith attributed to animal as well as
human labour the faculty of creating value, especially when he occasionally
relapses into the Physiocrat doctrine:
‘No equal capital puts into motion a greater quantity of productive labour
than that of the farmer. Not only his labouring servants, but his labouring
cattle, are productive labourers....’[80]
‘The labourers and labouring cattle, therefore, employed in agriculture, not
only occasion, like the workmen in manufactures, the reproduction of a
value equal to their own consumption, or to the capital which employs
them, together with its owner’s profits, but of a much greater value. Over
and above the capital of the farmer and all its profits, they regularly
occasion the reproduction of the rent of the landlord.’[81]
Smith’s belief that the creation of value is a direct physiological property of
labour, a manifestation of the animal organism in man, finds its most vivid
expression here. Just as the spider produces its web from its own body, so
labouring man produces value—labouring man pure and simple, every man
who produces useful objects—because labouring man is by birth a producer
of commodities; in the same way human society is founded by nature on the
exchange of commodities, and a commodity economy is the normal form of
human economy.
It was left to Marx to recognise that a given value covers a definite social
relationship which develops under definite historical conditions. Thus he
came to discriminate between the two aspects of commodity-producing
labour: concrete individual labour and socially necessary labour. When this
distinction is made, the solution of the money problem becomes clear also,
as though a spotlight had been turned on it.
Marx had to establish a dynamic distinction in the course of history
between the commodity producer and the labouring man, in order to
distinguish the twin aspects of labour which appear static in bourgeois
economy. He had to discover that the production of commodities is a
definite historical form of social production before he could decipher the
hieroglyphics of capitalist economy. In a word, Marx had to approach the
problem with methods of deduction diametrically opposed to those of the
classical school, he had in his approach to renounce the latter’s faith in the
human and normal element in bourgeois production and to recognise their
human labour the faculty of creating value, especially when he occasionally
relapses into the Physiocrat doctrine:
‘No equal capital puts into motion a greater quantity of productive labour
than that of the farmer. Not only his labouring servants, but his labouring
cattle, are productive labourers....’[80]
‘The labourers and labouring cattle, therefore, employed in agriculture, not
only occasion, like the workmen in manufactures, the reproduction of a
value equal to their own consumption, or to the capital which employs
them, together with its owner’s profits, but of a much greater value. Over
and above the capital of the farmer and all its profits, they regularly
occasion the reproduction of the rent of the landlord.’[81]
Smith’s belief that the creation of value is a direct physiological property of
labour, a manifestation of the animal organism in man, finds its most vivid
expression here. Just as the spider produces its web from its own body, so
labouring man produces value—labouring man pure and simple, every man
who produces useful objects—because labouring man is by birth a producer
of commodities; in the same way human society is founded by nature on the
exchange of commodities, and a commodity economy is the normal form of
human economy.
It was left to Marx to recognise that a given value covers a definite social
relationship which develops under definite historical conditions. Thus he
came to discriminate between the two aspects of commodity-producing
labour: concrete individual labour and socially necessary labour. When this
distinction is made, the solution of the money problem becomes clear also,
as though a spotlight had been turned on it.
Marx had to establish a dynamic distinction in the course of history
between the commodity producer and the labouring man, in order to
distinguish the twin aspects of labour which appear static in bourgeois
economy. He had to discover that the production of commodities is a
definite historical form of social production before he could decipher the
hieroglyphics of capitalist economy. In a word, Marx had to approach the
problem with methods of deduction diametrically opposed to those of the
classical school, he had in his approach to renounce the latter’s faith in the
human and normal element in bourgeois production and to recognise their
Page 69
historical transience: he had to reverse the metaphysical deductions of the
classics into their opposite, the dialectical.
On this showing Smith could not possibly have arrived at a clear distinction
between the two aspects of value-creating labour, which on the one hand
transfers the old value incorporated in the means of production to the new
product, and on the other hand creates new value at the same time.
Moreover, there seems to be yet another source of his dogma that total
value can be completely resolved into v + s. We should be wrong to assume
that Smith lost sight of the fact that every commodity produced contains not
only the value created by its production, but also the values incorporated in
all the means of production that had been spent upon it in the process of
manufacturing it. By the very fact that he continually refers us from one
stage of production to a former one—sending us, as Marx complains, from
pillar to post, in order to show the complete divisibility of the aggregate
value into v + s—Smith proves himself well aware of the point. What is
strange in this connection is that he again and again resolves the old value
of the means of production, too, into v + s, so as finally to cover the whole
value contained in the commodity.
‘In the price of corn, for example, one part pays the rent of the landlord,
another pays the wages of maintenance of the labourers and labouring cattle
employed in producing it, and the third pays the profit of the farmer. These
three parts (wages, profit, and rent) seem either immediately or ultimately
to make up the whole price of corn. A fourth part, it may perhaps be
thought, is necessary for replacing the stock of the farmer, or for
compensating the wear and tear of his labouring cattle and other
instruments of husbandry. But it must be considered that the price of any
instrument of husbandry, such as a labouring horse, is itself made up of the
same three parts: the rent of the land upon which he is reared, the labour of
tending and rearing him, and the profits of the farmer who advances both
the rent of this land and the wages of this labour. Though the price of the
corn, therefore, may pay the price as well as the maintenance of the horse,
the whole price still resolves itself either immediately or ultimately into the
same three parts of rent, of labour, and profit.’[82]
Apparently Smith’s confusion arose from the following premises: first, that
all labour is performed with the help of means of production of some kind
or other—yet what are these means of production associated with any given
classics into their opposite, the dialectical.
On this showing Smith could not possibly have arrived at a clear distinction
between the two aspects of value-creating labour, which on the one hand
transfers the old value incorporated in the means of production to the new
product, and on the other hand creates new value at the same time.
Moreover, there seems to be yet another source of his dogma that total
value can be completely resolved into v + s. We should be wrong to assume
that Smith lost sight of the fact that every commodity produced contains not
only the value created by its production, but also the values incorporated in
all the means of production that had been spent upon it in the process of
manufacturing it. By the very fact that he continually refers us from one
stage of production to a former one—sending us, as Marx complains, from
pillar to post, in order to show the complete divisibility of the aggregate
value into v + s—Smith proves himself well aware of the point. What is
strange in this connection is that he again and again resolves the old value
of the means of production, too, into v + s, so as finally to cover the whole
value contained in the commodity.
‘In the price of corn, for example, one part pays the rent of the landlord,
another pays the wages of maintenance of the labourers and labouring cattle
employed in producing it, and the third pays the profit of the farmer. These
three parts (wages, profit, and rent) seem either immediately or ultimately
to make up the whole price of corn. A fourth part, it may perhaps be
thought, is necessary for replacing the stock of the farmer, or for
compensating the wear and tear of his labouring cattle and other
instruments of husbandry. But it must be considered that the price of any
instrument of husbandry, such as a labouring horse, is itself made up of the
same three parts: the rent of the land upon which he is reared, the labour of
tending and rearing him, and the profits of the farmer who advances both
the rent of this land and the wages of this labour. Though the price of the
corn, therefore, may pay the price as well as the maintenance of the horse,
the whole price still resolves itself either immediately or ultimately into the
same three parts of rent, of labour, and profit.’[82]
Apparently Smith’s confusion arose from the following premises: first, that
all labour is performed with the help of means of production of some kind
or other—yet what are these means of production associated with any given
Page 70
labour (such as raw materials and tools) if not the product of previous
labour? Flour is a means of production to which the baker adds new labour.
Yet flour is the result of the miller’s work, and in his hands it was not a
means of production but the very product, in the same way as now the bread
and pastries are the product of the baker. This product, flour, again
presupposes grain as a means of production, and if we go one step further
back, this corn is not a means of production in the hands of the farmer but
the product. It is impossible to find any means of production in which value
is embodied, without it being itself the product of some previous labour.
Secondly, speaking in terms of capitalism, it follows further that all capital
which has been completely used up in the manufacture of any commodity,
can in the end be resolved into a certain quantity of performed labour.
Thirdly, the total value of the commodity, including all capital advances,
can readily be resolved in this manner into a certain quantity of labour.
What is true for every commodity, must go also for the aggregate of
commodities produced by a society in the course of a year; its aggregate
value can similarly be resolved into a quantity of performed labour.
Fourthly, all labour performed under capitalist conditions is divided into
two parts: paid labour which restores the wages advanced, and unpaid
labour which creates profit and rent, or surplus value. All labour carried out
under capitalist conditions thus corresponds to our formula v + s.[83]
All the arguments outlined above are perfectly correct and unassailable.
Smith handled them in a manner which proves his scientific analysis
consistent and undeviating, and his conceptions of value and surplus value a
distinct advance on the Physiocrat approach. Only occasionally, in his third
thesis, he went astray in his final conclusion, saying that the aggregate
value of the annually produced aggregate of commodities can be resolved
into the labour of that very year, although he himself had been acute enough
to admit elsewhere that the value of the commodities a nation produces in
the course of one year necessarily includes the labour of former years as
well, that is the labour embodied in the means of production which have
been handed down.
But even if the four statements enumerated are perfectly correct in
themselves, the conclusion Smith draws from them—that the total value of
every commodity, and equally of the annual aggregate of commodities in a
labour? Flour is a means of production to which the baker adds new labour.
Yet flour is the result of the miller’s work, and in his hands it was not a
means of production but the very product, in the same way as now the bread
and pastries are the product of the baker. This product, flour, again
presupposes grain as a means of production, and if we go one step further
back, this corn is not a means of production in the hands of the farmer but
the product. It is impossible to find any means of production in which value
is embodied, without it being itself the product of some previous labour.
Secondly, speaking in terms of capitalism, it follows further that all capital
which has been completely used up in the manufacture of any commodity,
can in the end be resolved into a certain quantity of performed labour.
Thirdly, the total value of the commodity, including all capital advances,
can readily be resolved in this manner into a certain quantity of labour.
What is true for every commodity, must go also for the aggregate of
commodities produced by a society in the course of a year; its aggregate
value can similarly be resolved into a quantity of performed labour.
Fourthly, all labour performed under capitalist conditions is divided into
two parts: paid labour which restores the wages advanced, and unpaid
labour which creates profit and rent, or surplus value. All labour carried out
under capitalist conditions thus corresponds to our formula v + s.[83]
All the arguments outlined above are perfectly correct and unassailable.
Smith handled them in a manner which proves his scientific analysis
consistent and undeviating, and his conceptions of value and surplus value a
distinct advance on the Physiocrat approach. Only occasionally, in his third
thesis, he went astray in his final conclusion, saying that the aggregate
value of the annually produced aggregate of commodities can be resolved
into the labour of that very year, although he himself had been acute enough
to admit elsewhere that the value of the commodities a nation produces in
the course of one year necessarily includes the labour of former years as
well, that is the labour embodied in the means of production which have
been handed down.
But even if the four statements enumerated are perfectly correct in
themselves, the conclusion Smith draws from them—that the total value of
every commodity, and equally of the annual aggregate of commodities in a
Page 71
society, can be resolved entirely into v + s—is absolutely wrong. He has the
right idea that the whole value of a commodity represents nothing but social
labour, yet identifies it with a false principle, that all value is nothing but
v + s. The formula v + s expresses the function of living labour under
capitalism, or rather its double function, first to restore the wages, or the
variable capital, and secondly, to create surplus value for the capitalist.
Wage labour fulfils this function whilst it is employed by the capitalists, in
virtue of the fact that the value of the commodities is realised in cash. The
capitalist takes back the variable capital he had advanced in form of wages,
and he pockets the surplus value as well. v + s therefore expresses the
relation between wage labour and capitalist, a relationship that is terminated
in every instance as soon as the process of commodity production is
finished. Once the commodity is sold, and the relation v + s is realised for
the capitalist in cash, the whole relationship is wiped out and leaves no
traces on the commodity. If we examine the commodity and its value, we
cannot ascertain whether it has been produced by paid or by unpaid labour,
nor in what proportion these have contributed. Only one fact is beyond
doubt: the commodity contains a certain quantity of socially necessary
labour which is expressed in its exchange. It is completely immaterial for
the act of exchange as well as for the use of the commodity whether the
labour which produced it could be resolved into v + s or not. In the act of
exchange all that matters is that the commodity represents value, and only
its concrete qualities, its usefulness, are relevant to the use we make of it.
Thus the formula v + s only expresses, as it were, the intimate relationship
between capital and labour, the social function of wage labour, and in the
actual product this is completely wiped out. It is different with the constant
capital which has been advanced and invested in means of production,
because every activity of labour requires certain raw materials, tools, and
buildings. The capitalist character of this state of affairs is expressed by the
fact that these means of production appear as capital, as c, the property of a
person other than the labourer, divorced from labour, the property of those
who themselves do not work. Secondly, the constant capital c, a mere
advance laid out for the purpose of creating surplus value, appears here only
as the foundation of v + s. Yet the concept of constant capital involves more
than this: it expresses the function of the means of production in the process
of human labour, quite independently of all its historical or social forms.
Everybody must have raw materials and working tools, the means of
right idea that the whole value of a commodity represents nothing but social
labour, yet identifies it with a false principle, that all value is nothing but
v + s. The formula v + s expresses the function of living labour under
capitalism, or rather its double function, first to restore the wages, or the
variable capital, and secondly, to create surplus value for the capitalist.
Wage labour fulfils this function whilst it is employed by the capitalists, in
virtue of the fact that the value of the commodities is realised in cash. The
capitalist takes back the variable capital he had advanced in form of wages,
and he pockets the surplus value as well. v + s therefore expresses the
relation between wage labour and capitalist, a relationship that is terminated
in every instance as soon as the process of commodity production is
finished. Once the commodity is sold, and the relation v + s is realised for
the capitalist in cash, the whole relationship is wiped out and leaves no
traces on the commodity. If we examine the commodity and its value, we
cannot ascertain whether it has been produced by paid or by unpaid labour,
nor in what proportion these have contributed. Only one fact is beyond
doubt: the commodity contains a certain quantity of socially necessary
labour which is expressed in its exchange. It is completely immaterial for
the act of exchange as well as for the use of the commodity whether the
labour which produced it could be resolved into v + s or not. In the act of
exchange all that matters is that the commodity represents value, and only
its concrete qualities, its usefulness, are relevant to the use we make of it.
Thus the formula v + s only expresses, as it were, the intimate relationship
between capital and labour, the social function of wage labour, and in the
actual product this is completely wiped out. It is different with the constant
capital which has been advanced and invested in means of production,
because every activity of labour requires certain raw materials, tools, and
buildings. The capitalist character of this state of affairs is expressed by the
fact that these means of production appear as capital, as c, the property of a
person other than the labourer, divorced from labour, the property of those
who themselves do not work. Secondly, the constant capital c, a mere
advance laid out for the purpose of creating surplus value, appears here only
as the foundation of v + s. Yet the concept of constant capital involves more
than this: it expresses the function of the means of production in the process
of human labour, quite independently of all its historical or social forms.
Everybody must have raw materials and working tools, the means of
Page 72
production, be it the South Sea Islander for making his family canoe, the
communist peasant community in India for the cultivation of their
communal land, the Egyptian fellah for tilling his village lands or for
building Pharaoh’s pyramids, the Greek slave in the small workshops of
Athens, the feudal serf, the master craftsman of the medieval guild, or the
modern wage labourer. They all require means of production which, having
resulted from human labour, express the link between human labour and
natural matter, and constitute the eternal and universal prerequisites of the
human process of production. c in the formula c + v + s stands for a certain
function of the means of production which is not wiped out in the
succession of the labour process. Whereas it is completely immaterial, for
both the exchange and the actual use made of a commodity, whether it has
been produced by paid or by unpaid labour, by wage labour, slave labour,
forced labour or any other kind of labour; on the other hand, it is of decisive
importance, as for using it, whether the commodity is itself a means of
production or a consumer good. Whether paid or unpaid labour has been
employed in the production of a machine, matters to the machinery
manufacturer and to his workers, but only to them; for society, when it
acquires this machine by an act of exchange, only the quality of this
machine as a means of production, only its function in the process of
production is of importance. Just as every producing society, since time
immemorial, has had to give due regard to the important function of the
means of production by arranging, in each period of production, for the
manufacture of the means of production requisite for the next period, so
capitalist society, too, cannot achieve its annual production of value to
accord with the formula v + s—which indicates the exploitation of wage
labour—unless there exists, as the result of the preceding period, the
quantity of means of production necessary to make up the constant capital.
This specific connection of each past period of production with the period
following forms the universal and eternal foundation of the social process
of reproduction and consists in the fact that in every period parts of the
produce are destined to become the means of production for the succeeding
period: but this relation remained hidden from Smith’s sight. He was not
interested in means of production in respect of their specific function within
the process to which they are applied; he was only concerned with them in
so far as they are like any other commodity, themselves the product of wage
labour that has been employed in a capitalist manner. The specifically
communist peasant community in India for the cultivation of their
communal land, the Egyptian fellah for tilling his village lands or for
building Pharaoh’s pyramids, the Greek slave in the small workshops of
Athens, the feudal serf, the master craftsman of the medieval guild, or the
modern wage labourer. They all require means of production which, having
resulted from human labour, express the link between human labour and
natural matter, and constitute the eternal and universal prerequisites of the
human process of production. c in the formula c + v + s stands for a certain
function of the means of production which is not wiped out in the
succession of the labour process. Whereas it is completely immaterial, for
both the exchange and the actual use made of a commodity, whether it has
been produced by paid or by unpaid labour, by wage labour, slave labour,
forced labour or any other kind of labour; on the other hand, it is of decisive
importance, as for using it, whether the commodity is itself a means of
production or a consumer good. Whether paid or unpaid labour has been
employed in the production of a machine, matters to the machinery
manufacturer and to his workers, but only to them; for society, when it
acquires this machine by an act of exchange, only the quality of this
machine as a means of production, only its function in the process of
production is of importance. Just as every producing society, since time
immemorial, has had to give due regard to the important function of the
means of production by arranging, in each period of production, for the
manufacture of the means of production requisite for the next period, so
capitalist society, too, cannot achieve its annual production of value to
accord with the formula v + s—which indicates the exploitation of wage
labour—unless there exists, as the result of the preceding period, the
quantity of means of production necessary to make up the constant capital.
This specific connection of each past period of production with the period
following forms the universal and eternal foundation of the social process
of reproduction and consists in the fact that in every period parts of the
produce are destined to become the means of production for the succeeding
period: but this relation remained hidden from Smith’s sight. He was not
interested in means of production in respect of their specific function within
the process to which they are applied; he was only concerned with them in
so far as they are like any other commodity, themselves the product of wage
labour that has been employed in a capitalist manner. The specifically
Page 73
capitalist function of wage labour in the productive process completely
obscured for him the eternal and universal function of the means of
production within the labour process. His narrow bourgeois approach
overlooked completely the general relations between man and nature
underneath the specific social relations between capital and wage labour.
Here, it seems, is the real source of Adam Smith’s strange dogma, that the
total value of the annual social product can be resolved into v + s. He
overlooked the fact that c as the first link in the formula c + v + s is the
essential expression of the general social foundation of exploitation of wage
labour by capital.
We conclude that the value of every commodity must be expressed by the
formula c + v + s. The question now arises how far this formula applies to
the aggregate of commodities within a society. Let us turn to the doubts
expressed by Smith on this point, the statement that an individual’s fixed
and circulating capital and his revenue do not strictly correspond to the
same categories from the point of view of society. (Cf. above, p. 64, no. 3.)
What is circulating capital for one person is not capital for another, but
revenue, as for instance capital advances for wages. This statement is based
upon an error. If the capitalist pays wages to the workers, he does not
abandon his variable capital and let it stray into the workers’ hands, to
become their income. He only exchanges the value-form of his variable
capital against its natural form, labour power. The variable capital remains
always in the hand of the capitalist, first as money, and then as labour
power, to revert to him later together with the surplus value as the cash
proceeds from the commodities. The worker, on the other hand, never gains
possession of the variable capital. His labour power is never capital to him,
but it is his only asset, the power to work is the only thing he possesses.
Again, if he has sold it and taken a money wage, this wage is for him not
capital but the price of his commodity which he has sold. Finally, the fact
that the worker buys provisions with the wages he has received, has no
more connection with the function this money once fulfilled as variable
capital in the hands of the capitalist, than has the private use a vendor of a
commodity can make of the money he has obtained by a sale. It is not the
capitalist’s variable capital which becomes the workers’ income, but the
price of the worker’s commodity ‘labour power’ which he has sold, while
the variable capital, now as ever, remains in the hands of the capitalist and
fulfils its specific function. Equally erroneous is the conception that the
obscured for him the eternal and universal function of the means of
production within the labour process. His narrow bourgeois approach
overlooked completely the general relations between man and nature
underneath the specific social relations between capital and wage labour.
Here, it seems, is the real source of Adam Smith’s strange dogma, that the
total value of the annual social product can be resolved into v + s. He
overlooked the fact that c as the first link in the formula c + v + s is the
essential expression of the general social foundation of exploitation of wage
labour by capital.
We conclude that the value of every commodity must be expressed by the
formula c + v + s. The question now arises how far this formula applies to
the aggregate of commodities within a society. Let us turn to the doubts
expressed by Smith on this point, the statement that an individual’s fixed
and circulating capital and his revenue do not strictly correspond to the
same categories from the point of view of society. (Cf. above, p. 64, no. 3.)
What is circulating capital for one person is not capital for another, but
revenue, as for instance capital advances for wages. This statement is based
upon an error. If the capitalist pays wages to the workers, he does not
abandon his variable capital and let it stray into the workers’ hands, to
become their income. He only exchanges the value-form of his variable
capital against its natural form, labour power. The variable capital remains
always in the hand of the capitalist, first as money, and then as labour
power, to revert to him later together with the surplus value as the cash
proceeds from the commodities. The worker, on the other hand, never gains
possession of the variable capital. His labour power is never capital to him,
but it is his only asset, the power to work is the only thing he possesses.
Again, if he has sold it and taken a money wage, this wage is for him not
capital but the price of his commodity which he has sold. Finally, the fact
that the worker buys provisions with the wages he has received, has no
more connection with the function this money once fulfilled as variable
capital in the hands of the capitalist, than has the private use a vendor of a
commodity can make of the money he has obtained by a sale. It is not the
capitalist’s variable capital which becomes the workers’ income, but the
price of the worker’s commodity ‘labour power’ which he has sold, while
the variable capital, now as ever, remains in the hands of the capitalist and
fulfils its specific function. Equally erroneous is the conception that the
Page 74
income of the capitalist (the surplus value) which is hidden in machines—in
our example of a machinery manufacturer—which has not as yet been
realised, is fixed capital for another person, the buyer of the machines. It is
not the machines, or parts of them, which form the income of the machinery
manufacturer, but the surplus value that is hidden in them—the unpaid
labour of his wage labourers. After the machine has been sold, this income
simply remains as before in the hand of the machinery manufacturer; it has
only changed its outward shape: it has been changed from the ‘machine-
form’ into the ‘money-form’. Conversely, the buyer of this machine has not,
by its purchase, newly obtained possession of his fixed capital, for he had
this fixed capital in hand even before the purchase, in the form of a certain
amount of cash. By buying this machine, he has only given to his capital the
adequate material form for it to become productive. The income, or surplus
value, remains in the hands of the machinery manufacturer before and after
the sale of the machine, and the fixed capital remains in the hands of the
other person, the capitalist buyer of the machine, just as the variable capital
in the first example always remained in the hands of the capitalist and the
income in the hands of the worker.
Smith and his followers have caused confusion because, in their
investigation of capitalist exchange, they mixed up the use-form of the
commodities with their relations of value. Further, they did not distinguish
the individual circulations of capitals and commodities which are ever
interlacing. One and the same act of exchange can be circulation of capital,
when seen from one aspect, and at the same time simple commodity
exchange for the purpose of consumption. The fallacy that whatever is
capital for one person must be income for another, and vice versa, must be
translated thus into the correct statement that what is circulation of capital
for one person, may be simple commodity exchange for another, and vice
versa. This only expresses the capacity of capital to undergo
transformations of its character, and the interconnections of various spheres
of interest in the social process of exchange. The sharply outlined existence
of capital in contrast with income still stands in both its clearly defined
forms of constant and variable capital. Even so, Smith comes very close to
the truth when he states that capital and income of the individual are not
strictly identical with the same categories from the point of view of the
community. Only a few further connecting links are lacking for a clear
revelation of the true relationship.
our example of a machinery manufacturer—which has not as yet been
realised, is fixed capital for another person, the buyer of the machines. It is
not the machines, or parts of them, which form the income of the machinery
manufacturer, but the surplus value that is hidden in them—the unpaid
labour of his wage labourers. After the machine has been sold, this income
simply remains as before in the hand of the machinery manufacturer; it has
only changed its outward shape: it has been changed from the ‘machine-
form’ into the ‘money-form’. Conversely, the buyer of this machine has not,
by its purchase, newly obtained possession of his fixed capital, for he had
this fixed capital in hand even before the purchase, in the form of a certain
amount of cash. By buying this machine, he has only given to his capital the
adequate material form for it to become productive. The income, or surplus
value, remains in the hands of the machinery manufacturer before and after
the sale of the machine, and the fixed capital remains in the hands of the
other person, the capitalist buyer of the machine, just as the variable capital
in the first example always remained in the hands of the capitalist and the
income in the hands of the worker.
Smith and his followers have caused confusion because, in their
investigation of capitalist exchange, they mixed up the use-form of the
commodities with their relations of value. Further, they did not distinguish
the individual circulations of capitals and commodities which are ever
interlacing. One and the same act of exchange can be circulation of capital,
when seen from one aspect, and at the same time simple commodity
exchange for the purpose of consumption. The fallacy that whatever is
capital for one person must be income for another, and vice versa, must be
translated thus into the correct statement that what is circulation of capital
for one person, may be simple commodity exchange for another, and vice
versa. This only expresses the capacity of capital to undergo
transformations of its character, and the interconnections of various spheres
of interest in the social process of exchange. The sharply outlined existence
of capital in contrast with income still stands in both its clearly defined
forms of constant and variable capital. Even so, Smith comes very close to
the truth when he states that capital and income of the individual are not
strictly identical with the same categories from the point of view of the
community. Only a few further connecting links are lacking for a clear
revelation of the true relationship.
Page 75
Page 76
CHAPTER IV
Page 77
MARX’S SCHEME OF SIMPLE
REPRODUCTION
Let us now consider the formula c + v + s as the expression of the social
product as a whole. Is it only a theoretical abstraction, or does it convey any
real meaning when applied to social life—has the formula any objective
existence in relation to society as a whole? It was left to Marx to establish
the fundamental importance of c, the constant capital, in economic theory.
Yet Adam Smith before him, working exclusively with the categories of
fixed and circulating capital, in effect transformed this fixed capital into
constant capital, though he was not aware of having achieved this result.
This constant capital comprises not only those means of production which
wear out in the course of years, but also those which are completely
absorbed by production in any one year. His very dogma that the total value
is resolved into v + s and his arguments on this point lead Smith to
distinguish between the two categories of production—living labour and
inanimate means of production. On the other hand, when he tries to
construe the social process of reproduction on the basis of the capitals and
incomes of individuals, the fixed capital he conceives of as existing apart
from these, is, in fact, constant capital.
Every individual capitalist uses for the production of his commodities
certain material means of production such as premises, raw materials and
instruments. In order to produce the aggregate of commodities in a given
society, an aggregate of all material means of production used by the
individual capitalists is an obvious requisite. The existence of these means
of production within the society is a real fact, though they themselves exist
in the form of purely private individual capitals. This is the universal
absolute condition of social production in all its historical forms.[84]
The specific capitalist form manifests itself in the fact that the material
means of production function as c, as constant capital, the property of those
who do not work; it is the opposite pole to proletarianised labour power, the
counterpart of wage labour. The variable capital, v, is the aggregate of
wages actually paid in the society in the course of a year’s production. This
REPRODUCTION
Let us now consider the formula c + v + s as the expression of the social
product as a whole. Is it only a theoretical abstraction, or does it convey any
real meaning when applied to social life—has the formula any objective
existence in relation to society as a whole? It was left to Marx to establish
the fundamental importance of c, the constant capital, in economic theory.
Yet Adam Smith before him, working exclusively with the categories of
fixed and circulating capital, in effect transformed this fixed capital into
constant capital, though he was not aware of having achieved this result.
This constant capital comprises not only those means of production which
wear out in the course of years, but also those which are completely
absorbed by production in any one year. His very dogma that the total value
is resolved into v + s and his arguments on this point lead Smith to
distinguish between the two categories of production—living labour and
inanimate means of production. On the other hand, when he tries to
construe the social process of reproduction on the basis of the capitals and
incomes of individuals, the fixed capital he conceives of as existing apart
from these, is, in fact, constant capital.
Every individual capitalist uses for the production of his commodities
certain material means of production such as premises, raw materials and
instruments. In order to produce the aggregate of commodities in a given
society, an aggregate of all material means of production used by the
individual capitalists is an obvious requisite. The existence of these means
of production within the society is a real fact, though they themselves exist
in the form of purely private individual capitals. This is the universal
absolute condition of social production in all its historical forms.[84]
The specific capitalist form manifests itself in the fact that the material
means of production function as c, as constant capital, the property of those
who do not work; it is the opposite pole to proletarianised labour power, the
counterpart of wage labour. The variable capital, v, is the aggregate of
wages actually paid in the society in the course of a year’s production. This
Page 78
fact, too, has real objective existence, although it manifests itself in an
innumerable mass of individual wages. In every society the amount of
labour power actually engaged in production and the annual maintenance of
the workers is a question of decisive importance. Where this factor takes the
specific capitalist form of v, the variable capital, it follows that the means of
subsistence first come to the workers in form of a wage which is the price
of the labour power they have sold to another person, the owner of the
material means of production who does not work himself; under this aspect,
it is the latter’s capitalist property. Further, v is an aggregate of money, that
is to say it is the means of subsistence for the workers in a form of pure
value. This concept of v implies that the workers are free in a double sense
—free in person and free of all means of production. It also expresses the
fact that in a given society the universal form of production is commodity
production.
Finally, s, the surplus value, stands for the total of all surplus values gained
by the individual capitalists. Every society performs surplus labour, and
even a socialist society will have to do the same. It must perform surplus
labour in a threefold sense: it has to provide a quantity of labour for the
maintenance of non-workers (those who are unable to work, such as
children, old people, invalids, and also civil servants and the so-called
liberal professions who do not take an immediate part in the satisfaction of
material[85] wants), it has to provide a fund of social insurance against
elementary disasters which may threaten the annual produce, such as bad
harvests, forest fires and floods; and lastly it must provide a fund for the
purpose of increasing production, either because of an increase in the
population, or because higher standards of civilisation lead to additional
wants. It is in two respects that the capitalist character manifests itself:
surplus labour comes into being (1) as surplus value, i.e. in commodity-
form, realisable in cash, and (2) as the property of non-workers, of those
who own the means of production.
Similarly, if we consider v + s, these two amounts taken together, we see
that they represent objective quantities of universal validity: the total of
living labour that has been performed within a society in the course of one
year. Every human society, whatever its historical form, must take note of
this datum, with reference to both the results that have been achieved, and
the existing and available labour power. The division into v + s is a
innumerable mass of individual wages. In every society the amount of
labour power actually engaged in production and the annual maintenance of
the workers is a question of decisive importance. Where this factor takes the
specific capitalist form of v, the variable capital, it follows that the means of
subsistence first come to the workers in form of a wage which is the price
of the labour power they have sold to another person, the owner of the
material means of production who does not work himself; under this aspect,
it is the latter’s capitalist property. Further, v is an aggregate of money, that
is to say it is the means of subsistence for the workers in a form of pure
value. This concept of v implies that the workers are free in a double sense
—free in person and free of all means of production. It also expresses the
fact that in a given society the universal form of production is commodity
production.
Finally, s, the surplus value, stands for the total of all surplus values gained
by the individual capitalists. Every society performs surplus labour, and
even a socialist society will have to do the same. It must perform surplus
labour in a threefold sense: it has to provide a quantity of labour for the
maintenance of non-workers (those who are unable to work, such as
children, old people, invalids, and also civil servants and the so-called
liberal professions who do not take an immediate part in the satisfaction of
material[85] wants), it has to provide a fund of social insurance against
elementary disasters which may threaten the annual produce, such as bad
harvests, forest fires and floods; and lastly it must provide a fund for the
purpose of increasing production, either because of an increase in the
population, or because higher standards of civilisation lead to additional
wants. It is in two respects that the capitalist character manifests itself:
surplus labour comes into being (1) as surplus value, i.e. in commodity-
form, realisable in cash, and (2) as the property of non-workers, of those
who own the means of production.
Similarly, if we consider v + s, these two amounts taken together, we see
that they represent objective quantities of universal validity: the total of
living labour that has been performed within a society in the course of one
year. Every human society, whatever its historical form, must take note of
this datum, with reference to both the results that have been achieved, and
the existing and available labour power. The division into v + s is a
Page 79
universal phenomenon, independent of the society’s particular historical
form. In its capitalist form, this division shows itself not only in the
qualitative peculiarities of both v and s as already outlined, but also in their
quantitative relationship: v tends to become depressed to a minimum level,
just sufficient for the physiological and social existence of the worker, and s
tends to increase continually at the cost of, and relative to, v.
The predominant feature of capitalist production is expressed in this last
circumstance: it is the fact that the creation and appropriation of surplus
value is the real purpose of, and the incentive to, production.
We have examined the relations upon which the capitalist formula of the
aggregate product is based, and have found them universally valid. In every
planned economy they are made the object of conscious regulation on the
part of society; in a communist society by the community of workers and
their democratic organs, and in a society based upon class-rule by the
nucleus of owners and their despotic power. In a system of capitalist
production there is no such planned regulation. The aggregate of the
society’s capitals and the aggregate of its commodities alike consist in
reality of innumerable fragments of individual capitals and individual items
of merchandise, taken together.
Thus the question arises whether these sums themselves mean anything
more in a capitalist society than a mere statistical enumeration which is,
moreover, inexact and fluid. Applying the standards of society as a whole,
we perceive that the completely independent and sovereign individual
existence of private enterprises is only the historically conditioned form,
whereas it is social interconnections that provide the foundation. Although
individual capitals act in complete independence of one another, and a
social regulation is completely lacking, the movement of capitals forms a
homogeneous whole. This movement, too, appears in specifically capitalist
forms. In every planned system of production it is, above all, the relation
between all labour, past and present, and the means of production (between
v + s and c, according to our formula), or the relation between the aggregate
of necessary consumer goods (again, in the terms of our formula, v + s) and
c which are subjected to regulation. Under capitalist conditions, on the other
hand, all social labour necessary for the maintenance of the inanimate
means of production and also of living labour power is treated as one entity,
as capital, in contrast with the surplus labour that has been performed, i.e.
form. In its capitalist form, this division shows itself not only in the
qualitative peculiarities of both v and s as already outlined, but also in their
quantitative relationship: v tends to become depressed to a minimum level,
just sufficient for the physiological and social existence of the worker, and s
tends to increase continually at the cost of, and relative to, v.
The predominant feature of capitalist production is expressed in this last
circumstance: it is the fact that the creation and appropriation of surplus
value is the real purpose of, and the incentive to, production.
We have examined the relations upon which the capitalist formula of the
aggregate product is based, and have found them universally valid. In every
planned economy they are made the object of conscious regulation on the
part of society; in a communist society by the community of workers and
their democratic organs, and in a society based upon class-rule by the
nucleus of owners and their despotic power. In a system of capitalist
production there is no such planned regulation. The aggregate of the
society’s capitals and the aggregate of its commodities alike consist in
reality of innumerable fragments of individual capitals and individual items
of merchandise, taken together.
Thus the question arises whether these sums themselves mean anything
more in a capitalist society than a mere statistical enumeration which is,
moreover, inexact and fluid. Applying the standards of society as a whole,
we perceive that the completely independent and sovereign individual
existence of private enterprises is only the historically conditioned form,
whereas it is social interconnections that provide the foundation. Although
individual capitals act in complete independence of one another, and a
social regulation is completely lacking, the movement of capitals forms a
homogeneous whole. This movement, too, appears in specifically capitalist
forms. In every planned system of production it is, above all, the relation
between all labour, past and present, and the means of production (between
v + s and c, according to our formula), or the relation between the aggregate
of necessary consumer goods (again, in the terms of our formula, v + s) and
c which are subjected to regulation. Under capitalist conditions, on the other
hand, all social labour necessary for the maintenance of the inanimate
means of production and also of living labour power is treated as one entity,
as capital, in contrast with the surplus labour that has been performed, i.e.
Page 80
with the surplus value s. The relation between these two quantities c and
(v + s) is a palpably real, objective relationship of capitalist society: it is the
average rate of profit; every capital is in fact treated only as part of a
common whole, the whole of social capital, and assigned the profit to which
it is entitled, according to its size, out of the surplus value wrested from
society, regardless of the quantity which this particular capital has actually
created. Thus social capital and its counterpart, the whole of social surplus
value, are not merely real quantities, having an objective existence, but,
what is more, the relation between them, the average profit, guides and
directs the whole process of exchange. This it does in three ways: (1) by the
mechanism of the law of value which establishes the quantitative relations
of exchange between the individual kinds of commodities independently of
their specific value relationship; (2) by the social division of labour, the
assignment of certain portions of capital and labour to the individual
spheres of production; (3) by the development of labour productivity which
on the one hand stimulates individual capitals to engage in pioneering work
for the purpose of securing a higher profit than the average, and on the other
hand extends the progress that has been achieved by individuals over the
whole field of production. By means of the average rate of profit, in a word,
the total capital of society completely governs the seemingly independent
motions of individual capitals.
The formula c + v + s thus applies to the aggregate of commodities
produced in a society under capitalism no less than to the value composition
of every individual commodity. It is, however, only the value-composition
for which this holds good—the analogy cannot be carried further.
The formula is indeed perfectly exact if we regard the total product of a
capitalistically producing society as the output of one year’s labour, and
wish to analyse it into its respective components. The quantity c shows how
much of the labour of former years has been taken over towards the product
of the present year in the form of means of production. Quantities v + s
show the value components of the product created by new labour during the
last year only; the relation between v and s finally shows us how the annual
labour programme of society is apportioned to the two tasks of maintaining
the workers and maintaining those who do not work. This analysis remains
valid and correct also with regard to the reproduction of individual capital,
no matter what may be the material form of the product this capital has
(v + s) is a palpably real, objective relationship of capitalist society: it is the
average rate of profit; every capital is in fact treated only as part of a
common whole, the whole of social capital, and assigned the profit to which
it is entitled, according to its size, out of the surplus value wrested from
society, regardless of the quantity which this particular capital has actually
created. Thus social capital and its counterpart, the whole of social surplus
value, are not merely real quantities, having an objective existence, but,
what is more, the relation between them, the average profit, guides and
directs the whole process of exchange. This it does in three ways: (1) by the
mechanism of the law of value which establishes the quantitative relations
of exchange between the individual kinds of commodities independently of
their specific value relationship; (2) by the social division of labour, the
assignment of certain portions of capital and labour to the individual
spheres of production; (3) by the development of labour productivity which
on the one hand stimulates individual capitals to engage in pioneering work
for the purpose of securing a higher profit than the average, and on the other
hand extends the progress that has been achieved by individuals over the
whole field of production. By means of the average rate of profit, in a word,
the total capital of society completely governs the seemingly independent
motions of individual capitals.
The formula c + v + s thus applies to the aggregate of commodities
produced in a society under capitalism no less than to the value composition
of every individual commodity. It is, however, only the value-composition
for which this holds good—the analogy cannot be carried further.
The formula is indeed perfectly exact if we regard the total product of a
capitalistically producing society as the output of one year’s labour, and
wish to analyse it into its respective components. The quantity c shows how
much of the labour of former years has been taken over towards the product
of the present year in the form of means of production. Quantities v + s
show the value components of the product created by new labour during the
last year only; the relation between v and s finally shows us how the annual
labour programme of society is apportioned to the two tasks of maintaining
the workers and maintaining those who do not work. This analysis remains
valid and correct also with regard to the reproduction of individual capital,
no matter what may be the material form of the product this capital has
Page 81
created. All three, c, v, and s, appear alike to a capitalist of the machinery
industry in the form of machinery and its parts; to the owner of a music hall
they are represented by the charms of the dancers and the skill of the
acrobats. So long as the product is left undifferentiated, c, v, and s differ
from one another only in so far as they are aliquot components of value.
This is quite sufficient for the reproduction of individual capital, as such
reproduction begins with the value-form of capital, a certain amount of
money that has been gained by the realisation of the manufactured product.
The formula c + v + s then is the given basis for the division of this amount
of money; one part for the purchase of the material means of production, a
second part for the purchase of labour power, and a third part—in the case
of simple reproduction assumed in the first instance—for the capitalist’s
personal consumption. In the case of expanding reproduction part three is
further subdivided, only a fraction of it being devoted to the capitalist’s
personal consumption, the remainder to increasing his capital. In order to
reproduce his capital actually, the capitalist must, of course, turn again to
the commodity market with the capital he has divided in this manner, so
that he can acquire the material prerequisites of production such as raw
materials, instruments, and so on. It seems a matter of course to the
individual capitalist as well as to his scientific ideologist, the ‘vulgar
economist’, that he should in fact find there just those means of production
and labour power he needs for his business.
The position is different as regards the total production of a society. From
the point of view of society as a whole, the exchange of commodities can
only effect a shifting around, whereby the individual parts of the total
product change hands. The material composition of the product, however,
cannot be changed by this process. After this change of places, as well as
before it, there can be reproduction of total capital, if, and only if, there is in
the total product of the preceding period: first, a sufficient quantity of
means of production, secondly, adequate provisions to maintain the same
amount of labour as hitherto, and, last but not least, the goods necessary to
maintain the capitalist class and its hangers-on in a manner suitable to their
station. This brings us to a new plane: we are now concerned with material
points of view instead of pure relations of value. It is the use-form of the
total social product that matters now. What the individual capitalist
considers nobody else’s business becomes a matter of grave concern for the
totality of capitalists. Whereas it does not make the slightest difference to
industry in the form of machinery and its parts; to the owner of a music hall
they are represented by the charms of the dancers and the skill of the
acrobats. So long as the product is left undifferentiated, c, v, and s differ
from one another only in so far as they are aliquot components of value.
This is quite sufficient for the reproduction of individual capital, as such
reproduction begins with the value-form of capital, a certain amount of
money that has been gained by the realisation of the manufactured product.
The formula c + v + s then is the given basis for the division of this amount
of money; one part for the purchase of the material means of production, a
second part for the purchase of labour power, and a third part—in the case
of simple reproduction assumed in the first instance—for the capitalist’s
personal consumption. In the case of expanding reproduction part three is
further subdivided, only a fraction of it being devoted to the capitalist’s
personal consumption, the remainder to increasing his capital. In order to
reproduce his capital actually, the capitalist must, of course, turn again to
the commodity market with the capital he has divided in this manner, so
that he can acquire the material prerequisites of production such as raw
materials, instruments, and so on. It seems a matter of course to the
individual capitalist as well as to his scientific ideologist, the ‘vulgar
economist’, that he should in fact find there just those means of production
and labour power he needs for his business.
The position is different as regards the total production of a society. From
the point of view of society as a whole, the exchange of commodities can
only effect a shifting around, whereby the individual parts of the total
product change hands. The material composition of the product, however,
cannot be changed by this process. After this change of places, as well as
before it, there can be reproduction of total capital, if, and only if, there is in
the total product of the preceding period: first, a sufficient quantity of
means of production, secondly, adequate provisions to maintain the same
amount of labour as hitherto, and, last but not least, the goods necessary to
maintain the capitalist class and its hangers-on in a manner suitable to their
station. This brings us to a new plane: we are now concerned with material
points of view instead of pure relations of value. It is the use-form of the
total social product that matters now. What the individual capitalist
considers nobody else’s business becomes a matter of grave concern for the
totality of capitalists. Whereas it does not make the slightest difference to
Page 82
the individual capitalist whether he produces machinery, sugar, artificial
manure or a progressive newspaper—provided only that he can find a buyer
for his commodity so that he can get back his capital plus surplus value—it
matters infinitely to the ‘total capitalist’ that his total product should have a
definite use-form. By that we mean that it must provide three essentials: the
means of production to renew the labour process, simple provisions for the
maintenance of the workers, and provisions of higher quality and luxury
goods for the preservation of the ‘total capitalist’ himself. His desire in this
respect is not general and vague, but determined precisely and
quantitatively. If we ask what quantities of all three categories are required
by the ‘total capitalist’, the value-composition of last year’s total product
gives us a definite estimate, as long, that is, as we confine ourselves to
simple reproduction, which we have taken for our starting point. Hitherto
we have conceived of the formula c + v + s as a merely quantitative division
of the total value, applicable alike to total capital and to individual capital,
and representing the quantity of labour contained in the annual product of
society. Now we see that the formula is also the basis of the material
composition of the product. Obviously the ‘total capitalist’, if he is to take
up reproduction to the same extent as before, must find in his new total
product as many means of production as correspond to the size of c, as
many simple provisions for the workers as correspond to the sum of wages
v, and as many provisions of better quality for himself and his hangers-on
as correspond to s. In this way our analysis of the value of the society’s
aggregate product is translated into a general recipe for this product as
follows: the total c of society must be re-embodied in an equal quantity of
means of production, the v in provisions for the workers, and the s in
provisions for the capitalists, in order that simple reproduction may take
place.
Here we come up against palpable differences between the individual
capitalist and the total capitalist. The manner in which the former always
reproduces his constant and variable capital as well as his surplus value is
such that all three parts are contained in the same material form within his
homogeneous product, that this material form, moreover, is completely
irrelevant and may have different qualities in the case of each individual
capitalist. The ‘total capitalist’, for his part, reproduces every component of
the value of his annual product in a different material form, c as means of
production, v as provisions for the workers, and s as provisions for the
manure or a progressive newspaper—provided only that he can find a buyer
for his commodity so that he can get back his capital plus surplus value—it
matters infinitely to the ‘total capitalist’ that his total product should have a
definite use-form. By that we mean that it must provide three essentials: the
means of production to renew the labour process, simple provisions for the
maintenance of the workers, and provisions of higher quality and luxury
goods for the preservation of the ‘total capitalist’ himself. His desire in this
respect is not general and vague, but determined precisely and
quantitatively. If we ask what quantities of all three categories are required
by the ‘total capitalist’, the value-composition of last year’s total product
gives us a definite estimate, as long, that is, as we confine ourselves to
simple reproduction, which we have taken for our starting point. Hitherto
we have conceived of the formula c + v + s as a merely quantitative division
of the total value, applicable alike to total capital and to individual capital,
and representing the quantity of labour contained in the annual product of
society. Now we see that the formula is also the basis of the material
composition of the product. Obviously the ‘total capitalist’, if he is to take
up reproduction to the same extent as before, must find in his new total
product as many means of production as correspond to the size of c, as
many simple provisions for the workers as correspond to the sum of wages
v, and as many provisions of better quality for himself and his hangers-on
as correspond to s. In this way our analysis of the value of the society’s
aggregate product is translated into a general recipe for this product as
follows: the total c of society must be re-embodied in an equal quantity of
means of production, the v in provisions for the workers, and the s in
provisions for the capitalists, in order that simple reproduction may take
place.
Here we come up against palpable differences between the individual
capitalist and the total capitalist. The manner in which the former always
reproduces his constant and variable capital as well as his surplus value is
such that all three parts are contained in the same material form within his
homogeneous product, that this material form, moreover, is completely
irrelevant and may have different qualities in the case of each individual
capitalist. The ‘total capitalist’, for his part, reproduces every component of
the value of his annual product in a different material form, c as means of
production, v as provisions for the workers, and s as provisions for the
Page 83
capitalists. In the case of the reproduction of individual capitals, there is no
discrepancy between relations of value and material points of view.
Besides, it is quite clear that individual capital may concentrate on aspects
of value, accepting material conditions as a law from heaven, as self-
evident phenomena of commodity-exchange, whereas the ‘total capitalist’
has to reckon with material points of view. If the total c of society were not
reproduced annually in the form of an equal amount of means of
production, every individual capitalist would be doomed to search the
commodity market in vain with his c realised in cash, unable to find the
requisite materials for his individual reproduction. From the point of view
of reproducing the total capital, the formula c + v + s is inadequate. This
again is proof of the fact that the concept of total capital is something real
and does not merely paraphrase the concept of production. We must,
however, make general distinctions in our exposition of total capital: instead
of showing it as a homogeneous whole, we must demonstrate its three main
categories; and we shall not vitiate our theory if, for the sake of simplicity,
we consider for the present only two departments of total capital: the
production of producer goods, and that of consumer goods for workers and
capitalists. We have to examine each department separately, adhering to the
fundamental conditions of capitalist production in each case. At the same
time, we must also emphasise the mutual connections between these two
departments from the point of view of reproduction. For only if each is
regarded in connection with the other, do they make up the basis of the
social capital as a whole.
We made a start by investigating individual capital. But we must approach
the demonstration of total capital and its total product in a somewhat
different manner. Quantitatively, as a quantity of value, the c of society
consists precisely in the total of individual constant capitals, and the same
applies to the other amounts, v and s. But the outward shape of each has
changed—the c of constant capitals re-emerges from the process of
production as an element of value with infinitely varied facets, comprising a
host of variegated objects for use, but in the total product it appears, as it
were, contracted into a certain quantity of means of production. Similarly
with v and s, which in the case of the individual capitalist re-emerge as
items in a most colourful jumble of commodities, being provisions in
adequate quantities for the workers and capitalists. Adam Smith came very
close to recognising this fact when he observed that the categories of fixed
discrepancy between relations of value and material points of view.
Besides, it is quite clear that individual capital may concentrate on aspects
of value, accepting material conditions as a law from heaven, as self-
evident phenomena of commodity-exchange, whereas the ‘total capitalist’
has to reckon with material points of view. If the total c of society were not
reproduced annually in the form of an equal amount of means of
production, every individual capitalist would be doomed to search the
commodity market in vain with his c realised in cash, unable to find the
requisite materials for his individual reproduction. From the point of view
of reproducing the total capital, the formula c + v + s is inadequate. This
again is proof of the fact that the concept of total capital is something real
and does not merely paraphrase the concept of production. We must,
however, make general distinctions in our exposition of total capital: instead
of showing it as a homogeneous whole, we must demonstrate its three main
categories; and we shall not vitiate our theory if, for the sake of simplicity,
we consider for the present only two departments of total capital: the
production of producer goods, and that of consumer goods for workers and
capitalists. We have to examine each department separately, adhering to the
fundamental conditions of capitalist production in each case. At the same
time, we must also emphasise the mutual connections between these two
departments from the point of view of reproduction. For only if each is
regarded in connection with the other, do they make up the basis of the
social capital as a whole.
We made a start by investigating individual capital. But we must approach
the demonstration of total capital and its total product in a somewhat
different manner. Quantitatively, as a quantity of value, the c of society
consists precisely in the total of individual constant capitals, and the same
applies to the other amounts, v and s. But the outward shape of each has
changed—the c of constant capitals re-emerges from the process of
production as an element of value with infinitely varied facets, comprising a
host of variegated objects for use, but in the total product it appears, as it
were, contracted into a certain quantity of means of production. Similarly
with v and s, which in the case of the individual capitalist re-emerge as
items in a most colourful jumble of commodities, being provisions in
adequate quantities for the workers and capitalists. Adam Smith came very
close to recognising this fact when he observed that the categories of fixed
Page 84
and circulating capital and of revenue in relation to the individual capitalist
do not coincide with these categories in the case of society.
We have come to the following conclusions:
(1) The formula c + v + s serves to express the production of society viewed
as a whole, as well as the production of individual capitalists.
(2) Social production is divided into two departments, engaged in the
production of producer and consumer goods respectively.
(3) Both departments work according to capitalist methods, that is to say
they both aim at the production of surplus value, and thus the formula c +
v + s will apply to each of them.
(4) The two departments are interdependent, and are therefore bound to
display a certain quantitative relationship, namely the one department must
produce all means of production, the other all provisions for the workers
and capitalists of both departments.
Proceeding from this point of view, Marx devised the following diagram of
capitalist reproduction:
do not coincide with these categories in the case of society.
We have come to the following conclusions:
(1) The formula c + v + s serves to express the production of society viewed
as a whole, as well as the production of individual capitalists.
(2) Social production is divided into two departments, engaged in the
production of producer and consumer goods respectively.
(3) Both departments work according to capitalist methods, that is to say
they both aim at the production of surplus value, and thus the formula c +
v + s will apply to each of them.
(4) The two departments are interdependent, and are therefore bound to
display a certain quantitative relationship, namely the one department must
produce all means of production, the other all provisions for the workers
and capitalists of both departments.
Proceeding from this point of view, Marx devised the following diagram of
capitalist reproduction:
Page 85
I. 4,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 6,000 means of production
II. 2,000c + 500v + 500s = 3,000 articles of consumption.[86]
The figures in this diagram express quantities of value, amounts of money
which are chosen arbitrarily, but their ratios are exact. Each department is
characterised by the use-form of the commodities produced. Their mutual
circulation takes place as follows: Department I supplies the means of
production for the entire productive process, for itself as well as for
Department II. From this alone it follows that for the undisturbed
continuance of reproduction—for we still presume simple reproduction on
the old scale—the total produce of Department I (I 6,000) must have the
same value as the sum of constant capitals in both departments: (I 4,000c +
II 2,000c). Similarly, Department II supplies provisions for the whole of
society, for its own workers and capitalists as well as for the workers and
capitalists of Department I. Hence it follows that for the undisturbed course
of consumption and production and its renewal on the old scale it is
necessary that the total quantity of provisions supplied by Department II
should equal in value all the incomes of the employed workers and
capitalists of society [here II 3,000 = I(1,000v + 1,000s) + II(500v + 500s)].
Here we have indeed expressed relationships of value which are the
foundation not only of capitalist reproduction but of reproduction in every
society. In every producing society, whatever its social form, in the
primitive small village community of the Bakairi of Brazil, in the oikos of a
Timon of Athens with its slaves, or in the imperial corvée farm of
Charlemagne, the labour power available for society must be distributed in
such a way that means of production as well as provisions are produced in
adequate quantities. The former must suffice for the immediate production
of provisions as well as for the future renewal of the means of production
themselves, and the provisions in their turn must suffice for the
maintenance of the workers occupied in the production alike of these same
provisions and of the means of production, and moreover for the
maintenance of all those who do not work.
In its broad outline, Marx’s scheme corresponds with the universal and
absolute foundation of social reproduction, with only the following
specifications: socially necessary labour appears here as value, the means of
production as constant capital, the labour necessary for the maintenance of
II. 2,000c + 500v + 500s = 3,000 articles of consumption.[86]
The figures in this diagram express quantities of value, amounts of money
which are chosen arbitrarily, but their ratios are exact. Each department is
characterised by the use-form of the commodities produced. Their mutual
circulation takes place as follows: Department I supplies the means of
production for the entire productive process, for itself as well as for
Department II. From this alone it follows that for the undisturbed
continuance of reproduction—for we still presume simple reproduction on
the old scale—the total produce of Department I (I 6,000) must have the
same value as the sum of constant capitals in both departments: (I 4,000c +
II 2,000c). Similarly, Department II supplies provisions for the whole of
society, for its own workers and capitalists as well as for the workers and
capitalists of Department I. Hence it follows that for the undisturbed course
of consumption and production and its renewal on the old scale it is
necessary that the total quantity of provisions supplied by Department II
should equal in value all the incomes of the employed workers and
capitalists of society [here II 3,000 = I(1,000v + 1,000s) + II(500v + 500s)].
Here we have indeed expressed relationships of value which are the
foundation not only of capitalist reproduction but of reproduction in every
society. In every producing society, whatever its social form, in the
primitive small village community of the Bakairi of Brazil, in the oikos of a
Timon of Athens with its slaves, or in the imperial corvée farm of
Charlemagne, the labour power available for society must be distributed in
such a way that means of production as well as provisions are produced in
adequate quantities. The former must suffice for the immediate production
of provisions as well as for the future renewal of the means of production
themselves, and the provisions in their turn must suffice for the
maintenance of the workers occupied in the production alike of these same
provisions and of the means of production, and moreover for the
maintenance of all those who do not work.
In its broad outline, Marx’s scheme corresponds with the universal and
absolute foundation of social reproduction, with only the following
specifications: socially necessary labour appears here as value, the means of
production as constant capital, the labour necessary for the maintenance of
Page 86
the workers as variable capital and that necessary for the maintenance of
those who do not work as surplus value.
In capitalist society, however, the connections between these two great
departments depend upon exchange of commodities, on the exchange of
equivalents. The workers and capitalists of Department I can only obtain as
many provisions from Department II as they can deliver of their own
commodities, the means of production. The demand of Department II for
means of production, on the other hand, is determined by the size of its
constant capital. It follows therefore that the sum of the variable capital and
of the surplus value in the production of producer goods [here I(1,000v +
1,000s)] must equal the constant capital in the production of provisions
[here II(2,000c)].
An important proviso remains to be added to the above scheme. The
constant capital which has been spent by the two departments is in reality
only part of the constant capital used by society. This constant capital is
divided into two parts; the first is fixed capital—premises, tools, labouring
cattle—which functions in a number of periods of production, in every one
of which, however, only part of its value is absorbed by the product,
according to the amount of its wear and tear. The second is circulating
capital such as raw materials, auxiliary semi-finished products, fuel and
lighting—its whole value is completely absorbed by the new product in
every period of production. Yet only that part of the means of production is
relevant for reproduction which is actually absorbed by the production of
value; without becoming less correct, an exact exposition of social
circulation may disregard the remaining part of the fixed capital which has
not been absorbed by the product, though it should not completely forget it.
This is easy to prove.
Let us assume that the constant capital, 6,000c, in the two departments,
which is in fact absorbed by the annual product of these departments,
consists of 1,500c fixed and 4,500c circulating capital, the 1,500c of fixed
capital representing here the annual wear and tear of the premises,
machinery and labouring cattle. This annual wear and tear equals, say, 10
per cent of the total value of the fixed capital employed. Then the total
social capital would really consist of 19,500c + 1,500v, the constant capital
in both departments being 1,500c of fixed and 4,500c of circulating capital.
Since the term of life of the aggregate fixed capital, with a 10 per cent wear
those who do not work as surplus value.
In capitalist society, however, the connections between these two great
departments depend upon exchange of commodities, on the exchange of
equivalents. The workers and capitalists of Department I can only obtain as
many provisions from Department II as they can deliver of their own
commodities, the means of production. The demand of Department II for
means of production, on the other hand, is determined by the size of its
constant capital. It follows therefore that the sum of the variable capital and
of the surplus value in the production of producer goods [here I(1,000v +
1,000s)] must equal the constant capital in the production of provisions
[here II(2,000c)].
An important proviso remains to be added to the above scheme. The
constant capital which has been spent by the two departments is in reality
only part of the constant capital used by society. This constant capital is
divided into two parts; the first is fixed capital—premises, tools, labouring
cattle—which functions in a number of periods of production, in every one
of which, however, only part of its value is absorbed by the product,
according to the amount of its wear and tear. The second is circulating
capital such as raw materials, auxiliary semi-finished products, fuel and
lighting—its whole value is completely absorbed by the new product in
every period of production. Yet only that part of the means of production is
relevant for reproduction which is actually absorbed by the production of
value; without becoming less correct, an exact exposition of social
circulation may disregard the remaining part of the fixed capital which has
not been absorbed by the product, though it should not completely forget it.
This is easy to prove.
Let us assume that the constant capital, 6,000c, in the two departments,
which is in fact absorbed by the annual product of these departments,
consists of 1,500c fixed and 4,500c circulating capital, the 1,500c of fixed
capital representing here the annual wear and tear of the premises,
machinery and labouring cattle. This annual wear and tear equals, say, 10
per cent of the total value of the fixed capital employed. Then the total
social capital would really consist of 19,500c + 1,500v, the constant capital
in both departments being 1,500c of fixed and 4,500c of circulating capital.
Since the term of life of the aggregate fixed capital, with a 10 per cent wear
Page 87
and tear, is ten years ex hypothesi, the fixed capital needs renewal only after
the lapse of ten years. Meanwhile one-tenth of its value enters into social
production in every year. If all the fixed capital of a society, with the same
rate of wear and tear, were of equal durability, it would, on our assumption,
need complete renewal once within ten years. This, however, is not the
case. Some of the various use-forms which are part of the fixed capital may
last longer and others shorter, wear and tear and duration of life are quite
different in the different kinds and individual representations of fixed
capital. In consequence, fixed capital need not be renewed—reproduced in
its concrete use-form—all at once, but parts of it are continually renewed at
various stages of social production, while other parts still function in their
older form. Our assumption of a fixed capital of 15,000c with a 10 per cent
rate of wear and tear does not mean that this must be renewed all at once
every ten years, but that an annual average renewal and replacement must
be effected of a part of the total fixed social capital corresponding to one-
tenth of its value; that is to say, Department I which has to satisfy the needs
of society for means of production must reproduce, year by year not only all
its raw and partly finished materials, etc., its circulating capital to the value
of 4,500, but must also reproduce the use-forms of its fixed capital—
premises, machinery, and the like—to the extent of 1,500, corresponding
with the annual wear and tear of fixed capital. If Department I continues in
this manner to renew one-tenth of the fixed capital in its use-form every
year, the result will be that every ten years the total fixed capital of society
will have been replaced throughout by new items; thus it follows that the
reproduction of those parts disregarded so far is also completely accounted
for in the above scheme.
In practice, the procedure is that every capitalist sets aside from his annual
production, from the realisation of his commodities, a certain amount for
the redemption of his fixed capital. These individual annual deductions
must amount to a certain quantity of capital, therefore the capitalist has in
fact renewed his fixed capital, that is, he has replaced it by new and more
efficient items. This alternating procedure of building up annual reserves of
money for the renewal of fixed capital and of the periodical employment of
the accumulated amounts for the actual renewal of fixed capital varies with
the individual capitalist, so that some are accumulating reserves, while
others have already started their renewals. Thus every year part of the fixed
the lapse of ten years. Meanwhile one-tenth of its value enters into social
production in every year. If all the fixed capital of a society, with the same
rate of wear and tear, were of equal durability, it would, on our assumption,
need complete renewal once within ten years. This, however, is not the
case. Some of the various use-forms which are part of the fixed capital may
last longer and others shorter, wear and tear and duration of life are quite
different in the different kinds and individual representations of fixed
capital. In consequence, fixed capital need not be renewed—reproduced in
its concrete use-form—all at once, but parts of it are continually renewed at
various stages of social production, while other parts still function in their
older form. Our assumption of a fixed capital of 15,000c with a 10 per cent
rate of wear and tear does not mean that this must be renewed all at once
every ten years, but that an annual average renewal and replacement must
be effected of a part of the total fixed social capital corresponding to one-
tenth of its value; that is to say, Department I which has to satisfy the needs
of society for means of production must reproduce, year by year not only all
its raw and partly finished materials, etc., its circulating capital to the value
of 4,500, but must also reproduce the use-forms of its fixed capital—
premises, machinery, and the like—to the extent of 1,500, corresponding
with the annual wear and tear of fixed capital. If Department I continues in
this manner to renew one-tenth of the fixed capital in its use-form every
year, the result will be that every ten years the total fixed capital of society
will have been replaced throughout by new items; thus it follows that the
reproduction of those parts disregarded so far is also completely accounted
for in the above scheme.
In practice, the procedure is that every capitalist sets aside from his annual
production, from the realisation of his commodities, a certain amount for
the redemption of his fixed capital. These individual annual deductions
must amount to a certain quantity of capital, therefore the capitalist has in
fact renewed his fixed capital, that is, he has replaced it by new and more
efficient items. This alternating procedure of building up annual reserves of
money for the renewal of fixed capital and of the periodical employment of
the accumulated amounts for the actual renewal of fixed capital varies with
the individual capitalist, so that some are accumulating reserves, while
others have already started their renewals. Thus every year part of the fixed
Page 88
capital is actually renewed. The monetary procedure here only disguises the
real process which characterises the reproduction of fixed capital.
On closer observation we see that this is as it should be. The whole of the
fixed capital takes part in the process of production, for physically the mass
of usable objects, premises, machinery, labouring cattle, are completely
employed. It is their peculiarity as fixed capital, on the other hand, that only
part of the value is absorbed in the production of value, since in the process
of reproduction (again postulating simple reproduction), all that matters is
to replace in their natural form the values which have been actually used up
as means of subsistence and production during a year’s production.
Therefore, fixed capital need only be reproduced to the extent that it has in
fact been used up in the production of commodities. The remaining portion
of value, embodied in the total use-form of fixed capital, is of decisive
importance for production as a labour process, but does not exist for the
annual reproduction of society as a process of value-formation.
Besides, this process which is here expressed by relations of value applies
equally to every society, even to a community which does not produce
commodities. If once upon a time, for instance, say ten years’ labour of
1,000 fellaheen was required for the construction of the famous Lake
Moeris and the related Nile canals—that miraculous lake, which Herodotus
tells us was made by hand—and if for the maintenance of this, the most
magnificent drainage system of the world, the labour of a further 100
fellaheen was annually required (the figures, of course, are chosen at
random), we might say that after every hundred years the Moeris dam and
the canals were reproduced anew, although in fact the entire system was not
constructed as a whole in every century. This is manifestly true. When,
amid the stormy incidents of political history and alien conquests, the usual
crude neglect of old monuments of culture set in—as displayed, e.g. by the
English in India when the reproductional needs of ancient civilisations were
understood no longer—then in the course of time the whole Lake Moeris,
its water, dikes and canals, the two pyramids in its midst, the colossus upon
it and other marvellous erections, disappeared without a trace, as though
they had never been built. Only ten lines in Herodotus, a dot on Ptolemy’s
map of the world, traces of old cultures, and of villages and cities bear
witness that at one time rich life sprang from this magnificent irrigation
system, where to-day there are only stretches of arid desert in inner Lybia,
real process which characterises the reproduction of fixed capital.
On closer observation we see that this is as it should be. The whole of the
fixed capital takes part in the process of production, for physically the mass
of usable objects, premises, machinery, labouring cattle, are completely
employed. It is their peculiarity as fixed capital, on the other hand, that only
part of the value is absorbed in the production of value, since in the process
of reproduction (again postulating simple reproduction), all that matters is
to replace in their natural form the values which have been actually used up
as means of subsistence and production during a year’s production.
Therefore, fixed capital need only be reproduced to the extent that it has in
fact been used up in the production of commodities. The remaining portion
of value, embodied in the total use-form of fixed capital, is of decisive
importance for production as a labour process, but does not exist for the
annual reproduction of society as a process of value-formation.
Besides, this process which is here expressed by relations of value applies
equally to every society, even to a community which does not produce
commodities. If once upon a time, for instance, say ten years’ labour of
1,000 fellaheen was required for the construction of the famous Lake
Moeris and the related Nile canals—that miraculous lake, which Herodotus
tells us was made by hand—and if for the maintenance of this, the most
magnificent drainage system of the world, the labour of a further 100
fellaheen was annually required (the figures, of course, are chosen at
random), we might say that after every hundred years the Moeris dam and
the canals were reproduced anew, although in fact the entire system was not
constructed as a whole in every century. This is manifestly true. When,
amid the stormy incidents of political history and alien conquests, the usual
crude neglect of old monuments of culture set in—as displayed, e.g. by the
English in India when the reproductional needs of ancient civilisations were
understood no longer—then in the course of time the whole Lake Moeris,
its water, dikes and canals, the two pyramids in its midst, the colossus upon
it and other marvellous erections, disappeared without a trace, as though
they had never been built. Only ten lines in Herodotus, a dot on Ptolemy’s
map of the world, traces of old cultures, and of villages and cities bear
witness that at one time rich life sprang from this magnificent irrigation
system, where to-day there are only stretches of arid desert in inner Lybia,
Page 89
and desolate swamps along the coast. There is only one point where Marx’s
scheme of simple reproduction may appear unsatisfactory or incomplete in
relation to constant capital, and that is when we go back to that period of
production, when the total fixed capital was first created. Indeed, society
possesses transformed labour amounting to more than those parts of fixed
capital which are absorbed into the value of the annual product and are in
turn replaced by it. In the figures of our example the total social capital does
not consist of 6,000c + 1,500v, as in the diagram, but of 19,500c + 1,500v.
Though 1,500 of the fixed capital (which, on our assumption, amounts to
15,000) are annually reproduced in the form of appropriate means of
production, an equal amount is also consumed by the same production each
year, though the whole of the fixed capital as a use-form, an aggregate of
objects, has been renewed. After ten years, society possesses in the
eleventh, just as in any other year, a fixed capital of 15,000, whereas it has
annually achieved only 1,500c; and its constant capital as a whole is 19,500,
whereas it has created only 6,000. Obviously, since it must have created this
surplus of 13,500 fixed capital by its labour, it possesses more accumulated
past labour than our scheme of reproduction warrants. Even at this stage,
the annual labour of society must be based on some previous annual labour
that has been hoarded. This question of past labour, however, as the
foundation of all present labour, brings us to the very first beginning which
is as meaningless with regard to the economic development of mankind as
it is for the natural development of matter. The scheme of reproduction
grasps the social process as perpetually in motion, as a link in the endless
chain of events, it neither wants to demonstrate its initial origin, nor should
it do so. The social reproductive process is always based on past labour, we
may trace it back as far as we like. Social labour has no beginning, just as it
has no end. Like the historical origin of Herodotus’ Lake Moeris, the
beginnings of the reproductive process in the history of civilisation are lost
in the twilight of legend. With the progress of techniques and with cultural
development, the means of production change their form, crude paleoliths
are replaced by sharpened tools, stone implements by elegant bronze and
iron, the artisan’s tool by steam-driven machinery. Yet, though the means of
production and the social organisation of the productive process continually
change their form, society already possesses for its labour process a certain
amount of past labour serving as the basis for annual reproduction.
scheme of simple reproduction may appear unsatisfactory or incomplete in
relation to constant capital, and that is when we go back to that period of
production, when the total fixed capital was first created. Indeed, society
possesses transformed labour amounting to more than those parts of fixed
capital which are absorbed into the value of the annual product and are in
turn replaced by it. In the figures of our example the total social capital does
not consist of 6,000c + 1,500v, as in the diagram, but of 19,500c + 1,500v.
Though 1,500 of the fixed capital (which, on our assumption, amounts to
15,000) are annually reproduced in the form of appropriate means of
production, an equal amount is also consumed by the same production each
year, though the whole of the fixed capital as a use-form, an aggregate of
objects, has been renewed. After ten years, society possesses in the
eleventh, just as in any other year, a fixed capital of 15,000, whereas it has
annually achieved only 1,500c; and its constant capital as a whole is 19,500,
whereas it has created only 6,000. Obviously, since it must have created this
surplus of 13,500 fixed capital by its labour, it possesses more accumulated
past labour than our scheme of reproduction warrants. Even at this stage,
the annual labour of society must be based on some previous annual labour
that has been hoarded. This question of past labour, however, as the
foundation of all present labour, brings us to the very first beginning which
is as meaningless with regard to the economic development of mankind as
it is for the natural development of matter. The scheme of reproduction
grasps the social process as perpetually in motion, as a link in the endless
chain of events, it neither wants to demonstrate its initial origin, nor should
it do so. The social reproductive process is always based on past labour, we
may trace it back as far as we like. Social labour has no beginning, just as it
has no end. Like the historical origin of Herodotus’ Lake Moeris, the
beginnings of the reproductive process in the history of civilisation are lost
in the twilight of legend. With the progress of techniques and with cultural
development, the means of production change their form, crude paleoliths
are replaced by sharpened tools, stone implements by elegant bronze and
iron, the artisan’s tool by steam-driven machinery. Yet, though the means of
production and the social organisation of the productive process continually
change their form, society already possesses for its labour process a certain
amount of past labour serving as the basis for annual reproduction.
Page 90
Under capitalist methods of production past labour of society preserved in
the means of production takes the form of capital, and the question of the
origin of this past labour which forms the foundation of the reproductive
process becomes the question of the genesis of capital. This is much less
legendary, indeed it is writ in letters of blood in modern history. The very
fact, however, that we cannot think of simple reproduction unless we
assume a hoard of past labour, surpassing in volume the labour annually
performed for the maintenance of society, touches the sore spot of simple
reproduction; and it shows that simple reproduction is a fiction not only for
capitalist production but also for the progress of civilisation in general. If
we merely wish to understand this fiction properly, and to reduce it to a
scheme, we must presume, as its sine qua non, results of a past productive
process which cannot possibly be restricted to simple reproduction but
inexorably points towards enlarged reproduction. By way of illustration, we
might compare the aggregate fixed capital of society with a railway. The
durability and consequently the annual wear and tear of its various parts is
very different. Parts such as viaducts and tunnels may last for centuries,
steam engines for decades, but other rolling stock will be used up in a short
time, in some instances in a few months. Yet it is possible to work out an
average rate of wear and tear, say thirty years, so that the value of the whole
is annually depreciated by one thirtieth. This loss of value is now
continually made good by partial reproduction of the railway (which may
count as repairs), so that a coach is renewed to-day, part of the engine to-
morrow, and a section of sleepers the day after. On our assumption then, the
old railway is replaced by a new one after thirty years, a similar amount of
labour being performed each year by the society so that simple reproduction
takes place. But the railway can only be reproduced in this manner—it
cannot be so produced. In order to make it fit for use and to make good its
gradual wear and tear, the railway must have been completed in the first
place. Though the railway can be repaired in parts, it cannot be made fit for
use piecemeal, an axle to-day and a coach to-morrow. Indeed, the very
essence of fixed capital is always to enter into the productive process in its
entirety, as a material use-value. In order to get this use-form ready in the
first place, society must apply a more concentrated amount of labour to its
manufacture. In terms of our example, the labour of thirty years that is used
for repairs, must be compressed into, say, two or three years. During this
period of manufacture, society must therefore expend an amount of labour
the means of production takes the form of capital, and the question of the
origin of this past labour which forms the foundation of the reproductive
process becomes the question of the genesis of capital. This is much less
legendary, indeed it is writ in letters of blood in modern history. The very
fact, however, that we cannot think of simple reproduction unless we
assume a hoard of past labour, surpassing in volume the labour annually
performed for the maintenance of society, touches the sore spot of simple
reproduction; and it shows that simple reproduction is a fiction not only for
capitalist production but also for the progress of civilisation in general. If
we merely wish to understand this fiction properly, and to reduce it to a
scheme, we must presume, as its sine qua non, results of a past productive
process which cannot possibly be restricted to simple reproduction but
inexorably points towards enlarged reproduction. By way of illustration, we
might compare the aggregate fixed capital of society with a railway. The
durability and consequently the annual wear and tear of its various parts is
very different. Parts such as viaducts and tunnels may last for centuries,
steam engines for decades, but other rolling stock will be used up in a short
time, in some instances in a few months. Yet it is possible to work out an
average rate of wear and tear, say thirty years, so that the value of the whole
is annually depreciated by one thirtieth. This loss of value is now
continually made good by partial reproduction of the railway (which may
count as repairs), so that a coach is renewed to-day, part of the engine to-
morrow, and a section of sleepers the day after. On our assumption then, the
old railway is replaced by a new one after thirty years, a similar amount of
labour being performed each year by the society so that simple reproduction
takes place. But the railway can only be reproduced in this manner—it
cannot be so produced. In order to make it fit for use and to make good its
gradual wear and tear, the railway must have been completed in the first
place. Though the railway can be repaired in parts, it cannot be made fit for
use piecemeal, an axle to-day and a coach to-morrow. Indeed, the very
essence of fixed capital is always to enter into the productive process in its
entirety, as a material use-value. In order to get this use-form ready in the
first place, society must apply a more concentrated amount of labour to its
manufacture. In terms of our example, the labour of thirty years that is used
for repairs, must be compressed into, say, two or three years. During this
period of manufacture, society must therefore expend an amount of labour
Page 91
far greater than the average, that is to say it must have recourse to
expanding reproduction; later, when the railway is finished, it may return to
simple reproduction. Though we need not visualise the aggregate fixed
capital as a single coherent use-object or a conglomeration of objects which
must be produced all at once, the manufacture of all the more important
means of production, such as buildings, transport facilities, and agricultural
structures, requires a more concentrated application of labour, and this is
true for the modern railway or steamship as much as it was for the rough
stone-axe and the handmill. Therefore it is only in theory that simple
reproduction can be conceived as alternating with enlarged reproduction;
the latter is not only a general condition of a progressive civilisation and an
expanding population, but also the sine qua non for the economic form of
fixed capital, or those means of production which in every society
correspond to the fixed capital.
Marx deals with this conflict between the formation of fixed capital and
simple reproduction but indirectly, in connection with fluctuations in the
wear and tear of the fixed capital, more rapid in some years than in others.
Here he emphasises the need for perpetual ‘over-production’, i.e. enlarged
reproduction, since a strict policy of simple reproduction would periodically
lead to reproductive losses. In short, he regards enlarged reproduction under
the aspect of an insurance fund for the fixed capital of the society, rather
than in the light of the actual productive process.[87]
In quite a different context Marx appears to endorse the opinion expressed
above. In Theories on the Surplus Value, vol ii, part 2, analysing the
conversion of revenue into capital, he speaks of the peculiar reproduction of
the fixed capital, the replacement of which in itself already provides a fund
for accumulation. He draws the following conclusion:
‘The point we have in mind is as follows: even if the aggregate capital
employed in machine manufacture were just large enough to make good the
annual wear and tear of the machines, many more machines could be
annually produced than are required, since the wear and tear is in parts
merely idealiter and must be made good realiter, in natura, only after a
certain number of years. Capital so employed supplies each year a mass of
machinery which becomes available for, and anticipates new, capital
investments. Let us suppose, for instance, a machine manufacturer who
starts production this year. During this year, he supplies machines for
expanding reproduction; later, when the railway is finished, it may return to
simple reproduction. Though we need not visualise the aggregate fixed
capital as a single coherent use-object or a conglomeration of objects which
must be produced all at once, the manufacture of all the more important
means of production, such as buildings, transport facilities, and agricultural
structures, requires a more concentrated application of labour, and this is
true for the modern railway or steamship as much as it was for the rough
stone-axe and the handmill. Therefore it is only in theory that simple
reproduction can be conceived as alternating with enlarged reproduction;
the latter is not only a general condition of a progressive civilisation and an
expanding population, but also the sine qua non for the economic form of
fixed capital, or those means of production which in every society
correspond to the fixed capital.
Marx deals with this conflict between the formation of fixed capital and
simple reproduction but indirectly, in connection with fluctuations in the
wear and tear of the fixed capital, more rapid in some years than in others.
Here he emphasises the need for perpetual ‘over-production’, i.e. enlarged
reproduction, since a strict policy of simple reproduction would periodically
lead to reproductive losses. In short, he regards enlarged reproduction under
the aspect of an insurance fund for the fixed capital of the society, rather
than in the light of the actual productive process.[87]
In quite a different context Marx appears to endorse the opinion expressed
above. In Theories on the Surplus Value, vol ii, part 2, analysing the
conversion of revenue into capital, he speaks of the peculiar reproduction of
the fixed capital, the replacement of which in itself already provides a fund
for accumulation. He draws the following conclusion:
‘The point we have in mind is as follows: even if the aggregate capital
employed in machine manufacture were just large enough to make good the
annual wear and tear of the machines, many more machines could be
annually produced than are required, since the wear and tear is in parts
merely idealiter and must be made good realiter, in natura, only after a
certain number of years. Capital so employed supplies each year a mass of
machinery which becomes available for, and anticipates new, capital
investments. Let us suppose, for instance, a machine manufacturer who
starts production this year. During this year, he supplies machines for
Page 92
£12,000. If he were merely to reproduce the machines he has manufactured,
he would have to produce, during the subsequent eleven years, machines for
£1,000 only, and even then, a year’s production would not be consumed
within the year. Still less could it be consumed, if he were to employ the
whole of his capital. To keep this capital working, to keep it reproducing
itself every year, a new and continuous expansion of the branches of
manufacture that require these machines, is indispensable. This applies even
more, if the machine manufacturer himself accumulates. In consequence,
even if the capital invested in one particular branch of production is simply
being reproduced,[88] a continuous accumulation in the other branches of
production must go with it.’[89]
We might take the machine manufacturer of Marx’s example as illustrating
the production of fixed capital. Then the inference is that if society
maintains simple reproduction in this sphere, employing each year a similar
amount of labour for the production of fixed capital (a procedure which is,
of course, impossible in practical life), then annual production in all other
spheres must expand. But if here, too, simple reproduction is to be
maintained, then, if the fixed capital once created is to be merely renewed,
only a small part of the labour employed in its creation can be expended.
Or, to put it the other way round: if society is to provide for investment in
fixed capital on a large scale, it must, even assuming simple reproduction to
prevail on the whole, resort periodically to enlarged reproduction.
With the advance of civilisation, there are changes not only in the form of
the means of production but also in the quantity of value they represent—or
better, changes in the social labour stored up in them. Apart from the labour
necessary for its immediate preservation, society has increasingly more
labour time and labour power to spare, and it makes use of these for the
manufacture of means of production on an ever increasing scale. How does
this affect the process of reproduction? How, in terms of capitalism, does
society create out of its annual labour a greater amount of capital than it
formerly possessed? This question touches upon enlarged reproduction, and
it is not yet time to deal with it.
he would have to produce, during the subsequent eleven years, machines for
£1,000 only, and even then, a year’s production would not be consumed
within the year. Still less could it be consumed, if he were to employ the
whole of his capital. To keep this capital working, to keep it reproducing
itself every year, a new and continuous expansion of the branches of
manufacture that require these machines, is indispensable. This applies even
more, if the machine manufacturer himself accumulates. In consequence,
even if the capital invested in one particular branch of production is simply
being reproduced,[88] a continuous accumulation in the other branches of
production must go with it.’[89]
We might take the machine manufacturer of Marx’s example as illustrating
the production of fixed capital. Then the inference is that if society
maintains simple reproduction in this sphere, employing each year a similar
amount of labour for the production of fixed capital (a procedure which is,
of course, impossible in practical life), then annual production in all other
spheres must expand. But if here, too, simple reproduction is to be
maintained, then, if the fixed capital once created is to be merely renewed,
only a small part of the labour employed in its creation can be expended.
Or, to put it the other way round: if society is to provide for investment in
fixed capital on a large scale, it must, even assuming simple reproduction to
prevail on the whole, resort periodically to enlarged reproduction.
With the advance of civilisation, there are changes not only in the form of
the means of production but also in the quantity of value they represent—or
better, changes in the social labour stored up in them. Apart from the labour
necessary for its immediate preservation, society has increasingly more
labour time and labour power to spare, and it makes use of these for the
manufacture of means of production on an ever increasing scale. How does
this affect the process of reproduction? How, in terms of capitalism, does
society create out of its annual labour a greater amount of capital than it
formerly possessed? This question touches upon enlarged reproduction, and
it is not yet time to deal with it.
Page 93
CHAPTER V
Page 94
THE CIRCULATION OF MONEY
In our study of the reproductive process we have not so far considered the
circulation of money. Here we do not refer to money as a measuring rod, an
embodiment of value, because all relations of social labour have been
expressed, assumed and measured in terms of money. What we have to do
now is to test our diagram of simple reproduction under the aspect of
money as a means of exchange.
Quesnay already saw that we shall only understand the social reproductive
process if we assume, side by side with the means of production and
consumer goods, a certain quantity of money.[90]
Two questions now arise: (1) by whom should the money be owned, and (2)
how much of it should there be? The answer to the first question, no doubt,
is that the workers receive their wages in the form of money with which
they buy consumer goods. From the point of view of society, this means
merely that the workers are allocated a certain share of the fund for
consumption: every society, whatever its historical form of production,
makes such allocations to its workers. It is, however, an essential
characteristic of the capitalist form of production that the workers do not
obtain their share directly in the form of goods but by way of commodity
exchange, just as it is an essential feature of the capitalist mode of
production that their labour power is not applied directly, as a result of a
relation of personal domination, but again by way of commodity exchange:
the workers selling their labour power to the owners of the means of
production, and purchasing freely their consumer goods. Variable capital in
its money form is the expression and medium of both these transactions.
Money, then, comes first into circulation by the payment of wages. The
capitalist class must therefore set a certain quantity of money circulating in
the first place, and this must be equal to the amount they pay in wages. The
capitalists of Department I need 1,000 units of money, and the capitalists of
Department II need 500 to meet their wages bill. Thus, according to our
diagram, two quantities of money are circulating: I(1,000v) and II(500v).
The workers spend the total of 1,500 on consumer goods, i.e. on the
In our study of the reproductive process we have not so far considered the
circulation of money. Here we do not refer to money as a measuring rod, an
embodiment of value, because all relations of social labour have been
expressed, assumed and measured in terms of money. What we have to do
now is to test our diagram of simple reproduction under the aspect of
money as a means of exchange.
Quesnay already saw that we shall only understand the social reproductive
process if we assume, side by side with the means of production and
consumer goods, a certain quantity of money.[90]
Two questions now arise: (1) by whom should the money be owned, and (2)
how much of it should there be? The answer to the first question, no doubt,
is that the workers receive their wages in the form of money with which
they buy consumer goods. From the point of view of society, this means
merely that the workers are allocated a certain share of the fund for
consumption: every society, whatever its historical form of production,
makes such allocations to its workers. It is, however, an essential
characteristic of the capitalist form of production that the workers do not
obtain their share directly in the form of goods but by way of commodity
exchange, just as it is an essential feature of the capitalist mode of
production that their labour power is not applied directly, as a result of a
relation of personal domination, but again by way of commodity exchange:
the workers selling their labour power to the owners of the means of
production, and purchasing freely their consumer goods. Variable capital in
its money form is the expression and medium of both these transactions.
Money, then, comes first into circulation by the payment of wages. The
capitalist class must therefore set a certain quantity of money circulating in
the first place, and this must be equal to the amount they pay in wages. The
capitalists of Department I need 1,000 units of money, and the capitalists of
Department II need 500 to meet their wages bill. Thus, according to our
diagram, two quantities of money are circulating: I(1,000v) and II(500v).
The workers spend the total of 1,500 on consumer goods, i.e. on the
Page 95
products of Department II. In this way, labour power is maintained, that is
to say the variable capital of society is reproduced in its natural form, as the
foundation of all other reproductions of capital. At the same time, the
capitalists of Department II dispose of their aggregate product (1,500) in the
following manner: their own workers receive 500 and the workers of
Department I receive 1,000. This exchange gives the capitalists of
Department II possession of 1,500 money units: 500 are their own variable
capital which has returned to them; these may start circulating again as
variable capital but for the time being they have completed their course.
The other 1,000 accrue to them year by year out of the realisation of one-
third of their own products. The capitalists of Department II now buy means
of production from the capitalists of Department I for these 1,000 money
units in order to renew the part of their own constant capital that has been
used up. By means of this purchase, Department II renews in its natural
form half of the constant capital IIc it requires. Department I now has in
return 1,000 money units which are nothing more than the money originally
paid to its own workers. Now, after having changed hands twice, the money
has returned to Department I, to become effective later as variable capital.
This completes the circulation of this quantity of money for the moment,
but the circulation within society has not yet come to an end. The capitalists
of Department I have not yet realised their surplus value to buy consumer
goods for themselves; it is still contained in their product in a form which is
of no use to them. Moreover, the capitalists of Department II have not yet
renewed the second half of their constant capital. These two acts of
exchange are identical both in substance and in value, for the capitalists of
Department I receive their goods from Department II in exchange for the
I(1,000c) means of production needed by the capitalists of Department II.
However, a new quantity of money is required to effect this exchange. It is
true that the same money which has already completed its course, might be
brought into circulation again for this purpose—in theory, there could be no
objection to this. In practice, however, this solution is out of the question,
for the needs of the capitalists, as consumers, must be satisfied just as
constantly as the needs of the workers—they run parallel to the process of
production and must be mediated by specific quantities of money. Hence it
follows that the capitalists of both departments—that is to say all capitalists
—must have a further cash reserve in hand, in addition to the money
required as variable capital, in order to realise their own surplus value in the
to say the variable capital of society is reproduced in its natural form, as the
foundation of all other reproductions of capital. At the same time, the
capitalists of Department II dispose of their aggregate product (1,500) in the
following manner: their own workers receive 500 and the workers of
Department I receive 1,000. This exchange gives the capitalists of
Department II possession of 1,500 money units: 500 are their own variable
capital which has returned to them; these may start circulating again as
variable capital but for the time being they have completed their course.
The other 1,000 accrue to them year by year out of the realisation of one-
third of their own products. The capitalists of Department II now buy means
of production from the capitalists of Department I for these 1,000 money
units in order to renew the part of their own constant capital that has been
used up. By means of this purchase, Department II renews in its natural
form half of the constant capital IIc it requires. Department I now has in
return 1,000 money units which are nothing more than the money originally
paid to its own workers. Now, after having changed hands twice, the money
has returned to Department I, to become effective later as variable capital.
This completes the circulation of this quantity of money for the moment,
but the circulation within society has not yet come to an end. The capitalists
of Department I have not yet realised their surplus value to buy consumer
goods for themselves; it is still contained in their product in a form which is
of no use to them. Moreover, the capitalists of Department II have not yet
renewed the second half of their constant capital. These two acts of
exchange are identical both in substance and in value, for the capitalists of
Department I receive their goods from Department II in exchange for the
I(1,000c) means of production needed by the capitalists of Department II.
However, a new quantity of money is required to effect this exchange. It is
true that the same money which has already completed its course, might be
brought into circulation again for this purpose—in theory, there could be no
objection to this. In practice, however, this solution is out of the question,
for the needs of the capitalists, as consumers, must be satisfied just as
constantly as the needs of the workers—they run parallel to the process of
production and must be mediated by specific quantities of money. Hence it
follows that the capitalists of both departments—that is to say all capitalists
—must have a further cash reserve in hand, in addition to the money
required as variable capital, in order to realise their own surplus value in the
Page 96
form of consumer goods. On the other hand, before the total product is
realised and during the process of its production, certain parts of the
constant capital must be bought continually. These are the circulating parts
of the constant capital, such as raw and auxiliary materials, semi-finished
goods, lighting and the like. Therefore, not only must the capitalists of
Department I have certain quantities of money in hand to satisfy their needs
as consumers, but the capitalists of Department II must also have money to
meet the requirements of their constant capital. The exchange of 1,000s I
(the surplus value of Department I contained in the means of production)
against goods is thus effected by money which is advanced partly by the
capitalists of Department I in order to satisfy their needs as consumers, and
partly by the capitalists of Department II in order to satisfy their needs as
producers.[91] Both lots of capitalists may each advance 500 units of the
money necessary for the exchange, or possibly the two departments will
contribute in different proportions. At any rate, two things are certain: (a)
the money set aside for the purpose by both departments must suffice to
effect the exchange between I(1,000s) and II(1,000c); (b) whatever the
distribution of this money between the two departments may have been, the
exchange transaction completed, each department of capitalist production
must again possess the same amount of money it had earlier put into
circulation. This latter maxim applies quite generally to social circulation as
a whole: once the process of circulation is concluded, money will always
have returned to its point of origin. Thus all capitalists, after universal
exchange, have achieved a twofold result: first they have exchanged
products which, in their natural form, were of no use to them, against other
products which, in their natural form, the capitalists require either as means
of production or for their own consumption. Secondly, they have regained
possession of the money which they set in circulation so as to effect these
acts of exchange.
This phenomenon is unintelligible from the point of view of simple
commodity circulation, where commodity and money continually change
places—possession of the commodity excluding the possession of money,
as money constantly usurps the place which the commodity has given up,
and vice versa. Indeed, this is perfectly true with regard to every individual
act of commodity exchange which is the form of social circulation. Yet this
social circulation itself is more than mere exchange of commodities: it is
the circulation of capital. It is, however, an essential and characteristic
realised and during the process of its production, certain parts of the
constant capital must be bought continually. These are the circulating parts
of the constant capital, such as raw and auxiliary materials, semi-finished
goods, lighting and the like. Therefore, not only must the capitalists of
Department I have certain quantities of money in hand to satisfy their needs
as consumers, but the capitalists of Department II must also have money to
meet the requirements of their constant capital. The exchange of 1,000s I
(the surplus value of Department I contained in the means of production)
against goods is thus effected by money which is advanced partly by the
capitalists of Department I in order to satisfy their needs as consumers, and
partly by the capitalists of Department II in order to satisfy their needs as
producers.[91] Both lots of capitalists may each advance 500 units of the
money necessary for the exchange, or possibly the two departments will
contribute in different proportions. At any rate, two things are certain: (a)
the money set aside for the purpose by both departments must suffice to
effect the exchange between I(1,000s) and II(1,000c); (b) whatever the
distribution of this money between the two departments may have been, the
exchange transaction completed, each department of capitalist production
must again possess the same amount of money it had earlier put into
circulation. This latter maxim applies quite generally to social circulation as
a whole: once the process of circulation is concluded, money will always
have returned to its point of origin. Thus all capitalists, after universal
exchange, have achieved a twofold result: first they have exchanged
products which, in their natural form, were of no use to them, against other
products which, in their natural form, the capitalists require either as means
of production or for their own consumption. Secondly, they have regained
possession of the money which they set in circulation so as to effect these
acts of exchange.
This phenomenon is unintelligible from the point of view of simple
commodity circulation, where commodity and money continually change
places—possession of the commodity excluding the possession of money,
as money constantly usurps the place which the commodity has given up,
and vice versa. Indeed, this is perfectly true with regard to every individual
act of commodity exchange which is the form of social circulation. Yet this
social circulation itself is more than mere exchange of commodities: it is
the circulation of capital. It is, however, an essential and characteristic
Page 97
feature of this kind of circulation, that it does not only return to the
capitalist the value of his original capital plus an increase, the surplus value,
but that it also assists social reproduction by providing the means of
production and labour power in the natural form of productive capital, and
by ensuring the maintenance of those who do not work. Possessing both the
means of production and the money needed, the capitalists start the total
social process of circulation; as soon as the social capital has completed its
circuit, everything is again in their hands, apportioned to each department
according to the investments made by it. The workers have only temporary
possession of money during which time they convert the variable capital
from its money form into its natural form. The variable capital in the
capitalists’ hands is nothing but the outward shape of part of their capital,
and for this reason it must always revert to them.
So far, we have only considered circulation as it takes place between the
two large departments of production. Yet 4,000 units of the first
Department’s produce remain there in the form of means of production to
renew its constant capital of 4,000c. Moreover 500 of the consumer goods
produced in Department II [corresponding to the surplus value II(500s)]
also remain in this department in the form of consumer goods for the
capitalist class. Since in both departments the mode of production is
capitalistic, that is unplanned, private production, each department can
distribute its own products—means of production in Department I and
consumer goods in Department II—amongst its own capitalists only by way
of commodity exchange, i.e. by a large number of individual sale
transactions between capitalists of the same department. Therefore the
capitalists of both departments must have a reserve of money with which to
perform these exchange transactions—to renew both the means of
production in Department I and the consumer goods for the capitalist class
in Department II. This part of circulation does not present any features of
specific interest, as it is merely simple commodity circulation. Vendor and
purchaser alike belong to the same category of agents of production, and
circulation is concerned only with money and commodity changing hands
within the same class and department. All the same, the money needed for
this circulation must from the outset be in the hands of the capitalist class: it
is part of their capital.
capitalist the value of his original capital plus an increase, the surplus value,
but that it also assists social reproduction by providing the means of
production and labour power in the natural form of productive capital, and
by ensuring the maintenance of those who do not work. Possessing both the
means of production and the money needed, the capitalists start the total
social process of circulation; as soon as the social capital has completed its
circuit, everything is again in their hands, apportioned to each department
according to the investments made by it. The workers have only temporary
possession of money during which time they convert the variable capital
from its money form into its natural form. The variable capital in the
capitalists’ hands is nothing but the outward shape of part of their capital,
and for this reason it must always revert to them.
So far, we have only considered circulation as it takes place between the
two large departments of production. Yet 4,000 units of the first
Department’s produce remain there in the form of means of production to
renew its constant capital of 4,000c. Moreover 500 of the consumer goods
produced in Department II [corresponding to the surplus value II(500s)]
also remain in this department in the form of consumer goods for the
capitalist class. Since in both departments the mode of production is
capitalistic, that is unplanned, private production, each department can
distribute its own products—means of production in Department I and
consumer goods in Department II—amongst its own capitalists only by way
of commodity exchange, i.e. by a large number of individual sale
transactions between capitalists of the same department. Therefore the
capitalists of both departments must have a reserve of money with which to
perform these exchange transactions—to renew both the means of
production in Department I and the consumer goods for the capitalist class
in Department II. This part of circulation does not present any features of
specific interest, as it is merely simple commodity circulation. Vendor and
purchaser alike belong to the same category of agents of production, and
circulation is concerned only with money and commodity changing hands
within the same class and department. All the same, the money needed for
this circulation must from the outset be in the hands of the capitalist class: it
is part of their capital.
Page 98
So far, the circulation of total social capital presents no peculiarities, even if
we consider the circulation of money. From the very outset it is self-evident
that society must possess a certain quantity of money to make this
circulation possible, and this for two reasons: first, the general form of
capitalist production is that of commodity production which implies the
circulation of money; secondly, the circulation of capital is based upon the
continuous alternation of the three forms of capital: money capital,
productive capital, and commodity capital. And as it is this very money,
finally, which operates as capital—our diagram referring to capitalist
production exclusively—the capitalist class must have possession of this
money, as it has possession of every other form of capital; it throws it into
circulation in order to regain possession as soon as the process of
circulation has been completed.
At first glance, only one detail might strike us: if the capitalists themselves
have set in motion all the money which circulates in society, they must also
advance the money needed for the realisation of their own surplus value.
Thus it seems that the capitalists as a class ought to buy their own surplus
value with their own money. As the capitalist class has possession of this
money resulting from previous periods of production, even prior to the
realisation of the product of each working period, the appropriation of
surplus value at first sight does not seem to be based upon the unpaid labour
of the wage labourer—as it in fact is—but merely the result of an exchange
of commodities against an equivalent quantity of money both supplied by
the capitalist class itself. A little reflection, however, dispels this illusion.
After the general completion of circulation, the capitalists, now as before,
possess their money funds which either reverted to them or remained in
their hands. Further, they acquired consumer goods for the same amount
which they have consumed. (Note that we are still confining ourselves to
simple reproduction as the prime condition of our diagram of reproduction:
the renewal of production on the old scale and the use of all surplus value
produced for the personal consumption of the capitalist class.)
Moreover, the illusion vanishes completely if we do not confine ourselves
to one period of production but observe a number of successive periods in
their mutual interconnections. The value the capitalist puts into circulation
to-day in the form of money for the purpose of realising his own surplus
value, is in fact nothing but his surplus value resulting from the preceding
we consider the circulation of money. From the very outset it is self-evident
that society must possess a certain quantity of money to make this
circulation possible, and this for two reasons: first, the general form of
capitalist production is that of commodity production which implies the
circulation of money; secondly, the circulation of capital is based upon the
continuous alternation of the three forms of capital: money capital,
productive capital, and commodity capital. And as it is this very money,
finally, which operates as capital—our diagram referring to capitalist
production exclusively—the capitalist class must have possession of this
money, as it has possession of every other form of capital; it throws it into
circulation in order to regain possession as soon as the process of
circulation has been completed.
At first glance, only one detail might strike us: if the capitalists themselves
have set in motion all the money which circulates in society, they must also
advance the money needed for the realisation of their own surplus value.
Thus it seems that the capitalists as a class ought to buy their own surplus
value with their own money. As the capitalist class has possession of this
money resulting from previous periods of production, even prior to the
realisation of the product of each working period, the appropriation of
surplus value at first sight does not seem to be based upon the unpaid labour
of the wage labourer—as it in fact is—but merely the result of an exchange
of commodities against an equivalent quantity of money both supplied by
the capitalist class itself. A little reflection, however, dispels this illusion.
After the general completion of circulation, the capitalists, now as before,
possess their money funds which either reverted to them or remained in
their hands. Further, they acquired consumer goods for the same amount
which they have consumed. (Note that we are still confining ourselves to
simple reproduction as the prime condition of our diagram of reproduction:
the renewal of production on the old scale and the use of all surplus value
produced for the personal consumption of the capitalist class.)
Moreover, the illusion vanishes completely if we do not confine ourselves
to one period of production but observe a number of successive periods in
their mutual interconnections. The value the capitalist puts into circulation
to-day in the form of money for the purpose of realising his own surplus
value, is in fact nothing but his surplus value resulting from the preceding
Page 99
period of production in form of money. The capitalist must advance money
out of his own pocket in order to buy his goods for consumption. On the
one hand, the surplus value which he produces each year either exists in a
natural form which renders it unfit for consumption, or, if it takes a
consumable form, it is temporarily in the hands of another person. On the
other hand, he (the capitalist) has regained possession of the money, and he
is now making his advances by realising his surplus value from the
preceding period. As soon as he has realised his new surplus value, which is
still embodied in the commodity-form, this money will return to him.
Consequently, in the course of several periods of production, the capitalist
class draws its consumer goods from the pool, as well as the other natural
forms of its capital. The quantity of money originally in its possession,
however, remains unaffected by this process.
Investigation of the circulation of money in society shows that the
individual capitalist can never invest the whole of his money capital in
production but must always keep a certain money reserve to be employed as
variable capital, i.e. as wages. Further, he must keep a capital reserve for the
purchase of means of production at any given period, and in addition, he
must have a cash reserve for his personal consumption.
The process of reproducing the total social capital thus entails the necessity
of producing and reproducing the substance of money. Money is also
capital, for Marx’s diagram which we have discussed before, conceives of
no other than capitalist production. Thus the diagram seems incomplete. We
ought to add a further department, that of production of the means of
exchange, to the other two large departments of social production [those of
means of production (I) and of consumer goods (II)]. It is, indeed, a
characteristic feature of this third department that it serves neither the
purposes of production nor those of consumption, merely representing
social labour in an undifferentiated commodity that cannot be used. Though
money and its production, like the exchange and production of
commodities, are much older than the capitalist mode of production, it was
only the latter which made the circulation of money a general form of social
circulation, and thus the essential element of the social reproductive
process. We can only obtain a comprehensive diagram of the essential
points of capitalist production if we demonstrate the original relationship
out of his own pocket in order to buy his goods for consumption. On the
one hand, the surplus value which he produces each year either exists in a
natural form which renders it unfit for consumption, or, if it takes a
consumable form, it is temporarily in the hands of another person. On the
other hand, he (the capitalist) has regained possession of the money, and he
is now making his advances by realising his surplus value from the
preceding period. As soon as he has realised his new surplus value, which is
still embodied in the commodity-form, this money will return to him.
Consequently, in the course of several periods of production, the capitalist
class draws its consumer goods from the pool, as well as the other natural
forms of its capital. The quantity of money originally in its possession,
however, remains unaffected by this process.
Investigation of the circulation of money in society shows that the
individual capitalist can never invest the whole of his money capital in
production but must always keep a certain money reserve to be employed as
variable capital, i.e. as wages. Further, he must keep a capital reserve for the
purchase of means of production at any given period, and in addition, he
must have a cash reserve for his personal consumption.
The process of reproducing the total social capital thus entails the necessity
of producing and reproducing the substance of money. Money is also
capital, for Marx’s diagram which we have discussed before, conceives of
no other than capitalist production. Thus the diagram seems incomplete. We
ought to add a further department, that of production of the means of
exchange, to the other two large departments of social production [those of
means of production (I) and of consumer goods (II)]. It is, indeed, a
characteristic feature of this third department that it serves neither the
purposes of production nor those of consumption, merely representing
social labour in an undifferentiated commodity that cannot be used. Though
money and its production, like the exchange and production of
commodities, are much older than the capitalist mode of production, it was
only the latter which made the circulation of money a general form of social
circulation, and thus the essential element of the social reproductive
process. We can only obtain a comprehensive diagram of the essential
points of capitalist production if we demonstrate the original relationship
Page 100
between the production and reproduction of money and the two other
departments of social production.
Here, however, we deviate from Marx. He included the production of gold
(we have reduced the total production of money to the production of gold
for the sake of simplicity) in the first department of social production.
‘The production of gold, like that of metals generally, belongs to
department I, which occupies itself with means of production.’[92]
This is correct only in so far as the production of gold is the production of
metal for industrial purposes (jewellery, dental stoppings, etc.). But gold in
its capacity as money is not a metal but rather an embodiment of social
labour in abstracto. Thus it is no more a means of production than it is a
consumer good. Besides, a mere glance at the diagram of reproduction itself
shows what inconsistencies must result from confusing means of exchange
with means of production. If we add a diagrammatic representation of the
annual production of gold as the substance of money to the two departments
of social production, we get the following three sets of figures:
I. 4,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 6,000means of production
II. 2,000c + 500v + 500s = 3,000means of subsistence
III. 20c + 5v + 5s = 30means of exchange
This quantity of value of 30, chosen by Marx as an example, obviously does
not represent the quantity of money which circulates annually in society; it
only stands for that part which is annually reproduced, the annual wear and
tear of the money substance which, on the average, remains constant so
long as social reproduction remains on the same level. The turnover of
capital goes on in a regular manner and the realisation of commodities
proceeds at an equal pace. If we consider the third line as an integral part of
the first one, as Marx wants us to do, the following difficulty arises: the
constant capital of the third department consists of real and concrete means
of production, premises, tools, auxiliary materials, vessels, and the like, just
as it does in the two other departments. Its product, however, the 30g which
represent money, cannot operate in its natural form as constant capital in
any process of production. If we therefore include this 30g as an essential
part of the product of Department I (6,000 means of production) the means
of production will show a social deficit of this size which will prevent
departments of social production.
Here, however, we deviate from Marx. He included the production of gold
(we have reduced the total production of money to the production of gold
for the sake of simplicity) in the first department of social production.
‘The production of gold, like that of metals generally, belongs to
department I, which occupies itself with means of production.’[92]
This is correct only in so far as the production of gold is the production of
metal for industrial purposes (jewellery, dental stoppings, etc.). But gold in
its capacity as money is not a metal but rather an embodiment of social
labour in abstracto. Thus it is no more a means of production than it is a
consumer good. Besides, a mere glance at the diagram of reproduction itself
shows what inconsistencies must result from confusing means of exchange
with means of production. If we add a diagrammatic representation of the
annual production of gold as the substance of money to the two departments
of social production, we get the following three sets of figures:
I. 4,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 6,000means of production
II. 2,000c + 500v + 500s = 3,000means of subsistence
III. 20c + 5v + 5s = 30means of exchange
This quantity of value of 30, chosen by Marx as an example, obviously does
not represent the quantity of money which circulates annually in society; it
only stands for that part which is annually reproduced, the annual wear and
tear of the money substance which, on the average, remains constant so
long as social reproduction remains on the same level. The turnover of
capital goes on in a regular manner and the realisation of commodities
proceeds at an equal pace. If we consider the third line as an integral part of
the first one, as Marx wants us to do, the following difficulty arises: the
constant capital of the third department consists of real and concrete means
of production, premises, tools, auxiliary materials, vessels, and the like, just
as it does in the two other departments. Its product, however, the 30g which
represent money, cannot operate in its natural form as constant capital in
any process of production. If we therefore include this 30g as an essential
part of the product of Department I (6,000 means of production) the means
of production will show a social deficit of this size which will prevent
Page 101
Departments I and II from resuming their reproduction on the old scale.
According to the previous assumption—which forms the foundation of
Marx’s whole diagram—reproduction as a whole starts from the product of
each department in its actual use-form. The proportions of the diagram are
based upon this assumption; without it, they dissolve in chaos. Thus the first
fundamental relation of value is based upon the equation: I(6,000) equals
I(4,000c) + II(2,000c). This cannot apply to the product III(30g), since
neither department can use gold as a means of production [say, in the
proportion of I(20c) + II(10c)]. The second fundamental relation derived
from this is based upon the equation I(1,000v) + I(1,000s) = II(2,000c). This
would mean, with regard to the production of gold, that as many consumer
goods are taken from Department II as there are means of production
supplied to it. But this is equally untrue. Though the production of gold
removes concrete means of production from the total social product and
uses them as its constant capital, though it takes concrete consumer goods
for the use of its workers and capitalists, corresponding to its variable
capital and surplus value, the product it supplies yet cannot operate in any
branch of production as a means of production, nor is it a consumer good,
fit for human consumption. To include the production of money in the
activities of Department I, therefore, is to run counter to all the general
proportions which express the relations of value in Marx’s diagram, and to
diminish the diagram’s validity.
The attempt by Marx to find room for the production of gold within
Department I (means of production) moreover leads to dubious results. The
first act of circulation between this new sub-Department (called by Marx
Ig) and Department II (consumer goods) consists as usual in the workers’
purchase of consumer goods from Department II with the money obtained
as wages from the capitalists. This money is not yet a product of the new
period of production. It has been reserved by the capitalists of Department
Ig out of the money contained in their product of an earlier period. This,
indeed, is the normal procedure. But now Marx allows the capitalists of
Department II to buy gold from Ig with the money they have reserved, gold
as a commodity material to the value of 2. This is a leap from the
production of money into the industrial production of gold which is no
more to do with the problem of the production of money than with the
production of boot-polish. Yet out of the 5 Ig v that have been reserved, 3
still remain, and as the capitalist, unable to use them as constant capital,
According to the previous assumption—which forms the foundation of
Marx’s whole diagram—reproduction as a whole starts from the product of
each department in its actual use-form. The proportions of the diagram are
based upon this assumption; without it, they dissolve in chaos. Thus the first
fundamental relation of value is based upon the equation: I(6,000) equals
I(4,000c) + II(2,000c). This cannot apply to the product III(30g), since
neither department can use gold as a means of production [say, in the
proportion of I(20c) + II(10c)]. The second fundamental relation derived
from this is based upon the equation I(1,000v) + I(1,000s) = II(2,000c). This
would mean, with regard to the production of gold, that as many consumer
goods are taken from Department II as there are means of production
supplied to it. But this is equally untrue. Though the production of gold
removes concrete means of production from the total social product and
uses them as its constant capital, though it takes concrete consumer goods
for the use of its workers and capitalists, corresponding to its variable
capital and surplus value, the product it supplies yet cannot operate in any
branch of production as a means of production, nor is it a consumer good,
fit for human consumption. To include the production of money in the
activities of Department I, therefore, is to run counter to all the general
proportions which express the relations of value in Marx’s diagram, and to
diminish the diagram’s validity.
The attempt by Marx to find room for the production of gold within
Department I (means of production) moreover leads to dubious results. The
first act of circulation between this new sub-Department (called by Marx
Ig) and Department II (consumer goods) consists as usual in the workers’
purchase of consumer goods from Department II with the money obtained
as wages from the capitalists. This money is not yet a product of the new
period of production. It has been reserved by the capitalists of Department
Ig out of the money contained in their product of an earlier period. This,
indeed, is the normal procedure. But now Marx allows the capitalists of
Department II to buy gold from Ig with the money they have reserved, gold
as a commodity material to the value of 2. This is a leap from the
production of money into the industrial production of gold which is no
more to do with the problem of the production of money than with the
production of boot-polish. Yet out of the 5 Ig v that have been reserved, 3
still remain, and as the capitalist, unable to use them as constant capital,
Page 102
does not know what to do with them, Marx arranges for him to add them on
to his own reserve of money. Marx further finds the following way out to
avoid a deficit in the constant capital of II which must be exchanged
completely against the means of production (Iv + Is):
‘Therefore, this money must be entirely transferred from IIc to IIs, no
matter whether it exists in necessities of life or articles of luxury, and vice
versa, a corresponding value of commodities must be transferred from IIs to
IIc. Result: A portion of the surplus-value is accumulated as a hoard of
money.’[93]
A strange result, in all conscience! We have achieved an increase in money,
a surplus of the money substance, by simply confining ourselves to the
annual wear and tear of the money fund. This surplus value comes into
existence, for some unknown reason, at the expense of the capitalists in the
consumer goods department. They practise abstinence, not because they
may want to expand their production of surplus value, let us say, but in
order to secure a sufficient quantity of consumer goods for the workers
engaged in the production of gold.
The capitalists of Department II, however, get poor reward for this Christian
virtue. In spite of their abstinence, they are not only unable to expand their
reproduction, but they are no longer even in the position to resume their
production on its former scale. Even if the corresponding ‘commodity
value’ is transferred from IIg to IIc, it is not only the value but its actual and
concrete form which matters. As the new part of the product of I now
consists of money which cannot be used as a means of production,
Department II, in spite of its abstinence, cannot renew its constant material
capital on the old scale. As our diagram presupposes simple reproduction,
its condition are thus violated in two directions: surplus value is being
hoarded, and the constant capital shows a deficit. Marx’s own results, then,
prove that the production of gold cannot possibly find a place in either of
the two departments of his diagram; the whole diagram is upset as soon as
the first act of exchange between Departments I and II has been completed.
As Engels remarks in his footnote, ‘the analysis of the exchange of newly
produced gold within the constant capital of Department I is not contained
in the MS.’[94] Besides, the inconsistency would then only have been
greater. The point of view we advocate is confirmed by Marx himself when
to his own reserve of money. Marx further finds the following way out to
avoid a deficit in the constant capital of II which must be exchanged
completely against the means of production (Iv + Is):
‘Therefore, this money must be entirely transferred from IIc to IIs, no
matter whether it exists in necessities of life or articles of luxury, and vice
versa, a corresponding value of commodities must be transferred from IIs to
IIc. Result: A portion of the surplus-value is accumulated as a hoard of
money.’[93]
A strange result, in all conscience! We have achieved an increase in money,
a surplus of the money substance, by simply confining ourselves to the
annual wear and tear of the money fund. This surplus value comes into
existence, for some unknown reason, at the expense of the capitalists in the
consumer goods department. They practise abstinence, not because they
may want to expand their production of surplus value, let us say, but in
order to secure a sufficient quantity of consumer goods for the workers
engaged in the production of gold.
The capitalists of Department II, however, get poor reward for this Christian
virtue. In spite of their abstinence, they are not only unable to expand their
reproduction, but they are no longer even in the position to resume their
production on its former scale. Even if the corresponding ‘commodity
value’ is transferred from IIg to IIc, it is not only the value but its actual and
concrete form which matters. As the new part of the product of I now
consists of money which cannot be used as a means of production,
Department II, in spite of its abstinence, cannot renew its constant material
capital on the old scale. As our diagram presupposes simple reproduction,
its condition are thus violated in two directions: surplus value is being
hoarded, and the constant capital shows a deficit. Marx’s own results, then,
prove that the production of gold cannot possibly find a place in either of
the two departments of his diagram; the whole diagram is upset as soon as
the first act of exchange between Departments I and II has been completed.
As Engels remarks in his footnote, ‘the analysis of the exchange of newly
produced gold within the constant capital of Department I is not contained
in the MS.’[94] Besides, the inconsistency would then only have been
greater. The point of view we advocate is confirmed by Marx himself when
Page 103
he gives an exhaustive answer to the question, as striking as it is brief:
‘Money in itself is not an element of actual reproduction.’[95]
There is another important reason why we should put the production of
money in a third and separate department of social production as a whole:
Marx’s diagram of simple reproduction is valid as the starting-point and
foundation of the reproductive process not only for capitalism but also,
mutatis mutandis, for every regulated and planned economic order, for
instance a socialist one. However, the production of money, just like the
commodity-form of the products, becomes obsolete when private ownership
of the means of production is abolished. It constitutes the ‘illegitimate’
liabilities, the faux frais of the anarchic economy under capitalism, a
peculiar burden for a society based upon private enterprise, which implies
the annual expenditure of a considerable amount of labour on the
manufacture of products which are neither means of production nor yet
consumer goods. This peculiar expenditure of labour by a society producing
under capitalism will vanish in a socially planned economy. It is most
adequately demonstrated by means of a separate department within the
process of reproducing social capital. It is quite immaterial in this
connection whether we picture a country which produces its own gold or a
country which imports gold from abroad. The same expenditure of social
labour which in the first case is necessary for the direct production of gold,
is required in the second case to effect the exchange transactions.
These observations show that the problem of the reproduction of total
capital is not so crude as it often appears to those who approach it merely
from the point of view of crises. The central problem might be formulated
as follows: how is it possible that, in an unplanned economy, the aggregate
production of innumerable individual capitalists can satisfy all the needs of
society? One answer that suggests itself points to the continual fluctuations
in the level of production in accordance with the fluctuating demand, i.e.
the periodical changes in the market. This point of view, which regards the
aggregate product of society as an undifferentiated mass of commodities,
and treats social demand in an equally absurd way, overlooks the most
important element, the differentia specifica of the capitalist mode of
production. We have seen that the problem of capitalist reproduction
contains quite a number of precisely defined relations referring to specific
capitalist categories and also, mutatis mutandis, to the general categories of
‘Money in itself is not an element of actual reproduction.’[95]
There is another important reason why we should put the production of
money in a third and separate department of social production as a whole:
Marx’s diagram of simple reproduction is valid as the starting-point and
foundation of the reproductive process not only for capitalism but also,
mutatis mutandis, for every regulated and planned economic order, for
instance a socialist one. However, the production of money, just like the
commodity-form of the products, becomes obsolete when private ownership
of the means of production is abolished. It constitutes the ‘illegitimate’
liabilities, the faux frais of the anarchic economy under capitalism, a
peculiar burden for a society based upon private enterprise, which implies
the annual expenditure of a considerable amount of labour on the
manufacture of products which are neither means of production nor yet
consumer goods. This peculiar expenditure of labour by a society producing
under capitalism will vanish in a socially planned economy. It is most
adequately demonstrated by means of a separate department within the
process of reproducing social capital. It is quite immaterial in this
connection whether we picture a country which produces its own gold or a
country which imports gold from abroad. The same expenditure of social
labour which in the first case is necessary for the direct production of gold,
is required in the second case to effect the exchange transactions.
These observations show that the problem of the reproduction of total
capital is not so crude as it often appears to those who approach it merely
from the point of view of crises. The central problem might be formulated
as follows: how is it possible that, in an unplanned economy, the aggregate
production of innumerable individual capitalists can satisfy all the needs of
society? One answer that suggests itself points to the continual fluctuations
in the level of production in accordance with the fluctuating demand, i.e.
the periodical changes in the market. This point of view, which regards the
aggregate product of society as an undifferentiated mass of commodities,
and treats social demand in an equally absurd way, overlooks the most
important element, the differentia specifica of the capitalist mode of
production. We have seen that the problem of capitalist reproduction
contains quite a number of precisely defined relations referring to specific
capitalist categories and also, mutatis mutandis, to the general categories of
Page 104
human labour. The real problem consists in their inherent tendencies
towards both conflict and harmony. Marx’s diagram is the scientific
formulation of the problem.
Inquiry must now be made into the implications of this diagram analytic of
the process of production. Has it any real bearing on the problems of actual
life? According to the diagram, circulation absorbs the entire social product;
all consumers’ needs are satisfied, and reproduction takes place without
friction. The circulation of money succeeds the circulation of commodities,
completing the cycle of social capital. But what is the position in real life?
The relations outlined in the diagram lay down a precise first principle for
the division of social labour in a planned production—always providing a
system of simple reproduction, i.e. no changes in the volume of production.
But no such planned organisation of the total process exists in a capitalist
economy, and things do not run smoothly, along a mathematical formula, as
suggested by the diagram. On the contrary, the course of reproduction
shows continual deviations from the proportions of the diagram which
become manifest (a) in the fluctuations of prices from day to day; (b) in the
continual fluctuations of profits; (c) in the ceaseless flow of capital from
one branch of production to another, and finally in the periodical and
cyclical swings of reproduction between over-production and crisis.
And yet, apart from all these deviations, the diagram presents a socially
necessary average level in which all these movements must centre, to which
they are always striving to return, once they have left it. That is why the
fluctuating movements of the individual capitalists do not degenerate into
chaos but are reduced to a certain order which ensures the prolonged
existence of society in spite of its lack of a plan.
In comparison, the similarities and the profound discrepancies between
Marx’s diagram of reproduction and Quesnay’s Tableau Économique strike
us at once. These two diagrams, the beginning and end of the period of
classical economics, are the only attempts to describe an apparent chaos in
precise terms, a chaos created by the interrelated movements of capitalist
production and consumption, and by the disparity of innumerable private
producers and consumers. Both writers reduce this chaotic jumble of
individual capitals to a few broadly conceived rules which serve, as it were,
as moorings for the development of capitalist society, in spite of its chaos.
They both achieve a synthesis between the two aspects which are the basis
towards both conflict and harmony. Marx’s diagram is the scientific
formulation of the problem.
Inquiry must now be made into the implications of this diagram analytic of
the process of production. Has it any real bearing on the problems of actual
life? According to the diagram, circulation absorbs the entire social product;
all consumers’ needs are satisfied, and reproduction takes place without
friction. The circulation of money succeeds the circulation of commodities,
completing the cycle of social capital. But what is the position in real life?
The relations outlined in the diagram lay down a precise first principle for
the division of social labour in a planned production—always providing a
system of simple reproduction, i.e. no changes in the volume of production.
But no such planned organisation of the total process exists in a capitalist
economy, and things do not run smoothly, along a mathematical formula, as
suggested by the diagram. On the contrary, the course of reproduction
shows continual deviations from the proportions of the diagram which
become manifest (a) in the fluctuations of prices from day to day; (b) in the
continual fluctuations of profits; (c) in the ceaseless flow of capital from
one branch of production to another, and finally in the periodical and
cyclical swings of reproduction between over-production and crisis.
And yet, apart from all these deviations, the diagram presents a socially
necessary average level in which all these movements must centre, to which
they are always striving to return, once they have left it. That is why the
fluctuating movements of the individual capitalists do not degenerate into
chaos but are reduced to a certain order which ensures the prolonged
existence of society in spite of its lack of a plan.
In comparison, the similarities and the profound discrepancies between
Marx’s diagram of reproduction and Quesnay’s Tableau Économique strike
us at once. These two diagrams, the beginning and end of the period of
classical economics, are the only attempts to describe an apparent chaos in
precise terms, a chaos created by the interrelated movements of capitalist
production and consumption, and by the disparity of innumerable private
producers and consumers. Both writers reduce this chaotic jumble of
individual capitals to a few broadly conceived rules which serve, as it were,
as moorings for the development of capitalist society, in spite of its chaos.
They both achieve a synthesis between the two aspects which are the basis
Page 105
of the whole movement of social capital: that circulation is at one and the
same time a capitalist process of producing and appropriating surplus value,
and also a social process of producing and consuming material goods
necessary to civilised human existence. Both show the circulation of
commodities to act as a mediator for the social process as a whole, and both
conceive of the circulation of money as a subsidiary phenomenon, an
external and superficial expression of the various stages within the
circulation of commodities.
It is socially necessary labour which creates value. This inspired
fundamental law of Marx’s theory of value which provided the solution of
the money problem, amongst others, further led him first to distinguish and
then to integrate those two aspects in the total reproductive process: the
aspect of value and that of actual material connections. Secondly, Marx’s
diagram is based upon the precise distinction between constant and variable
capital which alone reveals the internal mechanisms of the production of
surplus value and brings it, as a value-relationship, into precise relation with
the two material categories of production: that of producer and consumer
goods.
After Quesnay, some classical economists, Adam Smith and Ricardo in
particular, came fairly close to this point of view. Ricardo’s contribution, his
precise elaboration of the theory of value, has even been frequently
confused with that of Marx. On the basis of his own theory of value,
Ricardo saw that Smith’s method of resolving the price of all commodities
into v + s—a theory which wrought so much havoc in the analysis of
reproduction—is wrong; but he was not much interested in Smith’s mistake,
nor indeed very enthusiastic about the problem of reproduction as a whole.
His analysis, in fact, represents a certain decline after that of Adam Smith,
just as Smith had partly retrogressed as against the Physiocrats. If Ricardo
expounded the fundamental value categories of bourgeois economy—
wages, surplus value and capital—much more precisely and consistently
than his predecessors, he also treated them more rigidly. Adam Smith had
shown infinitely more understanding for the living connections, the broad
movements of the whole. In consequence he did not mind giving two, or, as
in the case of the problem of value, even three or four different answers to
the same question. Though he contradicts himself quite cheerfully in the
various parts of his analysis, these very contradictions are ever stimulating
same time a capitalist process of producing and appropriating surplus value,
and also a social process of producing and consuming material goods
necessary to civilised human existence. Both show the circulation of
commodities to act as a mediator for the social process as a whole, and both
conceive of the circulation of money as a subsidiary phenomenon, an
external and superficial expression of the various stages within the
circulation of commodities.
It is socially necessary labour which creates value. This inspired
fundamental law of Marx’s theory of value which provided the solution of
the money problem, amongst others, further led him first to distinguish and
then to integrate those two aspects in the total reproductive process: the
aspect of value and that of actual material connections. Secondly, Marx’s
diagram is based upon the precise distinction between constant and variable
capital which alone reveals the internal mechanisms of the production of
surplus value and brings it, as a value-relationship, into precise relation with
the two material categories of production: that of producer and consumer
goods.
After Quesnay, some classical economists, Adam Smith and Ricardo in
particular, came fairly close to this point of view. Ricardo’s contribution, his
precise elaboration of the theory of value, has even been frequently
confused with that of Marx. On the basis of his own theory of value,
Ricardo saw that Smith’s method of resolving the price of all commodities
into v + s—a theory which wrought so much havoc in the analysis of
reproduction—is wrong; but he was not much interested in Smith’s mistake,
nor indeed very enthusiastic about the problem of reproduction as a whole.
His analysis, in fact, represents a certain decline after that of Adam Smith,
just as Smith had partly retrogressed as against the Physiocrats. If Ricardo
expounded the fundamental value categories of bourgeois economy—
wages, surplus value and capital—much more precisely and consistently
than his predecessors, he also treated them more rigidly. Adam Smith had
shown infinitely more understanding for the living connections, the broad
movements of the whole. In consequence he did not mind giving two, or, as
in the case of the problem of value, even three or four different answers to
the same question. Though he contradicts himself quite cheerfully in the
various parts of his analysis, these very contradictions are ever stimulating
Page 106
him to renewed effort, they make him approach the problem as a whole
from an ever different point of view, and so to grasp its dynamics.
Ultimately, it was the limitation of their bourgeois mentalities which
doomed both Smith and Ricardo to failure. A proper understanding of the
fundamental categories of capitalist production, of value and surplus value
as living dynamics of the social process demands the understanding of this
process in its historical development and of the categories themselves as
historically conditioned forms of the general relations of labour. This means
that only a socialist can really solve the problem of the reproduction of
capital. Between the Tableau Économique and the diagram of reproduction
in the second volume of Capital there lies the prosperity and decline of
bourgeois economics, both in time and in substance.
from an ever different point of view, and so to grasp its dynamics.
Ultimately, it was the limitation of their bourgeois mentalities which
doomed both Smith and Ricardo to failure. A proper understanding of the
fundamental categories of capitalist production, of value and surplus value
as living dynamics of the social process demands the understanding of this
process in its historical development and of the categories themselves as
historically conditioned forms of the general relations of labour. This means
that only a socialist can really solve the problem of the reproduction of
capital. Between the Tableau Économique and the diagram of reproduction
in the second volume of Capital there lies the prosperity and decline of
bourgeois economics, both in time and in substance.
Page 107
CHAPTER VI
Page 108
ENLARGED REPRODUCTION
The shortcomings of the diagram of simple reproduction are obvious: it
explains the laws of a form of reproduction which is possible only as an
occasional exception in a capitalist economy. It is not simple but enlarged
reproduction which is the rule in every capitalist economic system, even
more so than in any other.[96]
Nevertheless, this diagram is of real scientific importance in two respects.
In practice, even under conditions of enlarged reproduction, the greater part
of the social product can be looked on as simple reproduction, which forms
the broad basis upon which production in every case expands beyond its
former limits. In theory, the analysis of simple reproduction also provides
the necessary starting point for all scientific exposition of enlarged
reproduction. The diagram of simple reproduction of the aggregate social
capital therefore inevitably introduces the further problem of the enlarged
reproduction of the total capital.
We already know the historical peculiarity of enlarged reproduction on a
capitalist basis. It must represent itself as accumulation of capital, which is
both its specific form and its specific condition. That is to say, social
production as a whole—which on a capitalist basis is the production of
surplus value—can in every case be expanded only in so far as the social
capital that has been previously active is now augmented by surplus value
of its own creation. This use of part of the surplus value (and in particular
the use of an increasing part of it) for the purpose of production instead of
personal consumption by the capitalist class, or else the increase of
reserves, is the basis of enlarged reproduction under capitalist conditions of
production.
The characteristic feature of enlarged reproduction of the aggregate social
capital—just as in our previous assumption of simple reproduction—is the
reproduction of individual capitals, since production as a whole, whether
regarded as simple or as enlarged production, can in fact only occur in the
form of innumerable independent movements of reproduction performed by
private individual capitals.
The shortcomings of the diagram of simple reproduction are obvious: it
explains the laws of a form of reproduction which is possible only as an
occasional exception in a capitalist economy. It is not simple but enlarged
reproduction which is the rule in every capitalist economic system, even
more so than in any other.[96]
Nevertheless, this diagram is of real scientific importance in two respects.
In practice, even under conditions of enlarged reproduction, the greater part
of the social product can be looked on as simple reproduction, which forms
the broad basis upon which production in every case expands beyond its
former limits. In theory, the analysis of simple reproduction also provides
the necessary starting point for all scientific exposition of enlarged
reproduction. The diagram of simple reproduction of the aggregate social
capital therefore inevitably introduces the further problem of the enlarged
reproduction of the total capital.
We already know the historical peculiarity of enlarged reproduction on a
capitalist basis. It must represent itself as accumulation of capital, which is
both its specific form and its specific condition. That is to say, social
production as a whole—which on a capitalist basis is the production of
surplus value—can in every case be expanded only in so far as the social
capital that has been previously active is now augmented by surplus value
of its own creation. This use of part of the surplus value (and in particular
the use of an increasing part of it) for the purpose of production instead of
personal consumption by the capitalist class, or else the increase of
reserves, is the basis of enlarged reproduction under capitalist conditions of
production.
The characteristic feature of enlarged reproduction of the aggregate social
capital—just as in our previous assumption of simple reproduction—is the
reproduction of individual capitals, since production as a whole, whether
regarded as simple or as enlarged production, can in fact only occur in the
form of innumerable independent movements of reproduction performed by
private individual capitals.
Page 109
The first comprehensive analysis of the accumulation of individual capitals
is given in volume i of Marx’s Capital, section 7, chapters 22, 23. Here
Marx treats of (a) the division of the surplus value into capital and revenue;
(b) the circumstances which determine the accumulation of capital apart
from this division, such as the degree of exploitation of labour power and
labour productivity; (c) the growth of fixed capital relative to the circulating
capital as a factor of accumulation; and (d) the increasing development of
an industrial reserve army which is at the same time both a consequence
and a prerequisite of the process of accumulation. In the course of this
discussion, Marx deals with two inspired notions of bourgeois economists
with regard to accumulation: the ‘theory of abstinence’ as held by the more
vulgar economists, who proclaim that the division of surplus value into
capital, and thus accumulation itself, is an ethical and heroic act of the
capitalists; and the fallacy of the classical economists, their doctrine that the
entire capitalised part of the surplus value is used solely for consumption by
the productive workers, that is to say spent altogether on wages for the
workers employed year by year. This erroneous assumption, which
completely overlooks the fact that every increase of production must
manifest itself not only in the increased number of employed workers but
also in the increase of the material means of production (premises, tools,
and, certainly, raw materials) is obviously rooted in that ‘dogma’ of Adam
Smith which we have already discussed. Moreover, the assumption that the
expenditure of a greater amount of capital on wages is sufficient to expand
production, also results from the mistaken idea that the prices of all
commodities are completely resolved into wages and surplus value, so that
the constant capital is disregarded altogether. Strangely enough, even
Ricardo who was, at any rate occasionally, aware of this element of error in
Smith’s doctrine, subscribes most emphatically to its ultimate inferences,
mistaken though they were:
‘It must be understood, that all the productions of a country are consumed;
but it makes the greatest difference imaginable whether they are consumed
by those who reproduce, or by those who do not reproduce another value.
When we say that revenue is saved, and added to capital, what we mean is,
that the portion of revenue, so said to be added to capital, is consumed by
productive, instead of unproductive labourers.’[97]
is given in volume i of Marx’s Capital, section 7, chapters 22, 23. Here
Marx treats of (a) the division of the surplus value into capital and revenue;
(b) the circumstances which determine the accumulation of capital apart
from this division, such as the degree of exploitation of labour power and
labour productivity; (c) the growth of fixed capital relative to the circulating
capital as a factor of accumulation; and (d) the increasing development of
an industrial reserve army which is at the same time both a consequence
and a prerequisite of the process of accumulation. In the course of this
discussion, Marx deals with two inspired notions of bourgeois economists
with regard to accumulation: the ‘theory of abstinence’ as held by the more
vulgar economists, who proclaim that the division of surplus value into
capital, and thus accumulation itself, is an ethical and heroic act of the
capitalists; and the fallacy of the classical economists, their doctrine that the
entire capitalised part of the surplus value is used solely for consumption by
the productive workers, that is to say spent altogether on wages for the
workers employed year by year. This erroneous assumption, which
completely overlooks the fact that every increase of production must
manifest itself not only in the increased number of employed workers but
also in the increase of the material means of production (premises, tools,
and, certainly, raw materials) is obviously rooted in that ‘dogma’ of Adam
Smith which we have already discussed. Moreover, the assumption that the
expenditure of a greater amount of capital on wages is sufficient to expand
production, also results from the mistaken idea that the prices of all
commodities are completely resolved into wages and surplus value, so that
the constant capital is disregarded altogether. Strangely enough, even
Ricardo who was, at any rate occasionally, aware of this element of error in
Smith’s doctrine, subscribes most emphatically to its ultimate inferences,
mistaken though they were:
‘It must be understood, that all the productions of a country are consumed;
but it makes the greatest difference imaginable whether they are consumed
by those who reproduce, or by those who do not reproduce another value.
When we say that revenue is saved, and added to capital, what we mean is,
that the portion of revenue, so said to be added to capital, is consumed by
productive, instead of unproductive labourers.’[97]
Page 110
If all the goods produced are thus swallowed up by human consumption,
there can clearly be no room to spare in the total social product for such
unconsumable means of production as tools and machinery, new materials
and buildings, and consequently enlarged reproduction, too, will have to
take a peculiar course. What happens—according to this odd conception—
is simply that staple foodstuffs for new workers will be produced to the
amount of the capitalised part of surplus value instead of the choice
delicacies previously provided for the capitalist class. The classical theory
of enlarged reproduction does not admit of any variations other than those
connected with the production of consumer goods. After our previous
observations it is not surprising that Marx could easily dispose of this
elementary mistake of both Ricardo and Smith. Just as simple reproduction
requires a regulated renewal of the constant capital, the material means of
production, quite apart from the production of consumer goods in the
necessary quantity for labourer and capitalist, equally so in the case of
expanding production must part of the new additional capital be used to
enlarge the constant capital, that is to add to the material means of
production. Another law, Marx discovered, must also be applied here. The
constant capital, continually overlooked by the classical economists,
increases relative to the variable capital that is spent on wages. This is
merely the capitalist expression of the general effects of increasing labour
productivity. With technical progress, human labour is able to set in motion
ever larger masses of means of production and to convert them into goods.
In capitalist terms, this means a progressive decrease in expenses for living
labour, in wages, relative to the expenses for inanimate means of
production. Contrary to the assumption of Adam Smith and Ricardo,
enlarged reproduction must not only start with the division of the
capitalised part of the surplus value into constant and variable capital, but,
as the technique of production advances, it is bound to allocate in this
division ever increasing portions to the constant, and ever diminishing
portions to the variable capital. This continuous qualitative change in the
composition of capital is the specific manifestation of the accumulation of
capital, that is to say of enlarged reproduction on the basis of capitalism.[98]
The other side of this picture of continual changes in the relation between
the portions of constant and variable capital is the formation of a relative
surplus population, as Marx called it, that is to say that part of the working
population which exceeds the average needs of capital, and thus becomes
there can clearly be no room to spare in the total social product for such
unconsumable means of production as tools and machinery, new materials
and buildings, and consequently enlarged reproduction, too, will have to
take a peculiar course. What happens—according to this odd conception—
is simply that staple foodstuffs for new workers will be produced to the
amount of the capitalised part of surplus value instead of the choice
delicacies previously provided for the capitalist class. The classical theory
of enlarged reproduction does not admit of any variations other than those
connected with the production of consumer goods. After our previous
observations it is not surprising that Marx could easily dispose of this
elementary mistake of both Ricardo and Smith. Just as simple reproduction
requires a regulated renewal of the constant capital, the material means of
production, quite apart from the production of consumer goods in the
necessary quantity for labourer and capitalist, equally so in the case of
expanding production must part of the new additional capital be used to
enlarge the constant capital, that is to add to the material means of
production. Another law, Marx discovered, must also be applied here. The
constant capital, continually overlooked by the classical economists,
increases relative to the variable capital that is spent on wages. This is
merely the capitalist expression of the general effects of increasing labour
productivity. With technical progress, human labour is able to set in motion
ever larger masses of means of production and to convert them into goods.
In capitalist terms, this means a progressive decrease in expenses for living
labour, in wages, relative to the expenses for inanimate means of
production. Contrary to the assumption of Adam Smith and Ricardo,
enlarged reproduction must not only start with the division of the
capitalised part of the surplus value into constant and variable capital, but,
as the technique of production advances, it is bound to allocate in this
division ever increasing portions to the constant, and ever diminishing
portions to the variable capital. This continuous qualitative change in the
composition of capital is the specific manifestation of the accumulation of
capital, that is to say of enlarged reproduction on the basis of capitalism.[98]
The other side of this picture of continual changes in the relation between
the portions of constant and variable capital is the formation of a relative
surplus population, as Marx called it, that is to say that part of the working
population which exceeds the average needs of capital, and thus becomes
Page 111
redundant. This reserve of unemployable industrial labour (taken here in a
broader sense, and including a proletariat that is dominated by merchant
capital) is always present. It forms a necessary prerequisite of the sudden
expansion of production in times of boom, and is another specific condition
of capitalist accumulation.[99]
From the accumulation of individual capitals we can therefore deduce the
following four characteristic phenomena of enlarged reproduction:
(1) The volume of enlarged reproduction is independent, within certain
limits, of the growth of capital, and can transcend it. The necessary methods
for achieving this are: increased exploitation of labour and natural forces,
and increased labour productivity (including increased efficiency of the
fixed capital).
(2) All real accumulation starts with that part of the surplus value which is
intended for capitalisation being divided into constant and variable capital.
(3) Accumulation as a social process is accompanied by continuous changes
in the relation between constant and variable capital, whereby that portion
of capital which is invested in inanimate means of production continually
increases as compared with that expended on wages.
(4) Concomitant with the accumulative process, and as a condition of the
latter, there develops an industrial reserve army.
These characteristics, derived from the reproductive process as it is
performed by the individual capitals, represent an enormous step forward as
compared with the analyses of bourgeois economists. Now, however, our
problem is to demonstrate the accumulation of the aggregate capital which
originates from these movements of individual capitals, and on the basis of
the diagram of simple reproduction to establish the precise relations
between the aspects of value prevalent in the production of surplus value
and the material considerations in the production of consumer and producer
goods, with a view to accumulation.
The essential difference between enlarged reproduction and simple
reproduction consists in the fact that in the latter the capitalist class and its
hangers-on consume the entire surplus value, whereas in the former a part
of the surplus value is set aside from the personal consumption of its
owners, not for the purpose of hoarding, but in order to increase the active
broader sense, and including a proletariat that is dominated by merchant
capital) is always present. It forms a necessary prerequisite of the sudden
expansion of production in times of boom, and is another specific condition
of capitalist accumulation.[99]
From the accumulation of individual capitals we can therefore deduce the
following four characteristic phenomena of enlarged reproduction:
(1) The volume of enlarged reproduction is independent, within certain
limits, of the growth of capital, and can transcend it. The necessary methods
for achieving this are: increased exploitation of labour and natural forces,
and increased labour productivity (including increased efficiency of the
fixed capital).
(2) All real accumulation starts with that part of the surplus value which is
intended for capitalisation being divided into constant and variable capital.
(3) Accumulation as a social process is accompanied by continuous changes
in the relation between constant and variable capital, whereby that portion
of capital which is invested in inanimate means of production continually
increases as compared with that expended on wages.
(4) Concomitant with the accumulative process, and as a condition of the
latter, there develops an industrial reserve army.
These characteristics, derived from the reproductive process as it is
performed by the individual capitals, represent an enormous step forward as
compared with the analyses of bourgeois economists. Now, however, our
problem is to demonstrate the accumulation of the aggregate capital which
originates from these movements of individual capitals, and on the basis of
the diagram of simple reproduction to establish the precise relations
between the aspects of value prevalent in the production of surplus value
and the material considerations in the production of consumer and producer
goods, with a view to accumulation.
The essential difference between enlarged reproduction and simple
reproduction consists in the fact that in the latter the capitalist class and its
hangers-on consume the entire surplus value, whereas in the former a part
of the surplus value is set aside from the personal consumption of its
owners, not for the purpose of hoarding, but in order to increase the active
Page 112
capital, i.e. for capitalisation. To make this possible, the new additional
capital must also find the material prerequisites for its activity forthcoming.
Here the concrete composition of the aggregate social product becomes
important. Marx says already in volume i, when he considers the
accumulation of individual capitals:
‘The annual production must in the first place furnish all those objects (use-
values) from which the material components of capital, used up in the
course of the year, have to be replaced. Deducting these there remains the
net or surplus-product, in which the surplus-value lies. And of what does
this surplus-product consist? Only of things destined to satisfy the wants
and desires of the capitalist class, things which, consequently, enter into the
consumption fund of the capitalists? Were that the case, the cup of surplus-
value would be drained to the very dregs, and nothing but simple
reproduction would ever take place.—To accumulate it is necessary to
convert a portion of the surplus-product into capital. But we cannot, except
by a miracle, convert into capital anything but such articles as can be
employed in the labour-process (i.e. means of production), and such further
articles as are suitable for the sustenance of the labourer, (i.e. means of
subsistence). Consequently, a part of the annual surplus-labour must have
been applied to the production of additional means of production and
subsistence, over and above the quantity of these things required to replace
the capital advanced. In one word, surplus-value is convertible into capital
solely because the surplus-product, whose value it is, already comprises the
material elements of new capital.’[100]
Additional means of production, however, and additional consumer goods
for the workers alone are not sufficient; to get enlarged reproduction really
going, additional labour is also required. Marx now finds a specific
difficulty in this last condition:
‘For this the mechanism of capitalist production provides beforehand, by
converting the working class into a class dependent on wages, a class whose
ordinary wages suffice, not only for its maintenance, but for its increase. It
is only necessary for capital to incorporate this additional labour-power,
annually supplied by the working class in the shape of labourers of all ages,
with the surplus means of production comprised in the annual produce, and
the conversion of surplus-value into capital is complete.’[101]
capital must also find the material prerequisites for its activity forthcoming.
Here the concrete composition of the aggregate social product becomes
important. Marx says already in volume i, when he considers the
accumulation of individual capitals:
‘The annual production must in the first place furnish all those objects (use-
values) from which the material components of capital, used up in the
course of the year, have to be replaced. Deducting these there remains the
net or surplus-product, in which the surplus-value lies. And of what does
this surplus-product consist? Only of things destined to satisfy the wants
and desires of the capitalist class, things which, consequently, enter into the
consumption fund of the capitalists? Were that the case, the cup of surplus-
value would be drained to the very dregs, and nothing but simple
reproduction would ever take place.—To accumulate it is necessary to
convert a portion of the surplus-product into capital. But we cannot, except
by a miracle, convert into capital anything but such articles as can be
employed in the labour-process (i.e. means of production), and such further
articles as are suitable for the sustenance of the labourer, (i.e. means of
subsistence). Consequently, a part of the annual surplus-labour must have
been applied to the production of additional means of production and
subsistence, over and above the quantity of these things required to replace
the capital advanced. In one word, surplus-value is convertible into capital
solely because the surplus-product, whose value it is, already comprises the
material elements of new capital.’[100]
Additional means of production, however, and additional consumer goods
for the workers alone are not sufficient; to get enlarged reproduction really
going, additional labour is also required. Marx now finds a specific
difficulty in this last condition:
‘For this the mechanism of capitalist production provides beforehand, by
converting the working class into a class dependent on wages, a class whose
ordinary wages suffice, not only for its maintenance, but for its increase. It
is only necessary for capital to incorporate this additional labour-power,
annually supplied by the working class in the shape of labourers of all ages,
with the surplus means of production comprised in the annual produce, and
the conversion of surplus-value into capital is complete.’[101]
Page 113
This is the first solution which Marx gave to the problem of the
accumulation of the aggregate capital. Having dwelt on this aspect of the
question already in volume i of Capital, Marx returns to the problem at the
end of the second volume of his main work whose concluding 21st chapter
is devoted to accumulation and enlarged reproduction of the aggregate
capital.
Let us examine Marx’s diagrammatic exposition of accumulation more
closely. On the model of the diagram of simple reproduction with which we
are already familiar, he devised a diagram for enlarged reproduction, the
difference appearing most clearly if we compare the two.
Assuming that society’s annual aggregate product can be represented by an
amount to the value of 9,000 (denoting millions of working hours, or, in
capitalist monetary terms, any arbitrary amount of money), the aggregate
product is to be distributed as follows:
I. 4,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 6,000
II. 2,000c + 500v + 500s = 3,000
Total: 9,000
Department I represents means of production, Department II consumer
goods. One glance at the proportion of the figures shows that in this case
simple reproduction alone is possible. The means of production made in
Department I equal the total of the means of production actually used by the
two departments. If these are merely renewed, production can be repeated
only on its previous scale. On the other hand, the aggregate product of
Department II equals the total of wages and surplus value in both
departments. This shows that the consumer goods available permit only the
employment of just as many workers as were previously employed, and that
the entire surplus value is similarly spent on consumer goods, i.e. the
personal consumption of the capitalist class.
Now let us take the same aggregate product of 9,000 in the following
equation:
I. 4,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 6,000
II. 1,500c + 750v + 750s = 3,000
Total: 9,000
accumulation of the aggregate capital. Having dwelt on this aspect of the
question already in volume i of Capital, Marx returns to the problem at the
end of the second volume of his main work whose concluding 21st chapter
is devoted to accumulation and enlarged reproduction of the aggregate
capital.
Let us examine Marx’s diagrammatic exposition of accumulation more
closely. On the model of the diagram of simple reproduction with which we
are already familiar, he devised a diagram for enlarged reproduction, the
difference appearing most clearly if we compare the two.
Assuming that society’s annual aggregate product can be represented by an
amount to the value of 9,000 (denoting millions of working hours, or, in
capitalist monetary terms, any arbitrary amount of money), the aggregate
product is to be distributed as follows:
I. 4,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 6,000
II. 2,000c + 500v + 500s = 3,000
Total: 9,000
Department I represents means of production, Department II consumer
goods. One glance at the proportion of the figures shows that in this case
simple reproduction alone is possible. The means of production made in
Department I equal the total of the means of production actually used by the
two departments. If these are merely renewed, production can be repeated
only on its previous scale. On the other hand, the aggregate product of
Department II equals the total of wages and surplus value in both
departments. This shows that the consumer goods available permit only the
employment of just as many workers as were previously employed, and that
the entire surplus value is similarly spent on consumer goods, i.e. the
personal consumption of the capitalist class.
Now let us take the same aggregate product of 9,000 in the following
equation:
I. 4,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 6,000
II. 1,500c + 750v + 750s = 3,000
Total: 9,000
Page 114
Here a double disproportion confronts us: 6,000 means of production are
created—more than those which are actually used by the society, i.e.
4,000c + 1,500c, leaving a surplus of 500. Similarly, less consumer goods
(3,000) are produced than the sum of what is paid out in wages (i.e.
1,000v + 750v, the requirement of the workers), plus the aggregate of
surplus value that has been produced (1,000s + 750s). This results in a
deficit of 500. Since our premises do not allow us to decrease the number of
workers employed, the consequence must be that the capitalist class cannot
consume the entire surplus value it has pocketed. This proves fully
consistent with the two material preconditions of enlarged reproduction on a
capitalist basis: part of the appropriated surplus value is not to be consumed
but is used for the purposes of production; and more means of production
must be produced so as to ensure the use of the capitalised surplus value for
the actual expansion of reproduction.
In considering the diagram of simple reproduction, we saw that its
fundamental social conditions are contained in the following equation: the
aggregate of means of production (the product of Department I) must be
equivalent to the constant capital of both departments, but the aggregate of
consumer goods (the product of Department II) must equal the sum of
variable capitals and surplus values of the two departments. As regards
enlarged reproduction, we must now infer a precise inverse double ratio.
The general precondition of enlarged reproduction is that the product of
Department I must be greater in value than the constant capital of both
departments taken together, and that of Department II must be so much less
than the sum total of both the variable capital and the surplus value in the
two departments.
This, however, by no means completes the analysis of enlarged
reproduction; rather has it led us merely to the threshold of the question.
Having deduced the proportions of the diagram, we must now pursue their
further activities, the flow of circulation and the continuity of reproduction.
Just as simple reproduction may be compared to an unchanging circle, to be
repeated time and again, so enlarged reproduction, to quote Sismondi, is
comparable to a spiral with ever expanding loops. Let us begin by
examining the loops of this spiral. The first general question arising in this
connection is how actual accumulation proceeds in the two departments
under the conditions now known to us, i.e. how the capitalists may
created—more than those which are actually used by the society, i.e.
4,000c + 1,500c, leaving a surplus of 500. Similarly, less consumer goods
(3,000) are produced than the sum of what is paid out in wages (i.e.
1,000v + 750v, the requirement of the workers), plus the aggregate of
surplus value that has been produced (1,000s + 750s). This results in a
deficit of 500. Since our premises do not allow us to decrease the number of
workers employed, the consequence must be that the capitalist class cannot
consume the entire surplus value it has pocketed. This proves fully
consistent with the two material preconditions of enlarged reproduction on a
capitalist basis: part of the appropriated surplus value is not to be consumed
but is used for the purposes of production; and more means of production
must be produced so as to ensure the use of the capitalised surplus value for
the actual expansion of reproduction.
In considering the diagram of simple reproduction, we saw that its
fundamental social conditions are contained in the following equation: the
aggregate of means of production (the product of Department I) must be
equivalent to the constant capital of both departments, but the aggregate of
consumer goods (the product of Department II) must equal the sum of
variable capitals and surplus values of the two departments. As regards
enlarged reproduction, we must now infer a precise inverse double ratio.
The general precondition of enlarged reproduction is that the product of
Department I must be greater in value than the constant capital of both
departments taken together, and that of Department II must be so much less
than the sum total of both the variable capital and the surplus value in the
two departments.
This, however, by no means completes the analysis of enlarged
reproduction; rather has it led us merely to the threshold of the question.
Having deduced the proportions of the diagram, we must now pursue their
further activities, the flow of circulation and the continuity of reproduction.
Just as simple reproduction may be compared to an unchanging circle, to be
repeated time and again, so enlarged reproduction, to quote Sismondi, is
comparable to a spiral with ever expanding loops. Let us begin by
examining the loops of this spiral. The first general question arising in this
connection is how actual accumulation proceeds in the two departments
under the conditions now known to us, i.e. how the capitalists may
Page 115
capitalise part of their surplus value, and at the same time acquire the
material prerequisites necessary for enlarged reproduction.
Marx expounds the question in the following way:
Let us assume that half the surplus value of Department I is being
accumulated. The capitalists, then, use 500 for their consumption but
augment their capital by another 500. In order to become active, this
additional capital of 500 must be divided, as we now know, into constant
and variable capital. Assuming the ratio of 4 to 1 remains what it was for
the original capital, the capitalists of Department I will divide their
additional capital of 500 thus: they will buy new means of production for
400 and new labour for 100. This does not present any difficulties, since we
know that Department I has already produced a surplus of 500 means of
production. Yet the corresponding enlargement of the variable capital by
100 units of money is not enough, since the new additional labour power
must also find adequate consumer goods which can only be supplied by
Department II. Now the circulation between the two large departments is
shifting. Formerly, under conditions of simple reproduction, Department I
acquired 1,000 consumer goods for its own workers, and now it must find
another 100 for its new workers. Department I therefore engages in
enlarged reproduction as follows:
4,400c + 1,100v.
Department II, in turn, after selling these consumer goods to the value of
100, is now in a position to acquire additional means of production to the
same amount from Department I. And in fact, Department I still has
precisely one hundred of its surplus product left over which now find their
way into Department II, enabling the latter to expand its own reproduction
as well. Yet here, too, the additional means of production alone are not
much use; to make them operate, additional labour power is needed.
Assuming again that the previous composition of capital has been
maintained, with a ratio of 2 to 1 as regards constant and variable capital,
additional labour to the tune of 50 is required to work the additional 100
means of production. This additional labour, however, needs additional
consumer goods to the amount of its wages, which are in fact supplied by
Department II itself. This department must therefore produce, in addition to
the 100 additional consumer goods for the new workers of Department I
material prerequisites necessary for enlarged reproduction.
Marx expounds the question in the following way:
Let us assume that half the surplus value of Department I is being
accumulated. The capitalists, then, use 500 for their consumption but
augment their capital by another 500. In order to become active, this
additional capital of 500 must be divided, as we now know, into constant
and variable capital. Assuming the ratio of 4 to 1 remains what it was for
the original capital, the capitalists of Department I will divide their
additional capital of 500 thus: they will buy new means of production for
400 and new labour for 100. This does not present any difficulties, since we
know that Department I has already produced a surplus of 500 means of
production. Yet the corresponding enlargement of the variable capital by
100 units of money is not enough, since the new additional labour power
must also find adequate consumer goods which can only be supplied by
Department II. Now the circulation between the two large departments is
shifting. Formerly, under conditions of simple reproduction, Department I
acquired 1,000 consumer goods for its own workers, and now it must find
another 100 for its new workers. Department I therefore engages in
enlarged reproduction as follows:
4,400c + 1,100v.
Department II, in turn, after selling these consumer goods to the value of
100, is now in a position to acquire additional means of production to the
same amount from Department I. And in fact, Department I still has
precisely one hundred of its surplus product left over which now find their
way into Department II, enabling the latter to expand its own reproduction
as well. Yet here, too, the additional means of production alone are not
much use; to make them operate, additional labour power is needed.
Assuming again that the previous composition of capital has been
maintained, with a ratio of 2 to 1 as regards constant and variable capital,
additional labour to the tune of 50 is required to work the additional 100
means of production. This additional labour, however, needs additional
consumer goods to the amount of its wages, which are in fact supplied by
Department II itself. This department must therefore produce, in addition to
the 100 additional consumer goods for the new workers of Department I
Page 116
and the goods for the consumption of its own workers, a further amount of
consumer goods to the tune of 50 as part of its aggregate product.
Department II therefore starts on enlarged reproduction at a rate of 1,600c +
800v.
Now the aggregate product of Department I (6,000) has been absorbed
completely. 5,500 were necessary for renewing the old and used-up means
of production in both departments, and the remaining 500 for the expansion
of production: 400 in Department I and 100 in Department II. As regards
the aggregate product of Department II (3,000), 1,900 have been used for
the increased labour force in the two departments, and the 1,100 consumer
goods which remain serve the capitalists for their personal consumption, the
consumption of their surplus value. 500 are consumed in Department I, and
600 in Department II where, out of a surplus value of 700, only 150 had
been capitalised (100 being expended on means of production and 50 on
wages).
Enlarged reproduction can now proceed on its course. If we maintain our
rate of exploitation at 100 per cent, as in the case of the original capital, the
next period will give the following results:
I. 4,400c + 1,100v + 1,100s = 6,600
II. 1,600c + 800v + 800s = 3,200
Total: 9,800
The aggregate product of society has grown from 9,000 to 9,800, the
surplus value of Department I from 1,000 to 1,100, and of Department II
from 750 to 800. The object of the capitalist expansion of production, the
increased production of surplus value, has been gained. At the same time,
the material composition of the aggregate social product again shows a
surplus of 600 as regards the means of production (6,600) over and above
those which are actually needed (4,400 + 1,600), and also a deficit in
consumer goods as against the sum total made up by the wages previously
paid (1,100v + 800v) and the surplus value that has been created (1,100s +
800s). And thus we again have the material possibility as well as the
necessity to use part of the surplus value, not for consumption by the
capitalist class, but for a new expansion of production.
The second enlargement of production, and increased production of surplus
value, thus follows from the first as a matter of course and with
consumer goods to the tune of 50 as part of its aggregate product.
Department II therefore starts on enlarged reproduction at a rate of 1,600c +
800v.
Now the aggregate product of Department I (6,000) has been absorbed
completely. 5,500 were necessary for renewing the old and used-up means
of production in both departments, and the remaining 500 for the expansion
of production: 400 in Department I and 100 in Department II. As regards
the aggregate product of Department II (3,000), 1,900 have been used for
the increased labour force in the two departments, and the 1,100 consumer
goods which remain serve the capitalists for their personal consumption, the
consumption of their surplus value. 500 are consumed in Department I, and
600 in Department II where, out of a surplus value of 700, only 150 had
been capitalised (100 being expended on means of production and 50 on
wages).
Enlarged reproduction can now proceed on its course. If we maintain our
rate of exploitation at 100 per cent, as in the case of the original capital, the
next period will give the following results:
I. 4,400c + 1,100v + 1,100s = 6,600
II. 1,600c + 800v + 800s = 3,200
Total: 9,800
The aggregate product of society has grown from 9,000 to 9,800, the
surplus value of Department I from 1,000 to 1,100, and of Department II
from 750 to 800. The object of the capitalist expansion of production, the
increased production of surplus value, has been gained. At the same time,
the material composition of the aggregate social product again shows a
surplus of 600 as regards the means of production (6,600) over and above
those which are actually needed (4,400 + 1,600), and also a deficit in
consumer goods as against the sum total made up by the wages previously
paid (1,100v + 800v) and the surplus value that has been created (1,100s +
800s). And thus we again have the material possibility as well as the
necessity to use part of the surplus value, not for consumption by the
capitalist class, but for a new expansion of production.
The second enlargement of production, and increased production of surplus
value, thus follows from the first as a matter of course and with
Page 117
mathematical precision. The accumulation of capital, once it has started,
automatically leads farther and farther beyond itself. The circle has become
a spiral which winds itself higher and higher as if compelled by a natural
law in the guise of mathematical terms. Assuming that in the following
years there is always capitalisation of half the surplus value, while the
composition of the capital and the rate of exploitation remain unchanged,
the reproduction of capital will result in the following progression:
2nd year: I. 4,840c + 1,210v + 1,210s = 7,260
II. 1,760c + 880v + 880s = 3,520
Total: 10,780
3rd year: I. 5,324c + 1,331v + 1,331s = 7,986
II. 1,936c + 968v + 968s = 3,872
Total: 11,858
4th year: I. 5,856c + 1,464v + 1,464s = 8,784
II. 2,129c + 1,065v + 1,065s = 4,259
Total: 13,043
5th year: I. 6,442c + 1,610v + 1,610s = 9,662
II. 2,342c + 1,172v + 1,172s = 4,686
Total: 14,348
Thus, after five years of accumulation, the aggregate social product is found
to have grown from 9,000 to 14,348, the social aggregate capital from
(5,500c + 1,750v = 7,250) to (8,784c + 2,782v = 11,566) and the surplus
value from (1,000s + 500s = 1,500) to (1,464s + 1,065s = 2,529), whereby
the surplus value for personal consumption, being 1,500 at the beginning of
accumulation, has grown to 732 + 958 = 1,690 in the last year.[102] The
capitalist class, then, has capitalised more, it has practised greater
abstinence, and yet it has been able to live better. Society, in a material
respect, has become richer, richer in means of production, richer in
consumer goods, and it has equally become richer in the capitalist sense of
the term since it produces more surplus value. The social product circulates
in toto in society. Partly it serves to enlarge reproduction and partly it serves
consumption. The requirements of capitalist accumulation correspond to the
material composition of the aggregate social product. What Marx said in
volume i of Capital is true: the increased surplus value can be added on to
capital because the social surplus product comes into the world from the
automatically leads farther and farther beyond itself. The circle has become
a spiral which winds itself higher and higher as if compelled by a natural
law in the guise of mathematical terms. Assuming that in the following
years there is always capitalisation of half the surplus value, while the
composition of the capital and the rate of exploitation remain unchanged,
the reproduction of capital will result in the following progression:
2nd year: I. 4,840c + 1,210v + 1,210s = 7,260
II. 1,760c + 880v + 880s = 3,520
Total: 10,780
3rd year: I. 5,324c + 1,331v + 1,331s = 7,986
II. 1,936c + 968v + 968s = 3,872
Total: 11,858
4th year: I. 5,856c + 1,464v + 1,464s = 8,784
II. 2,129c + 1,065v + 1,065s = 4,259
Total: 13,043
5th year: I. 6,442c + 1,610v + 1,610s = 9,662
II. 2,342c + 1,172v + 1,172s = 4,686
Total: 14,348
Thus, after five years of accumulation, the aggregate social product is found
to have grown from 9,000 to 14,348, the social aggregate capital from
(5,500c + 1,750v = 7,250) to (8,784c + 2,782v = 11,566) and the surplus
value from (1,000s + 500s = 1,500) to (1,464s + 1,065s = 2,529), whereby
the surplus value for personal consumption, being 1,500 at the beginning of
accumulation, has grown to 732 + 958 = 1,690 in the last year.[102] The
capitalist class, then, has capitalised more, it has practised greater
abstinence, and yet it has been able to live better. Society, in a material
respect, has become richer, richer in means of production, richer in
consumer goods, and it has equally become richer in the capitalist sense of
the term since it produces more surplus value. The social product circulates
in toto in society. Partly it serves to enlarge reproduction and partly it serves
consumption. The requirements of capitalist accumulation correspond to the
material composition of the aggregate social product. What Marx said in
volume i of Capital is true: the increased surplus value can be added on to
capital because the social surplus product comes into the world from the
Page 118
very first in the material form of means of production, in a form incapable
of utilisation except in the productive process. At the same time
reproduction expands in strict conformity with the laws of circulation: the
mutual supply of the two departments of production with additional means
of production and consumer goods proceeds as an exchange of equivalents.
It is an exchange of commodities in the course of which the very
accumulation of one department is the condition of accumulation in the
other and makes this possible. The complicated problem of accumulation is
thus converted into a diagrammatic progression of surprising simplicity. We
may continue the above chain of equations ad infinitum so long as we
observe this simple principle: that a certain increase in the constant capital
of Department I always necessitates a certain increase in its variable capital,
which predetermines beforehand the extent of the increase in Department II,
with which again a corresponding increase in the variable capital must be
co-ordinated. Finally, it depends on the extent of increase in the variable
capital in both departments, how much of the total may remain for personal
consumption by the capitalist class. The extent of this increase will also
show that this amount of consumer goods which remains for private
consumption by the capitalist is exactly equivalent to that part of the surplus
value which has not been capitalised in either department.
There are no limits to the continuation of this diagrammatic development of
accumulation in accordance with the few easy rules we have demonstrated.
But now it is time to take care lest we should only have achieved these
surprisingly smooth results through simply working out certain fool-proof
mathematical exercises in addition and subtraction, and we must further
inquire whether it is not merely because mathematical equations are easily
put on paper that accumulation will continue ad infinitum without any
friction.
In other words: the time has come to look for the concrete social conditions
of accumulation.
of utilisation except in the productive process. At the same time
reproduction expands in strict conformity with the laws of circulation: the
mutual supply of the two departments of production with additional means
of production and consumer goods proceeds as an exchange of equivalents.
It is an exchange of commodities in the course of which the very
accumulation of one department is the condition of accumulation in the
other and makes this possible. The complicated problem of accumulation is
thus converted into a diagrammatic progression of surprising simplicity. We
may continue the above chain of equations ad infinitum so long as we
observe this simple principle: that a certain increase in the constant capital
of Department I always necessitates a certain increase in its variable capital,
which predetermines beforehand the extent of the increase in Department II,
with which again a corresponding increase in the variable capital must be
co-ordinated. Finally, it depends on the extent of increase in the variable
capital in both departments, how much of the total may remain for personal
consumption by the capitalist class. The extent of this increase will also
show that this amount of consumer goods which remains for private
consumption by the capitalist is exactly equivalent to that part of the surplus
value which has not been capitalised in either department.
There are no limits to the continuation of this diagrammatic development of
accumulation in accordance with the few easy rules we have demonstrated.
But now it is time to take care lest we should only have achieved these
surprisingly smooth results through simply working out certain fool-proof
mathematical exercises in addition and subtraction, and we must further
inquire whether it is not merely because mathematical equations are easily
put on paper that accumulation will continue ad infinitum without any
friction.
In other words: the time has come to look for the concrete social conditions
of accumulation.
Page 119
CHAPTER VII
Page 120
ANALYSIS OF MARX’S DIAGRAM OF
ENLARGED REPRODUCTION
The first enlargement of reproduction gave the following picture:
I. 4,400c + 1,100v + 1,100s = 6,600
II. 1,600c + 800v + 800s = 3,200
Total: 9,800
This already clearly expresses the interdependence of the two departments
—but it is a dependence of a peculiar kind. Accumulation here originates in
Department I, and Department II merely follows suit. Thus it is Department
I alone that determines the volume of accumulation. Marx effects
accumulation here by allowing Department I to capitalise one-half of its
surplus value; Department II, however, may capitalise only as much as is
necessary to assure the production and accumulation of Department I. He
makes the capitalists of Department II consume 600s as against the
consumption of only 500s by the capitalists of Department I who have
appropriated twice the amount of value and far more surplus value. In the
next year, he assumes the capitalists of Department I again to capitalise half
their surplus value, this time making the capitalists of Department II
capitalise more than in the previous year—summarily fixing the amount to
tally exactly with the needs of Department I. 500s now remain for the
consumption of the capitalists of Department II—less than the year before
—surely a rather queer result of accumulation on any showing. Marx now
describes the process as follows:
‘Then let Department I continue accumulation at the same ratio, so that
550s are spent as revenue, and 55s accumulated. In that case, 1,100 Iv are
first replaced by 1,100 Ic, and 550 Is must be realised in an equal amount of
commodities of II, making a total of 1,650 I(v + s). But the constant capital
of II, which is to be replaced, amounts only to 1,600, and the remaining 50
must be made up out of 800 IIs. Leaving aside the money aspect of the
matter, we have as a result of this transaction:
ENLARGED REPRODUCTION
The first enlargement of reproduction gave the following picture:
I. 4,400c + 1,100v + 1,100s = 6,600
II. 1,600c + 800v + 800s = 3,200
Total: 9,800
This already clearly expresses the interdependence of the two departments
—but it is a dependence of a peculiar kind. Accumulation here originates in
Department I, and Department II merely follows suit. Thus it is Department
I alone that determines the volume of accumulation. Marx effects
accumulation here by allowing Department I to capitalise one-half of its
surplus value; Department II, however, may capitalise only as much as is
necessary to assure the production and accumulation of Department I. He
makes the capitalists of Department II consume 600s as against the
consumption of only 500s by the capitalists of Department I who have
appropriated twice the amount of value and far more surplus value. In the
next year, he assumes the capitalists of Department I again to capitalise half
their surplus value, this time making the capitalists of Department II
capitalise more than in the previous year—summarily fixing the amount to
tally exactly with the needs of Department I. 500s now remain for the
consumption of the capitalists of Department II—less than the year before
—surely a rather queer result of accumulation on any showing. Marx now
describes the process as follows:
‘Then let Department I continue accumulation at the same ratio, so that
550s are spent as revenue, and 55s accumulated. In that case, 1,100 Iv are
first replaced by 1,100 Ic, and 550 Is must be realised in an equal amount of
commodities of II, making a total of 1,650 I(v + s). But the constant capital
of II, which is to be replaced, amounts only to 1,600, and the remaining 50
must be made up out of 800 IIs. Leaving aside the money aspect of the
matter, we have as a result of this transaction:
Page 121
‘I. 4,400c + 550s (to be capitalised); furthermore, realised in commodities
of II for the fund for consumption of the capitalists and labourers of I, 1,650
(v + s).
‘II. 1,650c + 825v + 725s.
‘In Department I, 550s must be capitalised. If the former proportion is
maintained, 440 of this amount form constant capital, and 110 variable
capital. These 110 must be eventually taken out of 725 IIs, that is to say,
articles of consumption to the value of 110 are consumed by the labourers
of I instead of the capitalists of II, so that the latter are compelled to
capitalise these 110s which they cannot consume. This leaves 615 IIs of the
725 IIs. But if II thus converts these 110 into additional constant capital, it
requires an additional variable capital of 55. This again must be taken out of
its surplus value. Subtracting this amount from 615 IIs, we find that only
560 IIs remain for the consumption of the capitalists of II, and we obtain the
following values of capital after accomplishing all actual and potential
transfers:
I. (4,400c + 440c) + (1,100v + 110v) = 4,840c + 1,210v = 6,050
II. (1,600c + 50c + 110c) + (800v + 25v + 55v) = 1,760c + 88v = 2,640
Total: 8,690’[103]
This quotation is given at length since it shows very clearly how Marx here
effects accumulation in Department I at the expense of Department II. In
the years that follow, the capitalists of the provisions department get just as
rough a deal. Following the same rules, Marx allows them in the third year
to accumulate 264s—a larger amount this time than in the two preceding
years. In the fourth year they are allowed to capitalise 290s and to consume
678s, and in the fifth year they accumulate 320s and consume 745s. Marx
even says: ‘If things are to proceed normally, accumulation in II must take
place more rapidly than in I, because that portion of I(v + s) which must be
converted into commodities of IIc, would otherwise grow more rapidly than
IIc, for which it can alone be exchanged.’[104]
Yet the figures we have quoted fail to show a quicker accumulation in
Department II, and in fact show it to fluctuate. Here the principle seems to
be as follows: Marx enables accumulation to continue by broadening the
basis of production in Department I. Accumulation in Department II
of II for the fund for consumption of the capitalists and labourers of I, 1,650
(v + s).
‘II. 1,650c + 825v + 725s.
‘In Department I, 550s must be capitalised. If the former proportion is
maintained, 440 of this amount form constant capital, and 110 variable
capital. These 110 must be eventually taken out of 725 IIs, that is to say,
articles of consumption to the value of 110 are consumed by the labourers
of I instead of the capitalists of II, so that the latter are compelled to
capitalise these 110s which they cannot consume. This leaves 615 IIs of the
725 IIs. But if II thus converts these 110 into additional constant capital, it
requires an additional variable capital of 55. This again must be taken out of
its surplus value. Subtracting this amount from 615 IIs, we find that only
560 IIs remain for the consumption of the capitalists of II, and we obtain the
following values of capital after accomplishing all actual and potential
transfers:
I. (4,400c + 440c) + (1,100v + 110v) = 4,840c + 1,210v = 6,050
II. (1,600c + 50c + 110c) + (800v + 25v + 55v) = 1,760c + 88v = 2,640
Total: 8,690’[103]
This quotation is given at length since it shows very clearly how Marx here
effects accumulation in Department I at the expense of Department II. In
the years that follow, the capitalists of the provisions department get just as
rough a deal. Following the same rules, Marx allows them in the third year
to accumulate 264s—a larger amount this time than in the two preceding
years. In the fourth year they are allowed to capitalise 290s and to consume
678s, and in the fifth year they accumulate 320s and consume 745s. Marx
even says: ‘If things are to proceed normally, accumulation in II must take
place more rapidly than in I, because that portion of I(v + s) which must be
converted into commodities of IIc, would otherwise grow more rapidly than
IIc, for which it can alone be exchanged.’[104]
Yet the figures we have quoted fail to show a quicker accumulation in
Department II, and in fact show it to fluctuate. Here the principle seems to
be as follows: Marx enables accumulation to continue by broadening the
basis of production in Department I. Accumulation in Department II
Page 122
appears only as a condition and consequence of accumulation in
Department I: absorbing, in the first place, the other’s surplus means of
production and supplying it, secondly, with the necessary surplus of
consumer goods for its additional labour. Department I retains the initiative
all the time, Department II being merely a passive follower. Thus the
capitalists of Department II are only allowed to accumulate just as much as,
and are made to consume no less than, is needed for the accumulation of
Department I. While in Department I half the surplus value is capitalised
every time, and the other half consumed, so that there is an orderly
expansion both of production and of personal consumption by the
capitalists, the twofold process in Department II takes the following erratic
course:
1st year: 150are capitalised, 600consumed
2nd 240 660
3rd 254 626
4th 290 678
5th 320 745
Here there is no rule in evidence for accumulation and consumption to
follow; both are wholly subservient to the requirements of accumulation in
Department I.
Needless to say, the absolute figures of the diagram are arbitrary in every
equation, but that does not detract from their scientific value. It is the
quantitative ratios which are relevant, since they are supposed to express
strictly determinate relationships. Those precise logical rules that lay down
the relations of accumulation in Department I, seem to have been gained at
the cost of any kind of principle in construing these relations for
Department II; and this circumstance calls for a revision of the immanent
connections revealed by the analysis.
It might, however, be permissible to assume the defect to lie in a rather
unhappy choice of example. Marx himself, dissatisfied with the diagram
quoted above, proceeded forthwith to give a second example in order to
elucidate the movements of accumulation, where the figures of the equation
run in the following order:
I. 5,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 7,000
Department I: absorbing, in the first place, the other’s surplus means of
production and supplying it, secondly, with the necessary surplus of
consumer goods for its additional labour. Department I retains the initiative
all the time, Department II being merely a passive follower. Thus the
capitalists of Department II are only allowed to accumulate just as much as,
and are made to consume no less than, is needed for the accumulation of
Department I. While in Department I half the surplus value is capitalised
every time, and the other half consumed, so that there is an orderly
expansion both of production and of personal consumption by the
capitalists, the twofold process in Department II takes the following erratic
course:
1st year: 150are capitalised, 600consumed
2nd 240 660
3rd 254 626
4th 290 678
5th 320 745
Here there is no rule in evidence for accumulation and consumption to
follow; both are wholly subservient to the requirements of accumulation in
Department I.
Needless to say, the absolute figures of the diagram are arbitrary in every
equation, but that does not detract from their scientific value. It is the
quantitative ratios which are relevant, since they are supposed to express
strictly determinate relationships. Those precise logical rules that lay down
the relations of accumulation in Department I, seem to have been gained at
the cost of any kind of principle in construing these relations for
Department II; and this circumstance calls for a revision of the immanent
connections revealed by the analysis.
It might, however, be permissible to assume the defect to lie in a rather
unhappy choice of example. Marx himself, dissatisfied with the diagram
quoted above, proceeded forthwith to give a second example in order to
elucidate the movements of accumulation, where the figures of the equation
run in the following order:
I. 5,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 7,000
Page 123
II. 1,430c + 285v + 285s = 2,000
Total: 9,000
In contrast to the previous example, the capital of both departments is here
seen to have the same composition, i.e. constant and variable capital are in a
ratio of 5 to 1. This already presupposes a considerable development of
capitalist production, and accordingly of social labour productivity—a
considerable preliminary expansion of the scale of production, and finally, a
development of all the circumstances which bring about a relatively
redundant surplus population in the working class. We are no longer
introduced to enlarged reproduction, as in the first example, at the stage of
the original transition from simple to enlarged reproduction—the only point
of that is in any case for the sake of abstract theory. This time, we are
brought face to face with the process of accumulation as it goes on at a
definite and rather advanced stage of development. It is perfectly legitimate
to assume these conditions, and they in no way distort the principles we
must employ in order to work out the individual loops of the reproductive
spiral. Here again Marx takes for a starting point the capitalisation of half
the surplus value in Department I.
‘Now take it that the capitalist class of I consumes one-half of the surplus-
value, or 500, and accumulates the other half. In that case (1,000v + 500s) I,
or 1,500, must be converted into 1,500 IIc. Since IIc amounts to only 1,430,
it is necessary to take 70 from the surplus-value. Subtracting this sum from
285s leaves 215 IIs. Then we have:
‘I. 5,000c + 500s (to be capitalised) + 1,500 (v + s) in the fund set aside for
consumption by capitalists and labourers.
‘II. 1,430c + 70s (to be capitalised) + 285v + 215s. As 70 IIs are directly
annexed by IIc, a variable capital of 70 : 5, or 14, is required to set this
additional constant capital in motion. These 14 must come out of the 215s,
so that only 201 remain, and we have:
‘II (1,430) + 70c + (285v + 14v) + 201s.’[105]
After these preliminary arrangements, capitalisation can now proceed. This
is done as follows:
In Department I the 500s which have been capitalised are divided into five-
sixths (417c) + one-sixth (83v). These 83v withdraw a corresponding
Total: 9,000
In contrast to the previous example, the capital of both departments is here
seen to have the same composition, i.e. constant and variable capital are in a
ratio of 5 to 1. This already presupposes a considerable development of
capitalist production, and accordingly of social labour productivity—a
considerable preliminary expansion of the scale of production, and finally, a
development of all the circumstances which bring about a relatively
redundant surplus population in the working class. We are no longer
introduced to enlarged reproduction, as in the first example, at the stage of
the original transition from simple to enlarged reproduction—the only point
of that is in any case for the sake of abstract theory. This time, we are
brought face to face with the process of accumulation as it goes on at a
definite and rather advanced stage of development. It is perfectly legitimate
to assume these conditions, and they in no way distort the principles we
must employ in order to work out the individual loops of the reproductive
spiral. Here again Marx takes for a starting point the capitalisation of half
the surplus value in Department I.
‘Now take it that the capitalist class of I consumes one-half of the surplus-
value, or 500, and accumulates the other half. In that case (1,000v + 500s) I,
or 1,500, must be converted into 1,500 IIc. Since IIc amounts to only 1,430,
it is necessary to take 70 from the surplus-value. Subtracting this sum from
285s leaves 215 IIs. Then we have:
‘I. 5,000c + 500s (to be capitalised) + 1,500 (v + s) in the fund set aside for
consumption by capitalists and labourers.
‘II. 1,430c + 70s (to be capitalised) + 285v + 215s. As 70 IIs are directly
annexed by IIc, a variable capital of 70 : 5, or 14, is required to set this
additional constant capital in motion. These 14 must come out of the 215s,
so that only 201 remain, and we have:
‘II (1,430) + 70c + (285v + 14v) + 201s.’[105]
After these preliminary arrangements, capitalisation can now proceed. This
is done as follows:
In Department I the 500s which have been capitalised are divided into five-
sixths (417c) + one-sixth (83v). These 83v withdraw a corresponding
Page 124
amount from IIs which serves to buy units of constant capital and thus
accrues to IIc. An increase of IIc by 83 involves the necessity of an increase
in IIv by 17 (one-fifth of 83). After the completion of this turnover we
therefore have:
I. (5,000c + 417s) + (1,000v + 83s)v = 5,417c + 1,083v = 6,500
II. (1,500c + 83s) + (299v + 17s) = 1,538c + 316v = 1,899
Total: 8,399
The capital of Department I has grown from 6,000 to 6,500, i.e. by one-
twelfth; in Department II it has grown from 1,715 to 1,899, i.e. by just over
one-ninth.
At the end of the next year, the results of reproduction on this basis are:
I. 5,417c + 1,083v + 1,083s = 7,583
II. 1,583c + 316v + 316s = 2,215
Total: 9,798
If the same ratio is maintained in the continuance of accumulation, the
result at the end of the second year is as follows:
I. 5,869c + 1,173v + 1,173s = 8,215
II. 1,715c + 342v + 342s = 2,399
Total: 10,614
And at the end of the third year:
I. 6,358c + 1,271v + 1,271s = 8,900
II. 1,858c + 371v + 371s = 2,600
Total: 11,500
In the course of three years, the total social capital has increased from
I.6,000 + II.1,715 = 7,715 to I.7,629 + II.2,229 = 9,858, and the total
product from 9,000 to 11,500.
Accumulation in both departments here proceeds uniformly, in marked
difference from the first example. From the second year onwards, both
departments capitalise half their surplus value and consume the other half.
A bad choice of figures in the first example thus seems to be responsible for
its arbitrary appearance. But we must check up to make sure that it is not
accrues to IIc. An increase of IIc by 83 involves the necessity of an increase
in IIv by 17 (one-fifth of 83). After the completion of this turnover we
therefore have:
I. (5,000c + 417s) + (1,000v + 83s)v = 5,417c + 1,083v = 6,500
II. (1,500c + 83s) + (299v + 17s) = 1,538c + 316v = 1,899
Total: 8,399
The capital of Department I has grown from 6,000 to 6,500, i.e. by one-
twelfth; in Department II it has grown from 1,715 to 1,899, i.e. by just over
one-ninth.
At the end of the next year, the results of reproduction on this basis are:
I. 5,417c + 1,083v + 1,083s = 7,583
II. 1,583c + 316v + 316s = 2,215
Total: 9,798
If the same ratio is maintained in the continuance of accumulation, the
result at the end of the second year is as follows:
I. 5,869c + 1,173v + 1,173s = 8,215
II. 1,715c + 342v + 342s = 2,399
Total: 10,614
And at the end of the third year:
I. 6,358c + 1,271v + 1,271s = 8,900
II. 1,858c + 371v + 371s = 2,600
Total: 11,500
In the course of three years, the total social capital has increased from
I.6,000 + II.1,715 = 7,715 to I.7,629 + II.2,229 = 9,858, and the total
product from 9,000 to 11,500.
Accumulation in both departments here proceeds uniformly, in marked
difference from the first example. From the second year onwards, both
departments capitalise half their surplus value and consume the other half.
A bad choice of figures in the first example thus seems to be responsible for
its arbitrary appearance. But we must check up to make sure that it is not
Page 125
only a mathematical manipulation with cleverly chosen figures which this
time ensures the smooth progress of accumulation.
In the first as well as in the second example, we are continually struck by a
seemingly general rule of accumulation: to make any accumulation
possible, Department II must always enlarge its constant capital by
precisely the amount by which Department I increases (a) the proportion of
surplus value for consumption and (b) its variable capital. If we take the
example of the first year as an illustration, the constant capital of
Department II must be increased by 70. And why? because this capital was
only 1,430 before.
But if the capitalists of Department I wish to accumulate half their surplus
value (1,000) and to consume the other half, they need consumer goods for
themselves and for their workers to the tune of 1,500 units which they can
obtain only from Department II in exchange for their own products—means
of production. Since Department II has already satisfied its own demand for
producer goods to the extent of its own constant capital (1,430), this
exchange is only possible if Department II decides to enlarge its own
constant capital by 70. This means that it must enlarge its own production—
and it can do so only by capitalising a corresponding part of its surplus
value. If this surplus value amounts to 285 in Department II, 70 of it must
be added to the constant capital. The first step towards expansion of
production in Department II is thus demonstrated to be at the same time the
condition for, and the consequence of, increased consumption by the
capitalists of Department I. But to proceed. Hitherto, the capitalists of
Department I could only spend one-half of their surplus value (500) on
personal consumption. To capitalise the other half, they must redistribute
these 500s in such a way as to maintain at least the previous ratio of
composition, i.e. they must increase the constant capital by 417 and the
variable capital by 83. The first operation presents no difficulties: the
surplus value of 500 belonging to the capitalists of Department I is
contained in a natural form in their own product, the means of production,
and is fit straightway to enter into the process of production; Department I
can therefore enlarge its constant capital with the appropriate quantity of its
own product. But the remaining 83 can only be used as variable capital if
there is a corresponding quantity of consumer goods for the newly
employed workers. Here it becomes evident for the second time that
time ensures the smooth progress of accumulation.
In the first as well as in the second example, we are continually struck by a
seemingly general rule of accumulation: to make any accumulation
possible, Department II must always enlarge its constant capital by
precisely the amount by which Department I increases (a) the proportion of
surplus value for consumption and (b) its variable capital. If we take the
example of the first year as an illustration, the constant capital of
Department II must be increased by 70. And why? because this capital was
only 1,430 before.
But if the capitalists of Department I wish to accumulate half their surplus
value (1,000) and to consume the other half, they need consumer goods for
themselves and for their workers to the tune of 1,500 units which they can
obtain only from Department II in exchange for their own products—means
of production. Since Department II has already satisfied its own demand for
producer goods to the extent of its own constant capital (1,430), this
exchange is only possible if Department II decides to enlarge its own
constant capital by 70. This means that it must enlarge its own production—
and it can do so only by capitalising a corresponding part of its surplus
value. If this surplus value amounts to 285 in Department II, 70 of it must
be added to the constant capital. The first step towards expansion of
production in Department II is thus demonstrated to be at the same time the
condition for, and the consequence of, increased consumption by the
capitalists of Department I. But to proceed. Hitherto, the capitalists of
Department I could only spend one-half of their surplus value (500) on
personal consumption. To capitalise the other half, they must redistribute
these 500s in such a way as to maintain at least the previous ratio of
composition, i.e. they must increase the constant capital by 417 and the
variable capital by 83. The first operation presents no difficulties: the
surplus value of 500 belonging to the capitalists of Department I is
contained in a natural form in their own product, the means of production,
and is fit straightway to enter into the process of production; Department I
can therefore enlarge its constant capital with the appropriate quantity of its
own product. But the remaining 83 can only be used as variable capital if
there is a corresponding quantity of consumer goods for the newly
employed workers. Here it becomes evident for the second time that
Page 126
accumulation in Department I is dependent upon Department II:
Department I must receive for its workers 83 more consumer goods than
before from Department II. As this is again possible only by way of
commodity exchange, Department I can satisfy its demands only on
condition that Department II is prepared for its part to take up products of
Department I, producer goods, to the tune of 83. Since Department II has no
use for the means of production except to employ them in the process of
production, it becomes not only possible but even necessary that
Department II should increase its own constant capital by these very 83
which will now be used for capitalisation and are thus again withdrawn
from the consumable surplus value of this department. The increase in the
variable capital of Department I thus entails the second step in the
enlargement of production in Department II. All material prerequisites of
accumulation in Department I are now present and enlarged reproduction
can proceed. Department II, however, has so far made only two increases in
its constant capital. The result of this enlargement is that if the newly
acquired means of production are indeed to be used, the quantity of labour
power must be increased correspondingly. Maintaining the previous ratio,
the new constant capital of 153 requires a new variable capital of 31. This
implies the necessity to capitalise a corresponding further amount of the
surplus value. Thus the fund for the capitalists’ personal consumption in
Department II comes to be what remains of the surplus value (285s) after
deduction of the amounts used for twice enlarging the constant capital (70 +
83) and a commensurate increase in the variable capital (31)—a fund of
101, after deducting a total of 184. Similar operations in the second year of
accumulation result for Department II in its surplus value being divided into
158 for capitalisation and 158 for the consumption of its capitalists, and in
the third year, the figures become 172 and 170 respectively.
We have studied this process so closely, tracing it step by step, because it
shows clearly that the accumulation of Department II is completely
determined and dominated by the accumulation of Department I. Though
this dependence is no longer expressed, as in Marx’s first example, by
arbitrary changes in the distribution of the surplus value, it does not do
away with the fact itself, even if now the surplus value is always neatly
halved by each department, one-half for capitalisation and the other for
personal consumption. Though there is nothing to choose between the
capitalists of the two departments as far as the figures are concerned, it is
Department I must receive for its workers 83 more consumer goods than
before from Department II. As this is again possible only by way of
commodity exchange, Department I can satisfy its demands only on
condition that Department II is prepared for its part to take up products of
Department I, producer goods, to the tune of 83. Since Department II has no
use for the means of production except to employ them in the process of
production, it becomes not only possible but even necessary that
Department II should increase its own constant capital by these very 83
which will now be used for capitalisation and are thus again withdrawn
from the consumable surplus value of this department. The increase in the
variable capital of Department I thus entails the second step in the
enlargement of production in Department II. All material prerequisites of
accumulation in Department I are now present and enlarged reproduction
can proceed. Department II, however, has so far made only two increases in
its constant capital. The result of this enlargement is that if the newly
acquired means of production are indeed to be used, the quantity of labour
power must be increased correspondingly. Maintaining the previous ratio,
the new constant capital of 153 requires a new variable capital of 31. This
implies the necessity to capitalise a corresponding further amount of the
surplus value. Thus the fund for the capitalists’ personal consumption in
Department II comes to be what remains of the surplus value (285s) after
deduction of the amounts used for twice enlarging the constant capital (70 +
83) and a commensurate increase in the variable capital (31)—a fund of
101, after deducting a total of 184. Similar operations in the second year of
accumulation result for Department II in its surplus value being divided into
158 for capitalisation and 158 for the consumption of its capitalists, and in
the third year, the figures become 172 and 170 respectively.
We have studied this process so closely, tracing it step by step, because it
shows clearly that the accumulation of Department II is completely
determined and dominated by the accumulation of Department I. Though
this dependence is no longer expressed, as in Marx’s first example, by
arbitrary changes in the distribution of the surplus value, it does not do
away with the fact itself, even if now the surplus value is always neatly
halved by each department, one-half for capitalisation and the other for
personal consumption. Though there is nothing to choose between the
capitalists of the two departments as far as the figures are concerned, it is
Page 127
quite obvious that Department I has taken the initiative and actively carries
out the whole process of accumulation, while Department II is merely a
passive appendage. This dependence is also expressed in the following
precise rule: accumulation must proceed simultaneously in both
departments, and it can do so only on condition that the provisions-
department increases its constant capital by the precise amount by which
the capitalists of the means-of-production-department increase both their
variable capital and their fund for personal consumption. This equation
(increase IIc = increase Iv + increase Is.c.)[106] is the mathematical
cornerstone of Marx’s diagram of accumulation, no matter what figures we
may choose for its concrete application. But now we must see whether
capitalist accumulation does in actual fact conform to this hard and fast
rule.
Let us first return to simple reproduction. Marx’s diagram, it will be
remembered, was as follows:
I. 4,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 6,000means of production
II. 2,000c + 500v + 500s = 3,000means of consumption
9,000 total production
Here, too, we established certain equations which form the foundation of
simple reproduction; they were:
(a) The product of Department I equals in value the sum of the two constant
capitals in Departments I and II.
(b) The constant capital of Department II equals the sum of variable capital
and surplus value in Department I—a necessary consequence of (a).
(c) The product of Department II equals the sum of variable capital and
surplus value in both departments—a necessary consequence of (a) and (b).
These equations correspond to the conditions of capitalist commodity
production (at the restricted level of simple reproduction, however).
Equation (b), for instance, is a result of the production of commodities,
entailed by the fact, in other words, that the entrepreneurs of either
department can only obtain the products of the other by an exchange of
equivalents. Variable capital and surplus value in Department I together
represent the demand of this department for consumer goods. The product
of Department II must provide for the satisfaction of this demand, but
out the whole process of accumulation, while Department II is merely a
passive appendage. This dependence is also expressed in the following
precise rule: accumulation must proceed simultaneously in both
departments, and it can do so only on condition that the provisions-
department increases its constant capital by the precise amount by which
the capitalists of the means-of-production-department increase both their
variable capital and their fund for personal consumption. This equation
(increase IIc = increase Iv + increase Is.c.)[106] is the mathematical
cornerstone of Marx’s diagram of accumulation, no matter what figures we
may choose for its concrete application. But now we must see whether
capitalist accumulation does in actual fact conform to this hard and fast
rule.
Let us first return to simple reproduction. Marx’s diagram, it will be
remembered, was as follows:
I. 4,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 6,000means of production
II. 2,000c + 500v + 500s = 3,000means of consumption
9,000 total production
Here, too, we established certain equations which form the foundation of
simple reproduction; they were:
(a) The product of Department I equals in value the sum of the two constant
capitals in Departments I and II.
(b) The constant capital of Department II equals the sum of variable capital
and surplus value in Department I—a necessary consequence of (a).
(c) The product of Department II equals the sum of variable capital and
surplus value in both departments—a necessary consequence of (a) and (b).
These equations correspond to the conditions of capitalist commodity
production (at the restricted level of simple reproduction, however).
Equation (b), for instance, is a result of the production of commodities,
entailed by the fact, in other words, that the entrepreneurs of either
department can only obtain the products of the other by an exchange of
equivalents. Variable capital and surplus value in Department I together
represent the demand of this department for consumer goods. The product
of Department II must provide for the satisfaction of this demand, but
Page 128
consumer goods can only be obtained in exchange for an equivalent part of
the product of Department I, the means of production. These equivalents,
useless to Department II in their natural form if not employed as constant
capital in the process of production, will thus determine how much constant
capital there is to be in Department II. If this proportion were not adhered
to, if, e.g., the constant capital of Department II (as a quantity of value)
were larger than I(v + s), then it could not be completely transformed into
means of production, since the demand of Department I for consumer goods
would be too small; if the constant capital (II) were smaller than I(v + s.c),
either the previous quantity of labour power could not be employed in this
department, or the capitalists could not consume the whole of their surplus
value. In all these cases, the premises of simple reproduction would be
violated.
These equations, however, are not just an exercise in mathematics, nor do
they merely result from the system of commodity production. To convince
us of this fact, there is a simple means at hand. Let us imagine for a moment
that, instead of a capitalist method of production, we have a socialist, i.e. a
planned society in which the social division of labour has come to replace
exchange. This society also will divide its labour power into producers of
means of production and producers of means of consumption. Let us further
imagine the technical development of labour to be such that two-thirds of
social labour are employed in the manufacture of producer goods and one-
third in the manufacture of consumer goods. Suppose that under these
conditions 1,500 units (reckoned on a daily, monthly, or yearly basis)
suffice to maintain the whole working population of the society, one
thousand of these being employed, according to our premise, in Department
soc. I (making means of production), and five hundred in Department soc.
II (making consumer goods), and that the means of production dating from
previous labour periods and used up during one year’s labour, represent
3,000 labour units. This labour programme, however, would not be
adequate for the society, since considerably more labour will be needed to
maintain all those of its members who do not work in the material, the
productive sense of the term: the child, the old and sick, the civil servant,
the artist and the scientist. Moreover, every society needs certain reserves
against a rainy day, as a protection against natural calamities. Taking it that
precisely the same quantity of labour and, similarly, of means of production
as that required for the workers’ own maintenance is needed to maintain all
the product of Department I, the means of production. These equivalents,
useless to Department II in their natural form if not employed as constant
capital in the process of production, will thus determine how much constant
capital there is to be in Department II. If this proportion were not adhered
to, if, e.g., the constant capital of Department II (as a quantity of value)
were larger than I(v + s), then it could not be completely transformed into
means of production, since the demand of Department I for consumer goods
would be too small; if the constant capital (II) were smaller than I(v + s.c),
either the previous quantity of labour power could not be employed in this
department, or the capitalists could not consume the whole of their surplus
value. In all these cases, the premises of simple reproduction would be
violated.
These equations, however, are not just an exercise in mathematics, nor do
they merely result from the system of commodity production. To convince
us of this fact, there is a simple means at hand. Let us imagine for a moment
that, instead of a capitalist method of production, we have a socialist, i.e. a
planned society in which the social division of labour has come to replace
exchange. This society also will divide its labour power into producers of
means of production and producers of means of consumption. Let us further
imagine the technical development of labour to be such that two-thirds of
social labour are employed in the manufacture of producer goods and one-
third in the manufacture of consumer goods. Suppose that under these
conditions 1,500 units (reckoned on a daily, monthly, or yearly basis)
suffice to maintain the whole working population of the society, one
thousand of these being employed, according to our premise, in Department
soc. I (making means of production), and five hundred in Department soc.
II (making consumer goods), and that the means of production dating from
previous labour periods and used up during one year’s labour, represent
3,000 labour units. This labour programme, however, would not be
adequate for the society, since considerably more labour will be needed to
maintain all those of its members who do not work in the material, the
productive sense of the term: the child, the old and sick, the civil servant,
the artist and the scientist. Moreover, every society needs certain reserves
against a rainy day, as a protection against natural calamities. Taking it that
precisely the same quantity of labour and, similarly, of means of production
as that required for the workers’ own maintenance is needed to maintain all
Page 129
the non-workers and to build up the reserves, then, from the figures
previously assumed, we should get the following diagram for a regulated
production:
I. 4,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 6,000means of production
II. 2,000c + 500v + 500s = 3,000means of consumption
Here c stands for the material means of production that have been used,
expressed in terms of social labour time; v stands for the social labour time
necessary to maintain the workers themselves and s for that needed to
maintain those who do not work and to build up the reserves.
If we check up on the proportions of this diagram, we obtain the following
result: there is neither commodity production nor exchange, but in truth a
social division of labour. The products of Department I are assigned to the
workers of Department II in the requisite quantities, and the products of
Department II are apportioned to everyone, worker or no, in both
departments, and also to the reserve-fund; all this being the outcome not of
an exchange of equivalents but of a social organisation that plans and
directs the process as a whole—because existing demands must be satisfied
and production knows no other end but to satisfy the demands of society.
Yet all that does not detract from the validity of the equations. The product
of Department I must equal Ic + IIc: this means simply that Department I
must annually renew all the means of production which society has used up
during one year’s labour. The product of Department II must equal the sum
of I(v + s) + II(v + s): this means that society must each year produce as
many consumer goods as are required by all its members, whether they
work or not, plus a quota for the reserve fund. The proportions of the
diagram are as natural and as inevitable for a planned economy as they are
for a capitalist economy based upon anarchy and the exchange of
commodities. This proves the diagram to have objective social validity,
even if, just because it concerns simple reproduction, it has hardly more
than theoretical interest for either a capitalist or a planned economy, finding
practical application only in the rarest of cases.
The same sort of scrutiny must now be turned on the diagram of enlarged
reproduction. Taking Marx’s second example as the basis for our test, let us
again imagine a socialist society. From the point of view of a regulated
society we shall, of course, have to start with Department II, not with
previously assumed, we should get the following diagram for a regulated
production:
I. 4,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 6,000means of production
II. 2,000c + 500v + 500s = 3,000means of consumption
Here c stands for the material means of production that have been used,
expressed in terms of social labour time; v stands for the social labour time
necessary to maintain the workers themselves and s for that needed to
maintain those who do not work and to build up the reserves.
If we check up on the proportions of this diagram, we obtain the following
result: there is neither commodity production nor exchange, but in truth a
social division of labour. The products of Department I are assigned to the
workers of Department II in the requisite quantities, and the products of
Department II are apportioned to everyone, worker or no, in both
departments, and also to the reserve-fund; all this being the outcome not of
an exchange of equivalents but of a social organisation that plans and
directs the process as a whole—because existing demands must be satisfied
and production knows no other end but to satisfy the demands of society.
Yet all that does not detract from the validity of the equations. The product
of Department I must equal Ic + IIc: this means simply that Department I
must annually renew all the means of production which society has used up
during one year’s labour. The product of Department II must equal the sum
of I(v + s) + II(v + s): this means that society must each year produce as
many consumer goods as are required by all its members, whether they
work or not, plus a quota for the reserve fund. The proportions of the
diagram are as natural and as inevitable for a planned economy as they are
for a capitalist economy based upon anarchy and the exchange of
commodities. This proves the diagram to have objective social validity,
even if, just because it concerns simple reproduction, it has hardly more
than theoretical interest for either a capitalist or a planned economy, finding
practical application only in the rarest of cases.
The same sort of scrutiny must now be turned on the diagram of enlarged
reproduction. Taking Marx’s second example as the basis for our test, let us
again imagine a socialist society. From the point of view of a regulated
society we shall, of course, have to start with Department II, not with
Page 130
Department I. Assuming this society to grow rapidly, the result will be an
increasing demand for provisions by its members, whether they work or
not. This demand is growing so quickly that a constantly increasing quantity
of labour—disregarding for the moment the progress of labour productivity
—will be needed for the production of consumer goods. The quantities
required, expressed in terms of social labour incorporated in them, increase
from year to year in a progression of, say, 2,000 : 2,215 : 2,399 : 2,600 and
so on. Let us further assume that technical conditions demand an increasing
amount of means of production for producing this growing quantity of
provisions, which, again measured in terms of social labour, mounts from
year to year in the following progression: 7,000 : 7,583 : 8,215 : 8,900 and
so on. To achieve this enlargement of production, we must further have a
growth in the labour performed per annum according to the following
progression: 2,570 : 2,798 : 3,030 : 3,284. [The figures correspond to the
respective amounts of I(v + s) + II(v + s).] Finally, the labour performed
annually must be so distributed that one-half is always used for maintaining
the workers themselves, a quarter for maintaining those who do not work,
and the last quarter for the purpose of enlarging production in the following
year. Thus we obtain the proportions of Marx’s second diagram of enlarged
reproduction for a socialist society. In fact, three conditions are
indispensable if production is to be enlarged in any society, even in a
planned economy: (1) the society must have an increasing quantity of
labour power at its disposal; (2) in every working period, the immediate
needs of society must not claim the whole of its working time, so that part
of the time can be devoted to making provision for the future and its
growing demands; (3) means of production must be turned out year after
year in sufficiently growing quantities—without which production cannot
be enlarged on a rising scale. In respect of all these general points, Marx’s
diagram of enlarged reproduction has objective validity—mutatis mutandis
—for a planned society.
It remains to test whether it is also valid for a capitalist economy. Here we
must ask first of all: what is the starting point of accumulation? That is the
approach on which we have to investigate the mutual dependence of the
accumulative process in the two departments of production. There can be no
doubt that under capitalist conditions Department II is dependent upon
Department I in so far as its accumulation is determined by the additional
means of production available. Conversely, the accumulation in Department
increasing demand for provisions by its members, whether they work or
not. This demand is growing so quickly that a constantly increasing quantity
of labour—disregarding for the moment the progress of labour productivity
—will be needed for the production of consumer goods. The quantities
required, expressed in terms of social labour incorporated in them, increase
from year to year in a progression of, say, 2,000 : 2,215 : 2,399 : 2,600 and
so on. Let us further assume that technical conditions demand an increasing
amount of means of production for producing this growing quantity of
provisions, which, again measured in terms of social labour, mounts from
year to year in the following progression: 7,000 : 7,583 : 8,215 : 8,900 and
so on. To achieve this enlargement of production, we must further have a
growth in the labour performed per annum according to the following
progression: 2,570 : 2,798 : 3,030 : 3,284. [The figures correspond to the
respective amounts of I(v + s) + II(v + s).] Finally, the labour performed
annually must be so distributed that one-half is always used for maintaining
the workers themselves, a quarter for maintaining those who do not work,
and the last quarter for the purpose of enlarging production in the following
year. Thus we obtain the proportions of Marx’s second diagram of enlarged
reproduction for a socialist society. In fact, three conditions are
indispensable if production is to be enlarged in any society, even in a
planned economy: (1) the society must have an increasing quantity of
labour power at its disposal; (2) in every working period, the immediate
needs of society must not claim the whole of its working time, so that part
of the time can be devoted to making provision for the future and its
growing demands; (3) means of production must be turned out year after
year in sufficiently growing quantities—without which production cannot
be enlarged on a rising scale. In respect of all these general points, Marx’s
diagram of enlarged reproduction has objective validity—mutatis mutandis
—for a planned society.
It remains to test whether it is also valid for a capitalist economy. Here we
must ask first of all: what is the starting point of accumulation? That is the
approach on which we have to investigate the mutual dependence of the
accumulative process in the two departments of production. There can be no
doubt that under capitalist conditions Department II is dependent upon
Department I in so far as its accumulation is determined by the additional
means of production available. Conversely, the accumulation in Department
Page 131
I depends upon a corresponding quantity of additional consumer goods
being available for its additional labour power. It does not follow, however,
that so long as both these conditions are observed, accumulation in both
departments is bound, as Marx’s diagram makes it appear, to go on
automatically year after year. The conditions of accumulation we have
enumerated are no more than those without which there can be no
accumulation. There may even be a desire to accumulate in both
departments, yet the desire to accumulate plus the technical prerequisites of
accumulation is not enough in a capitalist economy of commodity
production. A further condition is required to ensure that accumulation can
in fact proceed and production expand: the effective demand for
commodities must also increase. Where is this continually increasing
demand to come from, which in Marx’s diagram forms the basis of
reproduction on an ever rising scale?
It cannot possibly come from the capitalists of Departments I and II
themselves—so much is certain right away—it cannot arise out of their
personal consumption. On the contrary, it is the very essence of
accumulation that the capitalists refrain from consuming a part of their
surplus value which must be ever increasing—at least as far as absolute
figures are concerned—that they use it instead to make goods for the use of
other people. It is true that with accumulation the personal consumption of
the capitalist class will grow and that there may even be an increase in the
total value consumed; nevertheless it will still be no more than a part of the
surplus value that is used for the capitalists’ consumption. That indeed is the
foundation of accumulation: the capitalists’ abstention from consuming the
whole of their surplus value. But what of the remaining surplus value, the
part that is accumulated? For whom can it be destined? According to
Marx’s diagram, Department I has the initiative: the process starts with the
production of producer goods. And who requires these additional means of
production? The diagram answers that Department II needs them in order to
produce means of consumption in increased quantities. Well then, who
requires these additional consumer goods? Department I, of course—replies
the diagram—because it now employs a greater number of workers. We are
plainly running in circles. From the capitalist point of view it is absurd to
produce more consumer goods merely in order to maintain more workers,
and to turn out more means of production merely to keep this surplus of
workers occupied. Admittedly, as far as the individual capitalist is
being available for its additional labour power. It does not follow, however,
that so long as both these conditions are observed, accumulation in both
departments is bound, as Marx’s diagram makes it appear, to go on
automatically year after year. The conditions of accumulation we have
enumerated are no more than those without which there can be no
accumulation. There may even be a desire to accumulate in both
departments, yet the desire to accumulate plus the technical prerequisites of
accumulation is not enough in a capitalist economy of commodity
production. A further condition is required to ensure that accumulation can
in fact proceed and production expand: the effective demand for
commodities must also increase. Where is this continually increasing
demand to come from, which in Marx’s diagram forms the basis of
reproduction on an ever rising scale?
It cannot possibly come from the capitalists of Departments I and II
themselves—so much is certain right away—it cannot arise out of their
personal consumption. On the contrary, it is the very essence of
accumulation that the capitalists refrain from consuming a part of their
surplus value which must be ever increasing—at least as far as absolute
figures are concerned—that they use it instead to make goods for the use of
other people. It is true that with accumulation the personal consumption of
the capitalist class will grow and that there may even be an increase in the
total value consumed; nevertheless it will still be no more than a part of the
surplus value that is used for the capitalists’ consumption. That indeed is the
foundation of accumulation: the capitalists’ abstention from consuming the
whole of their surplus value. But what of the remaining surplus value, the
part that is accumulated? For whom can it be destined? According to
Marx’s diagram, Department I has the initiative: the process starts with the
production of producer goods. And who requires these additional means of
production? The diagram answers that Department II needs them in order to
produce means of consumption in increased quantities. Well then, who
requires these additional consumer goods? Department I, of course—replies
the diagram—because it now employs a greater number of workers. We are
plainly running in circles. From the capitalist point of view it is absurd to
produce more consumer goods merely in order to maintain more workers,
and to turn out more means of production merely to keep this surplus of
workers occupied. Admittedly, as far as the individual capitalist is
Page 132
concerned, the worker is just as good a consumer, i.e. purchaser of his
commodity, as another capitalist or anyone else, provided that he can pay.
Every individual capitalist realises his surplus value in the price of his
commodity, whether he sells it to the worker or to some other buyer. But
this does not hold true from the point of view of the capitalist class as a
whole. The working class in general receives from the capitalist class no
more than an assignment to a determinate part of the social product,
precisely to the extent of the variable capital. The workers buying consumer
goods therefore merely refund to the capitalist class the amount of the
wages they have received, their assignment to the extent of the variable
capital. They cannot return a groat more than that; and if they are in a
position to save in order to make themselves independent as small
entrepreneurs, they may even return less, though this is the exception.
Part of the surplus value is consumed by the capitalist class itself in form of
consumer goods, the money exchanged for these being retained in the
capitalists’ pockets. But who can buy the products incorporating the other,
the capitalised part of the surplus value? Partly the capitalists themselves—
the diagram answers—who need new means of production for the purpose
of expanding production, and partly the new workers who will be needed to
work these new means of production. But that implies a previous capitalist
incentive to enlarge production; if new workers are set to work with new
means of production, there must have been a new demand for the products
which are to be turned out.
Perhaps the answer is that the natural increase of the population creates this
growing demand. In fact, the growth of the population and its needs
provided the starting point for our examination of enlarged reproduction in
an hypothetical socialist society. There the requirements of society could
serve as an adequate basis, since the only purpose of production was the
satisfaction of wants. In a capitalist society, however, the matter is rather
different. What kind of people are we thinking of when we speak of an
increase in the population? There are only two classes of the population
according to Marx’s diagram, the capitalists and the workers. The natural
increase of the former is already catered for by that part of the surplus value
which is consumed inasmuch as it increases in absolute quantity. In any
case, it cannot be the capitalists who consume the remainder, since capitalist
consumption of the entire surplus value would mean a reversion to simple
commodity, as another capitalist or anyone else, provided that he can pay.
Every individual capitalist realises his surplus value in the price of his
commodity, whether he sells it to the worker or to some other buyer. But
this does not hold true from the point of view of the capitalist class as a
whole. The working class in general receives from the capitalist class no
more than an assignment to a determinate part of the social product,
precisely to the extent of the variable capital. The workers buying consumer
goods therefore merely refund to the capitalist class the amount of the
wages they have received, their assignment to the extent of the variable
capital. They cannot return a groat more than that; and if they are in a
position to save in order to make themselves independent as small
entrepreneurs, they may even return less, though this is the exception.
Part of the surplus value is consumed by the capitalist class itself in form of
consumer goods, the money exchanged for these being retained in the
capitalists’ pockets. But who can buy the products incorporating the other,
the capitalised part of the surplus value? Partly the capitalists themselves—
the diagram answers—who need new means of production for the purpose
of expanding production, and partly the new workers who will be needed to
work these new means of production. But that implies a previous capitalist
incentive to enlarge production; if new workers are set to work with new
means of production, there must have been a new demand for the products
which are to be turned out.
Perhaps the answer is that the natural increase of the population creates this
growing demand. In fact, the growth of the population and its needs
provided the starting point for our examination of enlarged reproduction in
an hypothetical socialist society. There the requirements of society could
serve as an adequate basis, since the only purpose of production was the
satisfaction of wants. In a capitalist society, however, the matter is rather
different. What kind of people are we thinking of when we speak of an
increase in the population? There are only two classes of the population
according to Marx’s diagram, the capitalists and the workers. The natural
increase of the former is already catered for by that part of the surplus value
which is consumed inasmuch as it increases in absolute quantity. In any
case, it cannot be the capitalists who consume the remainder, since capitalist
consumption of the entire surplus value would mean a reversion to simple
Page 133
reproduction. That leaves the workers, their class also growing by natural
increase. Yet a capitalist economy is not interested in this increase for its
own sake, as a starting point of growing needs.
The production of consumer goods for Iv and IIv is not an end in itself, as it
would be in a society where the economic system is shaped for the workers
and the satisfaction of their wants. In a capitalist system, Department II
does not produce means of consumption in large quantities simply to keep
the workers of Departments I and II. Quite the contrary: a certain number of
workers in Departments I and II can support themselves in every case
because their labour power is useful under the obtaining conditions of
supply and demand. This means that the starting point of capitalist
production is not a given number of workers and their demands, but that
these factors themselves are constantly fluctuating, ‘dependent variables’ of
the capitalist expectations of profit. The question is therefore whether the
natural increase of the working class also entails a growing effective
demand over and above the variable capital. And that is quite impossible.
The only source of money for the working class in our diagram is the
variable capital which must therefore provide in advance for the natural
increase of the workers. One way or the other: either the older generation
must earn enough to keep their offspring—who cannot, then, count as
additional consumers; or, failing that, the next generation, the young
workers, must turn to work in order to obtain wages and means of
subsistence for themselves—in which case the new working generation is
already included in the number of workers employed. On this count, the
process of accumulation in Marx’s diagram cannot be explained by the
natural increase of the population.
But wait! Even under the sway of capitalism, society does not consist
exclusively of capitalists and wage labourers. Apart from these two classes,
there are a host of other people: the landowners, the salaried employees, the
liberal professions such as doctors, lawyers, artists and scientists. Moreover,
there is the Church and its servants, the Clergy, and finally the State with its
officials and armed forces. All these strata of the population can be counted,
strictly speaking, neither among the capitalist nor among the working class.
Yet society has to feed and support them. Perhaps it is they, these strata
apart from the capitalists and wage labourers, who call forth enlarged
reproduction by their demand. But this seeming solution cannot stand up to
increase. Yet a capitalist economy is not interested in this increase for its
own sake, as a starting point of growing needs.
The production of consumer goods for Iv and IIv is not an end in itself, as it
would be in a society where the economic system is shaped for the workers
and the satisfaction of their wants. In a capitalist system, Department II
does not produce means of consumption in large quantities simply to keep
the workers of Departments I and II. Quite the contrary: a certain number of
workers in Departments I and II can support themselves in every case
because their labour power is useful under the obtaining conditions of
supply and demand. This means that the starting point of capitalist
production is not a given number of workers and their demands, but that
these factors themselves are constantly fluctuating, ‘dependent variables’ of
the capitalist expectations of profit. The question is therefore whether the
natural increase of the working class also entails a growing effective
demand over and above the variable capital. And that is quite impossible.
The only source of money for the working class in our diagram is the
variable capital which must therefore provide in advance for the natural
increase of the workers. One way or the other: either the older generation
must earn enough to keep their offspring—who cannot, then, count as
additional consumers; or, failing that, the next generation, the young
workers, must turn to work in order to obtain wages and means of
subsistence for themselves—in which case the new working generation is
already included in the number of workers employed. On this count, the
process of accumulation in Marx’s diagram cannot be explained by the
natural increase of the population.
But wait! Even under the sway of capitalism, society does not consist
exclusively of capitalists and wage labourers. Apart from these two classes,
there are a host of other people: the landowners, the salaried employees, the
liberal professions such as doctors, lawyers, artists and scientists. Moreover,
there is the Church and its servants, the Clergy, and finally the State with its
officials and armed forces. All these strata of the population can be counted,
strictly speaking, neither among the capitalist nor among the working class.
Yet society has to feed and support them. Perhaps it is they, these strata
apart from the capitalists and wage labourers, who call forth enlarged
reproduction by their demand. But this seeming solution cannot stand up to
Page 134
a closer scrutiny. The landowners must as consumers of rent, i.e. of part of
the surplus value, quite obviously be numbered among the capitalist class;
since we are here concerned with the surplus value in its undivided, primary
form, their consumption is already allowed for in the consumption of the
capitalist class. The liberal professions in most cases obtain their money, i.e.
the assignment to part of the social product, directly or indirectly from the
capitalist class who pay them with bits of their own surplus value. And the
same applies to the Clergy, with the difference only that its members also
obtain their purchasing power in part from the workers, i.e. from wages.
The upkeep of the State, lastly, with its officers and armed forces is borne
by the rates and taxes, which are in their turn levied upon either the surplus
value or the wages. Within the limits of Marx’s diagram there are in fact
only the two sources of income in a society: the labourers’ wages and the
surplus value. All the strata of the population we have mentioned as apart
from the capitalists and the workers, are thus to be taken only for joint
consumers of these two kinds of income. Marx himself rejects any
suggestion that these ‘third persons’ are more than a subterfuge:
‘All members of society not directly engaged in reproduction, with or
without labour, can obtain their share of the annual produce of commodities
—in other words, their articles of consumption ... only out of the hands of
those classes who are the first to handle the product, that is to say,
productive labourers, industrial capitalists, and real estate owners. To that
extent their revenues are substantially derived from wages (of the
productive labourers), profit and ground rent, and appear as indirect
derivations when compared to these primary sources of revenue. But, on the
other hand, the recipients of these revenues, thus indirectly derived, draw
them by grace of their social functions, for instance that of a king, priest,
professor, prostitute, soldier, etc., and they may regard these functions as
the primary sources of their revenue.’[107]
And about the consumers of interest and ground rent as buyers, Marx says:
‘Now, if that portion of the surplus-value of commodities, which the
industrial capitalist yields in the form of ground rent or interest to other
shareholders in the surplus-value, cannot be in the long run converted into
money by the sale of the commodities, then there is an end to the payment
of rent and interest, and the landowners or recipients of interest can no
longer serve in the role of miraculous interlopers, who convert aliquot
the surplus value, quite obviously be numbered among the capitalist class;
since we are here concerned with the surplus value in its undivided, primary
form, their consumption is already allowed for in the consumption of the
capitalist class. The liberal professions in most cases obtain their money, i.e.
the assignment to part of the social product, directly or indirectly from the
capitalist class who pay them with bits of their own surplus value. And the
same applies to the Clergy, with the difference only that its members also
obtain their purchasing power in part from the workers, i.e. from wages.
The upkeep of the State, lastly, with its officers and armed forces is borne
by the rates and taxes, which are in their turn levied upon either the surplus
value or the wages. Within the limits of Marx’s diagram there are in fact
only the two sources of income in a society: the labourers’ wages and the
surplus value. All the strata of the population we have mentioned as apart
from the capitalists and the workers, are thus to be taken only for joint
consumers of these two kinds of income. Marx himself rejects any
suggestion that these ‘third persons’ are more than a subterfuge:
‘All members of society not directly engaged in reproduction, with or
without labour, can obtain their share of the annual produce of commodities
—in other words, their articles of consumption ... only out of the hands of
those classes who are the first to handle the product, that is to say,
productive labourers, industrial capitalists, and real estate owners. To that
extent their revenues are substantially derived from wages (of the
productive labourers), profit and ground rent, and appear as indirect
derivations when compared to these primary sources of revenue. But, on the
other hand, the recipients of these revenues, thus indirectly derived, draw
them by grace of their social functions, for instance that of a king, priest,
professor, prostitute, soldier, etc., and they may regard these functions as
the primary sources of their revenue.’[107]
And about the consumers of interest and ground rent as buyers, Marx says:
‘Now, if that portion of the surplus-value of commodities, which the
industrial capitalist yields in the form of ground rent or interest to other
shareholders in the surplus-value, cannot be in the long run converted into
money by the sale of the commodities, then there is an end to the payment
of rent and interest, and the landowners or recipients of interest can no
longer serve in the role of miraculous interlopers, who convert aliquot
Page 135
portions of the annual reproduction into money by spending their revenue.
The same is true of the expenditure of all so-called unproductive labourers,
State officials, physicians, lawyers, etc., and others who serve economists
as an excuse for explaining inexplicable things, in the role of the ‘general
public’.[108]
Seeing that we cannot discover within capitalist society any buyers
whatever for the commodities in which the accumulated part of the surplus
value is embodied, only one thing is left: foreign trade. But there are a great
many objections to a method that conceives of foreign trade as a convenient
dumping ground for commodities which cannot be found any proper place
in the reproductive process. Recourse to foreign trade really begs the
question: the difficulties implicit in the analysis are simply shifted—quite
unresolved—from one country to another. Yet if the analysis of the
reproductive process actually intends not any single capitalist country but
the capitalist world market, there can be no foreign trade: all countries are
‘home’. This point is made by Marx already in the first volume of Capital,
in connection with accumulation:
‘We here take no account of export trade, by means of which a nation can
change articles of luxury either into means of production or means of
subsistence, and vice versa. In order to examine the object of our
investigation in its integrity, free from all disturbing subsidiary
circumstances, we must treat the whole world as one nation and assume that
capitalist production is everywhere established and has possessed itself of
every branch of industry.’[109]
The same difficulty presents itself if we consider the matter from yet
another aspect. In Marx’s diagram of accumulation we assumed that the
portion of the social surplus value intended for accumulation exists from the
first in a natural form which demands it to be used for capitalisation.
‘In one word, surplus-value is convertible into capital solely because the
surplus-product, whose value it is, already comprises the material elements
of new capital.’[110]
In the figures of our diagram:
The same is true of the expenditure of all so-called unproductive labourers,
State officials, physicians, lawyers, etc., and others who serve economists
as an excuse for explaining inexplicable things, in the role of the ‘general
public’.[108]
Seeing that we cannot discover within capitalist society any buyers
whatever for the commodities in which the accumulated part of the surplus
value is embodied, only one thing is left: foreign trade. But there are a great
many objections to a method that conceives of foreign trade as a convenient
dumping ground for commodities which cannot be found any proper place
in the reproductive process. Recourse to foreign trade really begs the
question: the difficulties implicit in the analysis are simply shifted—quite
unresolved—from one country to another. Yet if the analysis of the
reproductive process actually intends not any single capitalist country but
the capitalist world market, there can be no foreign trade: all countries are
‘home’. This point is made by Marx already in the first volume of Capital,
in connection with accumulation:
‘We here take no account of export trade, by means of which a nation can
change articles of luxury either into means of production or means of
subsistence, and vice versa. In order to examine the object of our
investigation in its integrity, free from all disturbing subsidiary
circumstances, we must treat the whole world as one nation and assume that
capitalist production is everywhere established and has possessed itself of
every branch of industry.’[109]
The same difficulty presents itself if we consider the matter from yet
another aspect. In Marx’s diagram of accumulation we assumed that the
portion of the social surplus value intended for accumulation exists from the
first in a natural form which demands it to be used for capitalisation.
‘In one word, surplus-value is convertible into capital solely because the
surplus-product, whose value it is, already comprises the material elements
of new capital.’[110]
In the figures of our diagram:
Page 136
I. 5,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 7,000means of production
II. 1,430c + 285v + 285s = 2,000means of consumption
Here, a surplus value of 570s can be capitalised because from the very
outset it consists in means of production. To this quantity of producer goods
there correspond besides additional consumer goods to the amount of 114s
so that 684s can be capitalised in all. But the process here assumed of
simply transferring means of production to constant capital on the one hand,
consumer goods to variable capital on the other, in commensurate
quantities, is in contradiction with the very structure of capitalist
commodity production. Whatever natural form the surplus value may have,
there can be no immediate transfer to the place of production for the
purpose of accumulation. It must first be realised, it must be turned into
hard cash.[111]
Of the surplus value in Department I, 500 are fit to be capitalised, but not
until they have first been realised; the surplus value has to shed its natural
form and assume the form of pure value before it can be added to
productive capital. This is true for each individual capitalist and also for the
‘aggregate capitalist’ of society, it being a prime condition for capitalist
production that the surplus value must be realised in the form of pure value.
Accordingly, regarding reproduction from the point of view of society as a
whole—
‘We must not follow the manner copied by Proudhon from bourgeois
economy, which looks upon this matter as though a society with a capitalist
mode of production would lose its specific historical and economic
characteristics by being taken as a unit. Not at all. We have, in that case, to
deal with the aggregate capitalist.’[112]
The surplus value must therefore shed its form as surplus product before it
can re-assume it for the purpose of accumulation; by some means or other it
must first pass through the money stage. So the surplus product of
Departments I and II must be bought—by whom? On the above showing,
there will have to be an effective demand outside I and II, merely in order to
realise the surplus value of the two departments, just so that the surplus
product can be turned to cash. Even then, we should only have got to the
stage where the surplus value has become money. If this realised surplus
value is further to be employed in the process of enlarging reproduction, in
II. 1,430c + 285v + 285s = 2,000means of consumption
Here, a surplus value of 570s can be capitalised because from the very
outset it consists in means of production. To this quantity of producer goods
there correspond besides additional consumer goods to the amount of 114s
so that 684s can be capitalised in all. But the process here assumed of
simply transferring means of production to constant capital on the one hand,
consumer goods to variable capital on the other, in commensurate
quantities, is in contradiction with the very structure of capitalist
commodity production. Whatever natural form the surplus value may have,
there can be no immediate transfer to the place of production for the
purpose of accumulation. It must first be realised, it must be turned into
hard cash.[111]
Of the surplus value in Department I, 500 are fit to be capitalised, but not
until they have first been realised; the surplus value has to shed its natural
form and assume the form of pure value before it can be added to
productive capital. This is true for each individual capitalist and also for the
‘aggregate capitalist’ of society, it being a prime condition for capitalist
production that the surplus value must be realised in the form of pure value.
Accordingly, regarding reproduction from the point of view of society as a
whole—
‘We must not follow the manner copied by Proudhon from bourgeois
economy, which looks upon this matter as though a society with a capitalist
mode of production would lose its specific historical and economic
characteristics by being taken as a unit. Not at all. We have, in that case, to
deal with the aggregate capitalist.’[112]
The surplus value must therefore shed its form as surplus product before it
can re-assume it for the purpose of accumulation; by some means or other it
must first pass through the money stage. So the surplus product of
Departments I and II must be bought—by whom? On the above showing,
there will have to be an effective demand outside I and II, merely in order to
realise the surplus value of the two departments, just so that the surplus
product can be turned to cash. Even then, we should only have got to the
stage where the surplus value has become money. If this realised surplus
value is further to be employed in the process of enlarging reproduction, in
Page 137
accumulation, an even larger demand must be expected for the future, a
demand which is again to come from outside the two departments. Either
the demand for the surplus product will therefore have to increase annually
in accordance with the rate of increase of the accumulated surplus value, or
—vice versa—accumulation can only proceed precisely in so far as the
demand outside I and II is rising.
demand which is again to come from outside the two departments. Either
the demand for the surplus product will therefore have to increase annually
in accordance with the rate of increase of the accumulated surplus value, or
—vice versa—accumulation can only proceed precisely in so far as the
demand outside I and II is rising.
Page 138
CHAPTER VIII
Page 139
MARX’S ATTEMPT TO RESOLVE THE
DIFFICULTY
Complete abstraction from the circulation of money, though making the
process of accumulation so smooth and simple in the diagram of enlarged
reproduction, has great disadvantages of its own, we see. There was much
to be said for this method in the analysis of simple reproduction, where
consumption is the be-all and end-all of production. Money there had an
ephemeral part, mediating the distribution of the social product among the
various groups of consumers—the agent for the renewal of capital. In the
process of accumulation, however, the money form has an essential
function: it no longer serves as a mere agent in the circulation of
commodities—here it has come to be a feature of capital itself, an element
in the circulation of capital. Even if the transformation of the surplus value
is not essential to real reproduction, it is the economic sine qua non of
capitalist accumulation. In the transition from production to reproduction,
the surplus product is thus subjected to two metamorphoses: first it casts off
its use-form and then it assumes a natural form which is fit for the purpose
of accumulation. The point here is not that the different cycles of
production are counted off in units of years. It would be just as well to take
the month; for that matter, the successive transformation of individual
portions of the surplus value in Departments I and II may even intersect in
time. Series of years here do not mean units of time but really intend the
sequence of economic transformations. What matters is that this sequence
must be observed if accumulation is to keep its capitalist character, whether
it extends over a longer or a shorter period of time. This brings us back to
the old question: How, and by whom, is the accumulated surplus value to be
realised?
Marx was well aware that his seemingly water-tight scheme of
accumulation did not cover this point adequately, and he himself kept
reviewing the problem from various angles. What he says is this:
‘It has been shown in volume i, how accumulation works in the case of the
individual capitalist. By the conversion of the commodity-capital into
DIFFICULTY
Complete abstraction from the circulation of money, though making the
process of accumulation so smooth and simple in the diagram of enlarged
reproduction, has great disadvantages of its own, we see. There was much
to be said for this method in the analysis of simple reproduction, where
consumption is the be-all and end-all of production. Money there had an
ephemeral part, mediating the distribution of the social product among the
various groups of consumers—the agent for the renewal of capital. In the
process of accumulation, however, the money form has an essential
function: it no longer serves as a mere agent in the circulation of
commodities—here it has come to be a feature of capital itself, an element
in the circulation of capital. Even if the transformation of the surplus value
is not essential to real reproduction, it is the economic sine qua non of
capitalist accumulation. In the transition from production to reproduction,
the surplus product is thus subjected to two metamorphoses: first it casts off
its use-form and then it assumes a natural form which is fit for the purpose
of accumulation. The point here is not that the different cycles of
production are counted off in units of years. It would be just as well to take
the month; for that matter, the successive transformation of individual
portions of the surplus value in Departments I and II may even intersect in
time. Series of years here do not mean units of time but really intend the
sequence of economic transformations. What matters is that this sequence
must be observed if accumulation is to keep its capitalist character, whether
it extends over a longer or a shorter period of time. This brings us back to
the old question: How, and by whom, is the accumulated surplus value to be
realised?
Marx was well aware that his seemingly water-tight scheme of
accumulation did not cover this point adequately, and he himself kept
reviewing the problem from various angles. What he says is this:
‘It has been shown in volume i, how accumulation works in the case of the
individual capitalist. By the conversion of the commodity-capital into
Page 140
money, the surplus-product, in which the surplus-value is incorporated, is
also monetised. The capitalist reconverts the surplus-value thus monetised
into additional natural elements of his productive capital. In the next cycle
of production the increased capital furnishes an increased product. But what
happens in the case of the individual capital, must also show in the annual
reproduction of society as a whole, just as we have seen it does in the case
of reproduction on a simple scale, where the successive precipitation of the
depreciated elements of fixed capital in the form of money, accumulated as
a hoard, also makes itself felt in the annual reproduction of society.’[113]
He examines the mechanism of accumulation further from this very point of
view, focusing on the fact that surplus value must pass through the money
stage before it is accumulated.
‘For instance, capitalist A, who sells during one year, or during a number of
successive years, certain quantities of commodities produced by him,
thereby converts that portion of the commodities, which bears surplus-
value, the surplus-product, or, in other words, the surplus-value produced
by himself, successively into money, accumulates it gradually, and thus
makes for himself a new potential money-capital. It is potential money-
capital on account of its capacity and destination of being converted into the
elements of productive capital. But practically he merely accumulates a
simple hoard, which is not an element of actual production. His activity for
the time being consists only in withdrawing circulating money out of
circulation. Of course, it is not impossible that the circulating money thus
laid away by him was itself, before it entered into circulation, a portion of
some other hoard.’[114] ‘Money is withdrawn from circulation and
accumulated as a hoard by the sale of commodities without a subsequent
purchase. If this operation is conceived as one taking place universally, then
it seems inexplicable where the buyers are to come from, since in that case
everybody would want to sell in order to hoard, and no one would want to
buy. And it must be so conceived, since every individual capital may be in
process of accumulation.
‘If we were to conceive of the process of circulation as one taking place in a
straight line between the various divisions of annual reproduction—which
would be incorrect as it consists with a few exceptions of mutually
retroactive movements—then we should have to start out from the producer
of gold (or silver) who buys without selling, and to assume that all others
also monetised. The capitalist reconverts the surplus-value thus monetised
into additional natural elements of his productive capital. In the next cycle
of production the increased capital furnishes an increased product. But what
happens in the case of the individual capital, must also show in the annual
reproduction of society as a whole, just as we have seen it does in the case
of reproduction on a simple scale, where the successive precipitation of the
depreciated elements of fixed capital in the form of money, accumulated as
a hoard, also makes itself felt in the annual reproduction of society.’[113]
He examines the mechanism of accumulation further from this very point of
view, focusing on the fact that surplus value must pass through the money
stage before it is accumulated.
‘For instance, capitalist A, who sells during one year, or during a number of
successive years, certain quantities of commodities produced by him,
thereby converts that portion of the commodities, which bears surplus-
value, the surplus-product, or, in other words, the surplus-value produced
by himself, successively into money, accumulates it gradually, and thus
makes for himself a new potential money-capital. It is potential money-
capital on account of its capacity and destination of being converted into the
elements of productive capital. But practically he merely accumulates a
simple hoard, which is not an element of actual production. His activity for
the time being consists only in withdrawing circulating money out of
circulation. Of course, it is not impossible that the circulating money thus
laid away by him was itself, before it entered into circulation, a portion of
some other hoard.’[114] ‘Money is withdrawn from circulation and
accumulated as a hoard by the sale of commodities without a subsequent
purchase. If this operation is conceived as one taking place universally, then
it seems inexplicable where the buyers are to come from, since in that case
everybody would want to sell in order to hoard, and no one would want to
buy. And it must be so conceived, since every individual capital may be in
process of accumulation.
‘If we were to conceive of the process of circulation as one taking place in a
straight line between the various divisions of annual reproduction—which
would be incorrect as it consists with a few exceptions of mutually
retroactive movements—then we should have to start out from the producer
of gold (or silver) who buys without selling, and to assume that all others
Page 141
sell to him. In that case, the entire social surplus-product of the current year
would pass into his hands, representing the entire surplus-value of the year,
and all the other capitalists would distribute among themselves their relative
shares in his surplus-product, which consists naturally of money, gold being
the natural form of his surplus-value. For that portion of the product of the
gold producer, which has to make good his active capital, is already tied up
and disposed of. The surplus-value of the gold producer, in the form of
gold, would then be the only fund from which all other capitalists would
have to derive the material for the conversion of their annual surplus-
product into gold. The magnitude of its value would then have to be equal
to the entire annual surplus-value of society, which must first assume the
guise of a hoard. Absurd as this assumption would be, it would accomplish
nothing more than to explain the possibility of a universal formation of a
hoard at the same period. It would not further reproduction itself, except on
the part of the gold producer, by one single step.
‘Before we solve this seeming difficulty, we must distinguish....’[115]
The obstacle in the way of realising the surplus value which Marx here calls
a ‘seeming difficulty’ nevertheless is important enough for the whole
further discussion in Capital, volume ii, to be concentrated on overcoming
it. As a first attempt, Marx proffers the solution of a hoard which, owing to
the separation of the different individual constant capitals in the process of
circulation, will inevitably be formed in a capitalist system of production.
Inasmuch as different capital investments have different spans of life, and
there is always an interval before the parts of a plant are due for renewal, at
any given moment we may find that one individual capitalist is already
busy renewing his plant, while another is still building up reserves from the
proceeds yielded by the sale of his commodities against the day when he
will have enough to renew his fixed capital.
‘For instance, let A sell 600, representing 400c + 100v + 100s to B, who
may represent more than one buyer. A sells 600 in commodities for 600 in
money, of which 100 are surplus-value which he withdraws from
circulation and hoards in the form of money. But these 100 in money are
but the money-form of the surplus-product in which a value of 100 was
incorporated.’[116]
would pass into his hands, representing the entire surplus-value of the year,
and all the other capitalists would distribute among themselves their relative
shares in his surplus-product, which consists naturally of money, gold being
the natural form of his surplus-value. For that portion of the product of the
gold producer, which has to make good his active capital, is already tied up
and disposed of. The surplus-value of the gold producer, in the form of
gold, would then be the only fund from which all other capitalists would
have to derive the material for the conversion of their annual surplus-
product into gold. The magnitude of its value would then have to be equal
to the entire annual surplus-value of society, which must first assume the
guise of a hoard. Absurd as this assumption would be, it would accomplish
nothing more than to explain the possibility of a universal formation of a
hoard at the same period. It would not further reproduction itself, except on
the part of the gold producer, by one single step.
‘Before we solve this seeming difficulty, we must distinguish....’[115]
The obstacle in the way of realising the surplus value which Marx here calls
a ‘seeming difficulty’ nevertheless is important enough for the whole
further discussion in Capital, volume ii, to be concentrated on overcoming
it. As a first attempt, Marx proffers the solution of a hoard which, owing to
the separation of the different individual constant capitals in the process of
circulation, will inevitably be formed in a capitalist system of production.
Inasmuch as different capital investments have different spans of life, and
there is always an interval before the parts of a plant are due for renewal, at
any given moment we may find that one individual capitalist is already
busy renewing his plant, while another is still building up reserves from the
proceeds yielded by the sale of his commodities against the day when he
will have enough to renew his fixed capital.
‘For instance, let A sell 600, representing 400c + 100v + 100s to B, who
may represent more than one buyer. A sells 600 in commodities for 600 in
money, of which 100 are surplus-value which he withdraws from
circulation and hoards in the form of money. But these 100 in money are
but the money-form of the surplus-product in which a value of 100 was
incorporated.’[116]
Page 142
In order to comprehend the problem in complete purity, Marx here assumes
the whole of the surplus value to be capitalised, for which reason he ignores
altogether that part of the surplus value is used for the capitalists’ personal
consumption; in addition, A´, A´´ and A´´´ as well as B´, B´´ and B´´´ here
belong to Department I.
‘The formation of a hoard, then, is not a production, nor is it an increment
of production. The action of the capitalist consists merely in withdrawing
from circulation 100 obtained by the sale of his surplus-product, in holding
and hoarding this amount. This operation is carried on, not alone on the part
of A, but at numerous points of the periphery of circulation by other
capitalists named A´, A´´, A´´´.... However, A accomplishes the formation
of a hoard only to the extent that he acts as a seller, so far as his surplus-
product is concerned, not as a buyer. His successive production of surplus-
products, the bearers of his surplus-value convertible into money, is
therefore a premise for the formation of his hoard. In the present case,
where we are dealing only with the circulation within Department I, the
natural form of the surplus-product, and of the total product of which it is a
part, is that of an element of constant capital of I, that is to say it belongs to
the category of a means of production creating means of production. We
shall see presently what becomes of it, what function it performs, in the
hands of the buyers such as B, B´, B´´, etc.
‘It must particularly be noted at this point that A, while withdrawing money
from circulation and hoarding it, on the other hand throws commodities into
it without withdrawing other commodities in return. The capitalists, B, B´,
B´´, etc., are thereby enabled to throw only money into it and withdraw
only commodities from it. In the present case, these commodities, according
to their natural form and destination, become a fixed or circulating element
of the constant capital of B, B´, etc.’[117]
There is nothing new about this whole process. Marx had already described
it extensively in connection with simple reproduction, since it alone can
explain how a society is able to renew constant capital under conditions of
capitalist reproduction. How this process can lay the besetting problem of
our analysis of enlarged reproduction is far from self-evident. The difficulty
had been that for the purpose of accumulation, part of the surplus value is
not consumed by the capitalists but added to capital in order to expand
production, giving rise to the question of buyers for this additional product.
the whole of the surplus value to be capitalised, for which reason he ignores
altogether that part of the surplus value is used for the capitalists’ personal
consumption; in addition, A´, A´´ and A´´´ as well as B´, B´´ and B´´´ here
belong to Department I.
‘The formation of a hoard, then, is not a production, nor is it an increment
of production. The action of the capitalist consists merely in withdrawing
from circulation 100 obtained by the sale of his surplus-product, in holding
and hoarding this amount. This operation is carried on, not alone on the part
of A, but at numerous points of the periphery of circulation by other
capitalists named A´, A´´, A´´´.... However, A accomplishes the formation
of a hoard only to the extent that he acts as a seller, so far as his surplus-
product is concerned, not as a buyer. His successive production of surplus-
products, the bearers of his surplus-value convertible into money, is
therefore a premise for the formation of his hoard. In the present case,
where we are dealing only with the circulation within Department I, the
natural form of the surplus-product, and of the total product of which it is a
part, is that of an element of constant capital of I, that is to say it belongs to
the category of a means of production creating means of production. We
shall see presently what becomes of it, what function it performs, in the
hands of the buyers such as B, B´, B´´, etc.
‘It must particularly be noted at this point that A, while withdrawing money
from circulation and hoarding it, on the other hand throws commodities into
it without withdrawing other commodities in return. The capitalists, B, B´,
B´´, etc., are thereby enabled to throw only money into it and withdraw
only commodities from it. In the present case, these commodities, according
to their natural form and destination, become a fixed or circulating element
of the constant capital of B, B´, etc.’[117]
There is nothing new about this whole process. Marx had already described
it extensively in connection with simple reproduction, since it alone can
explain how a society is able to renew constant capital under conditions of
capitalist reproduction. How this process can lay the besetting problem of
our analysis of enlarged reproduction is far from self-evident. The difficulty
had been that for the purpose of accumulation, part of the surplus value is
not consumed by the capitalists but added to capital in order to expand
production, giving rise to the question of buyers for this additional product.
Page 143
The capitalists do not want to consume it and the workers are not able to do
so, their entire consumption being covered in every case by the available
variable capital. Whence the demand for the accumulated surplus value? or,
as Marx would have it: Whence the money to pay for the accumulated
surplus value?
If, by way of answer, we are referred to the process of hoarding attendant
upon the gradual renewal of the constant capital by the individual capitalists
at various times, the connection between these two points remains obscure.
As long as B, B´ and B´´, etc., buy producer goods from their colleagues A,
A´ and A´´ in order to renew their constant capital that has in fact been used
up, the limits of simple reproduction are not transcended, and the whole
thing has nothing to do with our problem. The moment the producer goods
purchased by B, B´, B´´, etc., serve to increase their constant capital,
however, for purposes of accumulation, a number of new questions clamour
for attention. First and foremost where do the B’s get the cash to buy an
additional product from the A’s? The only way they could have made their
money is by sale of their own surplus product. Before they can acquire new
means of production for expanding their enterprises, before they appear as
buyers, that is to say, of the surplus product that is to be accumulated, they
must first have disposed of their own surplus product—in a word, B, B´, B
´´, etc., must have been vendors themselves. But who could have bought
their surplus product? It is obvious that the difficulty is simply shifted from
the A’s to the B’s without having been mastered.
At one stage of the analysis it really does seem for a time as if a solution
were found at last. After a short digression, Marx returns to the main line of
his investigation in the following words:
‘In the present case, this surplus-product consists at the outset of means of
production used in the creation of means of production. It is not until it
reaches the hands of B, B´, B´´, etc., (I), that this surplus-product serves as
an additional constant capital. But it is virtually that even in the hands of the
accumulators of hoards, the capitalists A, A´, A´´, (I), before it is sold. If we
consider merely the volume of values of the reproduction on the part of I,
then we are still moving within the limits of simple reproduction, for no
additional capital has been set in motion for the purpose of creating this
virtual additional capital (the surplus-product), nor has any greater amount
of surplus-labour been performed than that done on the basis of simple
so, their entire consumption being covered in every case by the available
variable capital. Whence the demand for the accumulated surplus value? or,
as Marx would have it: Whence the money to pay for the accumulated
surplus value?
If, by way of answer, we are referred to the process of hoarding attendant
upon the gradual renewal of the constant capital by the individual capitalists
at various times, the connection between these two points remains obscure.
As long as B, B´ and B´´, etc., buy producer goods from their colleagues A,
A´ and A´´ in order to renew their constant capital that has in fact been used
up, the limits of simple reproduction are not transcended, and the whole
thing has nothing to do with our problem. The moment the producer goods
purchased by B, B´, B´´, etc., serve to increase their constant capital,
however, for purposes of accumulation, a number of new questions clamour
for attention. First and foremost where do the B’s get the cash to buy an
additional product from the A’s? The only way they could have made their
money is by sale of their own surplus product. Before they can acquire new
means of production for expanding their enterprises, before they appear as
buyers, that is to say, of the surplus product that is to be accumulated, they
must first have disposed of their own surplus product—in a word, B, B´, B
´´, etc., must have been vendors themselves. But who could have bought
their surplus product? It is obvious that the difficulty is simply shifted from
the A’s to the B’s without having been mastered.
At one stage of the analysis it really does seem for a time as if a solution
were found at last. After a short digression, Marx returns to the main line of
his investigation in the following words:
‘In the present case, this surplus-product consists at the outset of means of
production used in the creation of means of production. It is not until it
reaches the hands of B, B´, B´´, etc., (I), that this surplus-product serves as
an additional constant capital. But it is virtually that even in the hands of the
accumulators of hoards, the capitalists A, A´, A´´, (I), before it is sold. If we
consider merely the volume of values of the reproduction on the part of I,
then we are still moving within the limits of simple reproduction, for no
additional capital has been set in motion for the purpose of creating this
virtual additional capital (the surplus-product), nor has any greater amount
of surplus-labour been performed than that done on the basis of simple
Page 144
reproduction. The difference is here only one of the form of the surplus-
labour performed, of the concrete nature of its particularly useful service. It
is expended in means of production for Department Ic instead of IIc, in
means of production of means of production instead of means of production
of articles of consumption. In the case of simple reproduction it had been
assumed that the entire surplus-value was spent as revenue in the
commodities of II. Hence it consisted only of such means of production as
restore the constant capital of IIc in its natural form. In order that the
transition from simple to expanded reproduction may take place, the
production in Department I must be enabled to create fewer elements for
the constant capital of II and more for that of I.... Considering the matter
merely from the point of view of the volume of values, it follows, then, that
the material requirements of expanded reproduction are produced within
simple reproduction. It is simply a question of the expenditure of the
surplus-labour of the working class of I for the production of means of
production, the creation of virtual additional capital of I. The virtual
additional money-capital, created on the part of A, A´, A´´, by the
successive sale of their surplus-product, which was formed without any
capitalist expenditure of money, is in this case simply the money-form of
the additional means of production made by I.’[118]
On this interpretation, the difficulty seems to dissolve into thin air at our
touch. Accumulation requires no new sources of money at all. Before, when
the capitalists themselves consumed their surplus value, they had to have a
corresponding money reserve in hand, the analysis of simple reproduction
already having proved that the capitalist class must itself put into circulation
the money needed for the realisation of their surplus value. Now, instead of
consumer goods, the capitalist class, or rather B, B´, and B´´, buy an
equivalent amount of means of production in order to expand their
production. In this way, money to the same value is accumulated in the
hands of the other capitalist group, viz. A, A´, A´´, etc.
‘This hoarding ... does not in any way imply an addition to the wealth in
precious metals, but only a change of function on the part of money
previously circulating. A while ago it served as a medium of circulation,
now it serves as a hoard, as a virtual additional money-capital in process of
formation.’[119]
labour performed, of the concrete nature of its particularly useful service. It
is expended in means of production for Department Ic instead of IIc, in
means of production of means of production instead of means of production
of articles of consumption. In the case of simple reproduction it had been
assumed that the entire surplus-value was spent as revenue in the
commodities of II. Hence it consisted only of such means of production as
restore the constant capital of IIc in its natural form. In order that the
transition from simple to expanded reproduction may take place, the
production in Department I must be enabled to create fewer elements for
the constant capital of II and more for that of I.... Considering the matter
merely from the point of view of the volume of values, it follows, then, that
the material requirements of expanded reproduction are produced within
simple reproduction. It is simply a question of the expenditure of the
surplus-labour of the working class of I for the production of means of
production, the creation of virtual additional capital of I. The virtual
additional money-capital, created on the part of A, A´, A´´, by the
successive sale of their surplus-product, which was formed without any
capitalist expenditure of money, is in this case simply the money-form of
the additional means of production made by I.’[118]
On this interpretation, the difficulty seems to dissolve into thin air at our
touch. Accumulation requires no new sources of money at all. Before, when
the capitalists themselves consumed their surplus value, they had to have a
corresponding money reserve in hand, the analysis of simple reproduction
already having proved that the capitalist class must itself put into circulation
the money needed for the realisation of their surplus value. Now, instead of
consumer goods, the capitalist class, or rather B, B´, and B´´, buy an
equivalent amount of means of production in order to expand their
production. In this way, money to the same value is accumulated in the
hands of the other capitalist group, viz. A, A´, A´´, etc.
‘This hoarding ... does not in any way imply an addition to the wealth in
precious metals, but only a change of function on the part of money
previously circulating. A while ago it served as a medium of circulation,
now it serves as a hoard, as a virtual additional money-capital in process of
formation.’[119]
Page 145
And that is that! Yet this way out of the difficulty is open to us only on one
condition, and that is not far to seek: Marx here takes accumulation in its
first rudiments, in statu nascendi, as it begins to evolve from simple
reproduction. In respect of the amount of value, production is not yet
enlarged, it has only been rearranged so that its material elements are
grouped in a different way. That the sources of money also seem adequate is
therefore not surprising. This solution, however, is only true for one specific
moment, the period of transition from simple reproduction to enlarged
reproduction—in short, a moment that has no reference to reality and can
only be conceived speculatively. Once accumulation has been established
for some time, when increasing amounts of value are thrown upon the
market in every period of production, buyers for these additional values
cannot fail to become a problem. And on this point the proffered solution
breaks down. For that matter, it was never more than a seeming solution,
not a real one. On closer scrutiny, it fails us even at the precise instant it
appears to have smoothed the way for us. For if we take accumulation just
at the very moment of its emergence from simple reproduction, the prime
condition it demands is a decrease in the consumption of the capitalist class.
No sooner have we discovered a way to expand reproduction with the
means of circulation already at hand, than we find previous consumers
trickling away at the same rate. What, then, is the good of expanding
production; who is there able to buy from B, B´ and B´´ this increased
amount of products which they could turn out only by denying themselves
the money they need for buying new means of production from A, A´ and A
´´?
That solution, we see, was a mere illusion—the difficulty still persists.
Marx himself at once re-opens the question where B, B´ and B´´ get the
money to buy the surplus product of A, A´ and A´´.
‘To the extent that the products created by B, B´, B´´, etc., (I) re-enter in
their natural form into their own process, it goes without saying that a
corresponding portion of their own surplus-product is transferred directly
(without any intervention of circulation) to their productive capital and
becomes an element of additional constant capital. To the same extent they
do not help to convert any surplus-product of A, A´, A´´ etc., (I) into money.
Aside from this, where does the money come from? We know that they
have formed their hoard in the same way as A, A´, etc., by the sale of their
condition, and that is not far to seek: Marx here takes accumulation in its
first rudiments, in statu nascendi, as it begins to evolve from simple
reproduction. In respect of the amount of value, production is not yet
enlarged, it has only been rearranged so that its material elements are
grouped in a different way. That the sources of money also seem adequate is
therefore not surprising. This solution, however, is only true for one specific
moment, the period of transition from simple reproduction to enlarged
reproduction—in short, a moment that has no reference to reality and can
only be conceived speculatively. Once accumulation has been established
for some time, when increasing amounts of value are thrown upon the
market in every period of production, buyers for these additional values
cannot fail to become a problem. And on this point the proffered solution
breaks down. For that matter, it was never more than a seeming solution,
not a real one. On closer scrutiny, it fails us even at the precise instant it
appears to have smoothed the way for us. For if we take accumulation just
at the very moment of its emergence from simple reproduction, the prime
condition it demands is a decrease in the consumption of the capitalist class.
No sooner have we discovered a way to expand reproduction with the
means of circulation already at hand, than we find previous consumers
trickling away at the same rate. What, then, is the good of expanding
production; who is there able to buy from B, B´ and B´´ this increased
amount of products which they could turn out only by denying themselves
the money they need for buying new means of production from A, A´ and A
´´?
That solution, we see, was a mere illusion—the difficulty still persists.
Marx himself at once re-opens the question where B, B´ and B´´ get the
money to buy the surplus product of A, A´ and A´´.
‘To the extent that the products created by B, B´, B´´, etc., (I) re-enter in
their natural form into their own process, it goes without saying that a
corresponding portion of their own surplus-product is transferred directly
(without any intervention of circulation) to their productive capital and
becomes an element of additional constant capital. To the same extent they
do not help to convert any surplus-product of A, A´, A´´ etc., (I) into money.
Aside from this, where does the money come from? We know that they
have formed their hoard in the same way as A, A´, etc., by the sale of their
Page 146
respective surplus-products. Now they have arrived at the point where their
accumulated hoard of virtual money-capital is to enter effectually upon its
function as additional money-capital. But this is merely turning around in a
circle. The question still remains: Where does the money come from, which
the various B’s (I) withdrew from the circulation and accumulated?’[120]
His prompt reply again seems surprisingly simple: ‘Now we know from the
analysis of simple reproduction, that the capitalists of I and II must have a
certain amount of ready money in their hands, in order to be able to dispose
of their surplus-products. In that case, the money which served only for the
spending of revenue in articles of consumption returned to the capitalists in
the same measure in which they advanced it for the purpose of disposing of
their commodities. Here the same money reappears, but in a different
function. The A’s and B’s supply one another alternately with the money for
converting their surplus-product into virtual additional capital, and throw
the newly formed money-capital alternately into circulation as a medium of
purchase.’[121]
That is harking back to simple reproduction all over again. It is quite true,
of course, that the capitalists A and the capitalists B are constantly
accumulating a hoard of money bit by bit so as to be able to renew their
constant (fixed) capital from time to time, and in this way they really are
assisting one another in realising their products. Yet this accumulating
hoard does not drop from the clouds—it is simply a natural precipitation of
the fixed capital that is (in terms of value) continually being transferred in
instalments to the products which are then one by one realised in the
process of sale. Owing to its very nature, the accumulated hoard can only
cover the renewal of the old capital; there cannot possibly be enough to
serve further for purchasing additional constant capital. That means that we
are still within the limits of simple reproduction. Perhaps, though, that part
of the medium of circulation which hitherto served the capitalists for their
personal consumption, and is now to be capitalised, becomes a new source
of additional money? For that to be true, however, we should have to be
back at the unique and fleeting moment that has no more than theoretical
existence—the period of transition from simple to enlarged reproduction.
Beyond this gap accumulation cannot proceed—we are in truth going round
in circles.
accumulated hoard of virtual money-capital is to enter effectually upon its
function as additional money-capital. But this is merely turning around in a
circle. The question still remains: Where does the money come from, which
the various B’s (I) withdrew from the circulation and accumulated?’[120]
His prompt reply again seems surprisingly simple: ‘Now we know from the
analysis of simple reproduction, that the capitalists of I and II must have a
certain amount of ready money in their hands, in order to be able to dispose
of their surplus-products. In that case, the money which served only for the
spending of revenue in articles of consumption returned to the capitalists in
the same measure in which they advanced it for the purpose of disposing of
their commodities. Here the same money reappears, but in a different
function. The A’s and B’s supply one another alternately with the money for
converting their surplus-product into virtual additional capital, and throw
the newly formed money-capital alternately into circulation as a medium of
purchase.’[121]
That is harking back to simple reproduction all over again. It is quite true,
of course, that the capitalists A and the capitalists B are constantly
accumulating a hoard of money bit by bit so as to be able to renew their
constant (fixed) capital from time to time, and in this way they really are
assisting one another in realising their products. Yet this accumulating
hoard does not drop from the clouds—it is simply a natural precipitation of
the fixed capital that is (in terms of value) continually being transferred in
instalments to the products which are then one by one realised in the
process of sale. Owing to its very nature, the accumulated hoard can only
cover the renewal of the old capital; there cannot possibly be enough to
serve further for purchasing additional constant capital. That means that we
are still within the limits of simple reproduction. Perhaps, though, that part
of the medium of circulation which hitherto served the capitalists for their
personal consumption, and is now to be capitalised, becomes a new source
of additional money? For that to be true, however, we should have to be
back at the unique and fleeting moment that has no more than theoretical
existence—the period of transition from simple to enlarged reproduction.
Beyond this gap accumulation cannot proceed—we are in truth going round
in circles.
Page 147
So the capitalist hoarding will not do as a way out of our difficulties. This
conclusion should not come as a surprise, since the very exposition of the
difficulty was misleading. It is not the source of money that constitutes the
problem of accumulation, but the source of the demand for the additional
goods produced by the capitalised surplus value; not a technical hitch in the
circulation of money but an economic problem pertaining to the
reproduction of the total social capital. Quite apart from the question which
had claimed Marx’s entire attention so far, namely where B, B´, etc., (I), get
the money to buy additional means of production from A, A´, etc., (I),
successful accumulation will inevitably have to face a far more serious
problem: to whom can B, B´, etc., now sell their increased surplus-product?
Marx finally makes them sell their products to one another:
‘It may be that the different B, B´, B´´, etc., (I), whose virtual new capital
enters upon its active function, are compelled to buy from one another their
product (portions of their surplus-product) or to sell it to one another. In that
case, the money advanced by them for the circulation of their surplus-
product flows back under normal conditions to the different B’s in the same
proportion in which they advanced it for the circulation of their respective
commodities.’[122]
‘In that case’—the problem simply has not been solved, for after all B, B´,
and B´´ have not cut down on their consumption and expanded their
production just so as to buy each other’s increased product, i.e. means of
production. Even that, incidentally, would only be possible to a very limited
extent. Marx assumes a certain division of labour in Department I itself: the
A’s turn out means of production for making producer goods and the B’s
means of production for making consumer goods, which is as much as to
say that, though the product of A, A´, etc., need never leave Department I,
the product of B, B´, etc., is by its natural form predestined from the first
for Department II. Already the accumulation of B, B´, etc., it follows, must
lead us to circulation between Departments I and II. Thus Marx’s analysis
itself confirms that, if Department I is to accumulate, the department for
means of consumption must, in the last resort, increase its immediate or
mediate demand for means of production, and so it is to Department II and
its capitalists that we must look for buyers for the additional product turned
out by Department I.
conclusion should not come as a surprise, since the very exposition of the
difficulty was misleading. It is not the source of money that constitutes the
problem of accumulation, but the source of the demand for the additional
goods produced by the capitalised surplus value; not a technical hitch in the
circulation of money but an economic problem pertaining to the
reproduction of the total social capital. Quite apart from the question which
had claimed Marx’s entire attention so far, namely where B, B´, etc., (I), get
the money to buy additional means of production from A, A´, etc., (I),
successful accumulation will inevitably have to face a far more serious
problem: to whom can B, B´, etc., now sell their increased surplus-product?
Marx finally makes them sell their products to one another:
‘It may be that the different B, B´, B´´, etc., (I), whose virtual new capital
enters upon its active function, are compelled to buy from one another their
product (portions of their surplus-product) or to sell it to one another. In that
case, the money advanced by them for the circulation of their surplus-
product flows back under normal conditions to the different B’s in the same
proportion in which they advanced it for the circulation of their respective
commodities.’[122]
‘In that case’—the problem simply has not been solved, for after all B, B´,
and B´´ have not cut down on their consumption and expanded their
production just so as to buy each other’s increased product, i.e. means of
production. Even that, incidentally, would only be possible to a very limited
extent. Marx assumes a certain division of labour in Department I itself: the
A’s turn out means of production for making producer goods and the B’s
means of production for making consumer goods, which is as much as to
say that, though the product of A, A´, etc., need never leave Department I,
the product of B, B´, etc., is by its natural form predestined from the first
for Department II. Already the accumulation of B, B´, etc., it follows, must
lead us to circulation between Departments I and II. Thus Marx’s analysis
itself confirms that, if Department I is to accumulate, the department for
means of consumption must, in the last resort, increase its immediate or
mediate demand for means of production, and so it is to Department II and
its capitalists that we must look for buyers for the additional product turned
out by Department I.
Page 148
Sure enough, Marx’s second attack on the problem takes up from there: the
demand of capitalists in Department II for additional means of production.
Such a demand inevitably implies that the constant capital IIc is in process
of expanding. This is where the difficulty becomes truly formidable:
‘Take it now that A(I) converts his surplus-product into gold by selling it to
a capitalist B in Department II. This can be done only by the sale of means
of production on the part of A(I) to B(II) without a subsequent purchase of
articles of consumption, in other words, only by a one-sided sale on A’s
part. Now we have seen that IIc cannot be converted into the natural form
of productive constant capital unless not only Iv but also at least a portion
of Is, is exchanged for a portion of IIc, which IIc exists in the form of
articles of consumption. But now that A has converted his Is into gold by
making this exchange impossible and withdrawing the money obtained
from IIc out of circulation, instead of spending it for articles of
consumption of IIc, there is indeed on the part of A(I) a formation of
additional virtual money-capital, but on the other hand there is a
corresponding portion of the value of the constant capital B(II) held in the
form of commodity-capital, unable to transform itself into natural
productive constant capital. In other words, a portion of the commodities of
B(II), and at that a portion which must be sold if he wishes to reconvert his
entire constant capital into its productive form, has become unsaleable. To
that extent, there is an over-production which clogs reproduction, even on
the same scale.’[123]
Department I’s efforts to accumulate by selling its additional product to
Department II have met with an unlooked-for result: a deficit for the
capitalists of Department II serious enough to prevent even simple
reproduction on the old scale.
Having got to this crucial point, Marx seeks to lay bare the root of the
problem by a careful and detailed exposition:
‘Let us now take a closer look at the accumulation in Department II. The
first difficulty with reference to IIc, that is to say the conversion of an
element of the commodity-capital of II into the natural form of constant
capital of II, concerns simple reproduction. Let us take the formula
previously used. (1,000v + 1,000s) I are exchanged for 2,000 IIc. Now, if
one half of the surplus-product of I, or 500s, is reincorporated in
demand of capitalists in Department II for additional means of production.
Such a demand inevitably implies that the constant capital IIc is in process
of expanding. This is where the difficulty becomes truly formidable:
‘Take it now that A(I) converts his surplus-product into gold by selling it to
a capitalist B in Department II. This can be done only by the sale of means
of production on the part of A(I) to B(II) without a subsequent purchase of
articles of consumption, in other words, only by a one-sided sale on A’s
part. Now we have seen that IIc cannot be converted into the natural form
of productive constant capital unless not only Iv but also at least a portion
of Is, is exchanged for a portion of IIc, which IIc exists in the form of
articles of consumption. But now that A has converted his Is into gold by
making this exchange impossible and withdrawing the money obtained
from IIc out of circulation, instead of spending it for articles of
consumption of IIc, there is indeed on the part of A(I) a formation of
additional virtual money-capital, but on the other hand there is a
corresponding portion of the value of the constant capital B(II) held in the
form of commodity-capital, unable to transform itself into natural
productive constant capital. In other words, a portion of the commodities of
B(II), and at that a portion which must be sold if he wishes to reconvert his
entire constant capital into its productive form, has become unsaleable. To
that extent, there is an over-production which clogs reproduction, even on
the same scale.’[123]
Department I’s efforts to accumulate by selling its additional product to
Department II have met with an unlooked-for result: a deficit for the
capitalists of Department II serious enough to prevent even simple
reproduction on the old scale.
Having got to this crucial point, Marx seeks to lay bare the root of the
problem by a careful and detailed exposition:
‘Let us now take a closer look at the accumulation in Department II. The
first difficulty with reference to IIc, that is to say the conversion of an
element of the commodity-capital of II into the natural form of constant
capital of II, concerns simple reproduction. Let us take the formula
previously used. (1,000v + 1,000s) I are exchanged for 2,000 IIc. Now, if
one half of the surplus-product of I, or 500s, is reincorporated in
Page 149
Department I as constant capital, then this portion, being detained in
Department I, cannot take the place of any portion of IIc. Instead of being
converted into articles of consumption, it is made to serve as an additional
means of production in Department I itself.... It cannot perform this
function simultaneously in I and II. The capitalist cannot spend the value of
his surplus-product for articles of consumption, and at the same time
consume the surplus-product itself productively, by incorporating it in his
productive capital. Instead of 2,000 I(v + s), only 1,500 are exchangeable
for 2,000 IIc, namely 1,000v + 500s of I. But 500 Ic cannot, be reconverted
from the form of commodities into productive constant capital of II.’[124]
By now, hardly anybody could fail to be convinced that the difficulty is
real, but we have not taken a single step nearer a solution. This,
incidentally, is where Marx has to do penance for his ill-advised continual
recourse in an earlier over-simplification, to a fictitious moment of
transition—in order in elucidate the problem of accumulation—from simple
reproduction to enlarged reproduction, making his major premise
accumulation at its very inception, in its feeble infancy instead its vigorous
stride. There was something to be said, at least, for this fiction, so long as it
was just a question of accumulation within Department I. The capitalists of
Department I, who denied themselves part of what they had been wont to
consume, at once had a new hoard of money in hand with which they could
start capitalisation. But when it comes to Department II, the same fiction
only piles on the difficulties. The ‘abstinence’ of the capitalists in
Department I here finds expression in a painful loss of consumers for whose
expected demand production had largely been calculated. Since the
capitalists of Department II, on whom we tried the experiment whether they
might not possibly be the long-sought buyers of the additional product of
accumulation in Department I, are themselves in sore straits—not knowing
as yet where to go with their own unsold product—they are even less likely
to be of any help to us. There is no shutting our eyes to the fact that an
attempt to make one group of capitalists accumulate at the expense of the
other is bound to get involved in glaring inconsistencies.
Yet another attempt to get round the difficulty is subsequently mentioned by
Marx who at once rejects it as a subterfuge. The unmarketable surplus value
in Department II that is the result of accumulation in Department I might be
considered a reserve of commodities the society is going to need in the
Department I, cannot take the place of any portion of IIc. Instead of being
converted into articles of consumption, it is made to serve as an additional
means of production in Department I itself.... It cannot perform this
function simultaneously in I and II. The capitalist cannot spend the value of
his surplus-product for articles of consumption, and at the same time
consume the surplus-product itself productively, by incorporating it in his
productive capital. Instead of 2,000 I(v + s), only 1,500 are exchangeable
for 2,000 IIc, namely 1,000v + 500s of I. But 500 Ic cannot, be reconverted
from the form of commodities into productive constant capital of II.’[124]
By now, hardly anybody could fail to be convinced that the difficulty is
real, but we have not taken a single step nearer a solution. This,
incidentally, is where Marx has to do penance for his ill-advised continual
recourse in an earlier over-simplification, to a fictitious moment of
transition—in order in elucidate the problem of accumulation—from simple
reproduction to enlarged reproduction, making his major premise
accumulation at its very inception, in its feeble infancy instead its vigorous
stride. There was something to be said, at least, for this fiction, so long as it
was just a question of accumulation within Department I. The capitalists of
Department I, who denied themselves part of what they had been wont to
consume, at once had a new hoard of money in hand with which they could
start capitalisation. But when it comes to Department II, the same fiction
only piles on the difficulties. The ‘abstinence’ of the capitalists in
Department I here finds expression in a painful loss of consumers for whose
expected demand production had largely been calculated. Since the
capitalists of Department II, on whom we tried the experiment whether they
might not possibly be the long-sought buyers of the additional product of
accumulation in Department I, are themselves in sore straits—not knowing
as yet where to go with their own unsold product—they are even less likely
to be of any help to us. There is no shutting our eyes to the fact that an
attempt to make one group of capitalists accumulate at the expense of the
other is bound to get involved in glaring inconsistencies.
Yet another attempt to get round the difficulty is subsequently mentioned by
Marx who at once rejects it as a subterfuge. The unmarketable surplus value
in Department II that is the result of accumulation in Department I might be
considered a reserve of commodities the society is going to need in the
Page 150
course of the following year. This interpretation Marx counters with his
usual thoroughness:
‘(1) ... the forming of such supplies and the necessity for it applies to all
capitalists, those of I as well as of II. Considering them in their capacity as
sellers of commodities, they differ only by the fact that they sell different
kinds of commodities. A supply of commodities of II implies a previous
supply of commodities of I. If we neglect this supply on the one side, we
must also do so on the other. But if we count them in on both sides, the
problem is not altered in any way. (2) Just as this year closes on the side of
II with a supply of commodities for the next year, so it was opened by a
supply of commodities on the same side, taken over from last year. In the
analysis of annual reproduction, reduced to its abstract form, we must
therefore strike it out at both ends. By leaving this year in possession of its
entire production, including the supply held for next year, we take from it
the supply of commodities transferred from last year, and thus we have
actually to deal with the aggregate product of an average year as the object
of our analysis. (3) The simple circumstance that the difficulty which must
be overcome did not show itself in the analysis of simple reproduction
proves that it is a specific phenomenon due merely to the different
arrangement of the elements of Department I with a view to reproduction,
an arrangement without which reproduction on an expanded scale cannot
take place at all.’[125]
The last remark, be it noted, is equally damaging to his own earlier attempt
at resolving the specific difficulties of accumulation by moments pertaining
to simple reproduction, viz. the formation of a hoard consequent upon the
gradual turnover of the fixed capital in the hands of the capitalists which
was previously adduced as the explanation of accumulation in Department
I.
Marx then proceeds to set out enlarged reproduction in the form of
diagrams. But no sooner does he begin to analyse his diagram, than the
same difficulty crops up anew in a slightly different guise. Assuming that
the capitalists of Department II must for their part convert 140s into
constant capital so as to make accumulation possible for the others, he asks:
‘Therefore Department II must buy 140s for cash without recovering this
money by a subsequent sale of its commodities to I. And this is a process
usual thoroughness:
‘(1) ... the forming of such supplies and the necessity for it applies to all
capitalists, those of I as well as of II. Considering them in their capacity as
sellers of commodities, they differ only by the fact that they sell different
kinds of commodities. A supply of commodities of II implies a previous
supply of commodities of I. If we neglect this supply on the one side, we
must also do so on the other. But if we count them in on both sides, the
problem is not altered in any way. (2) Just as this year closes on the side of
II with a supply of commodities for the next year, so it was opened by a
supply of commodities on the same side, taken over from last year. In the
analysis of annual reproduction, reduced to its abstract form, we must
therefore strike it out at both ends. By leaving this year in possession of its
entire production, including the supply held for next year, we take from it
the supply of commodities transferred from last year, and thus we have
actually to deal with the aggregate product of an average year as the object
of our analysis. (3) The simple circumstance that the difficulty which must
be overcome did not show itself in the analysis of simple reproduction
proves that it is a specific phenomenon due merely to the different
arrangement of the elements of Department I with a view to reproduction,
an arrangement without which reproduction on an expanded scale cannot
take place at all.’[125]
The last remark, be it noted, is equally damaging to his own earlier attempt
at resolving the specific difficulties of accumulation by moments pertaining
to simple reproduction, viz. the formation of a hoard consequent upon the
gradual turnover of the fixed capital in the hands of the capitalists which
was previously adduced as the explanation of accumulation in Department
I.
Marx then proceeds to set out enlarged reproduction in the form of
diagrams. But no sooner does he begin to analyse his diagram, than the
same difficulty crops up anew in a slightly different guise. Assuming that
the capitalists of Department II must for their part convert 140s into
constant capital so as to make accumulation possible for the others, he asks:
‘Therefore Department II must buy 140s for cash without recovering this
money by a subsequent sale of its commodities to I. And this is a process
Page 151
which is continually repeated in every new annual production, so far as it is
reproduction on an enlarged scale. Where does II get the money for
this?’[126]
In the following, Marx tries out various approaches in order to discover this
source. First the expenditure on variable capital by the capitalists in
Department II is closely scrutinised. True, it exists in the form of money;
but its proper function is the purchase of labour power, and it cannot
possibly be withdrawn and made to serve, maybe, for purchasing additional
means of production.
‘This continually repeated departure from and return to the starting point,
the pocket of the capitalist, does not add in any way to the money moving
in this cycle. This, then, is not a source of the accumulation of money.’[127]
Marx then considers all conceivable dodges, only to show them up as
evading the issue.
‘But stop!’ he exclaims. ‘Isn’t there a chance to make a little profit?’[127]
He considers whether the capitalists could not manage to save a little of the
variable capital by depressing the wages of the workers below the normal
average and thus to tap a new source of money for accumulation. A mere
flick of his fingers, of course, disposes of this notion:
‘But it must not be forgotten that the wages actually paid (which determine
the magnitude of the variable capital under normal conditions) do not
depend on the benevolence of the capitalists, but must be paid under certain
conditions. This does away with this expedient as a source of additional
money.’[127]
He even explores what hidden methods there may be of ‘saving’ on the
variable capital, such as the truck system, frauds, etc., only to comment
finally: ‘This is the same operation as under (1), only disguised and carried
out by a detour. Therefore it must likewise be rejected as an explanation of
the present problem.’[128]
All efforts to make the variable capital yield a new source of money for the
purpose of accumulation are thus unrewarded: ‘In short, we cannot
accomplish anything with 376 IIv for the solution of this question.’[128]
reproduction on an enlarged scale. Where does II get the money for
this?’[126]
In the following, Marx tries out various approaches in order to discover this
source. First the expenditure on variable capital by the capitalists in
Department II is closely scrutinised. True, it exists in the form of money;
but its proper function is the purchase of labour power, and it cannot
possibly be withdrawn and made to serve, maybe, for purchasing additional
means of production.
‘This continually repeated departure from and return to the starting point,
the pocket of the capitalist, does not add in any way to the money moving
in this cycle. This, then, is not a source of the accumulation of money.’[127]
Marx then considers all conceivable dodges, only to show them up as
evading the issue.
‘But stop!’ he exclaims. ‘Isn’t there a chance to make a little profit?’[127]
He considers whether the capitalists could not manage to save a little of the
variable capital by depressing the wages of the workers below the normal
average and thus to tap a new source of money for accumulation. A mere
flick of his fingers, of course, disposes of this notion:
‘But it must not be forgotten that the wages actually paid (which determine
the magnitude of the variable capital under normal conditions) do not
depend on the benevolence of the capitalists, but must be paid under certain
conditions. This does away with this expedient as a source of additional
money.’[127]
He even explores what hidden methods there may be of ‘saving’ on the
variable capital, such as the truck system, frauds, etc., only to comment
finally: ‘This is the same operation as under (1), only disguised and carried
out by a detour. Therefore it must likewise be rejected as an explanation of
the present problem.’[128]
All efforts to make the variable capital yield a new source of money for the
purpose of accumulation are thus unrewarded: ‘In short, we cannot
accomplish anything with 376 IIv for the solution of this question.’[128]
Page 152
Marx next turns to the cash reserves which the capitalists in Department II
keep for the circulation of their own consumption and investigates whether
none of this money can be diverted to the purposes of capitalisation. Yet
this, he allows, is ‘still more impossible’.
‘Here the capitalists of the same department are standing face to face,
heavily buying and selling their articles of consumption. The money
required for these transactions serves only as a medium of circulation and
must flow back to the interested parties in the normal course of things, to
the extent that they have advanced it to the circulation, in order to pass
again and again over the same course.’[129]
The next attempt to follow belongs, as was to have been expected, to the
category of those ‘subterfuges’ which Marx ruthlessly refutes: the attempt
to explain that money-capital can be formed in the hands of one capitalist
group in Department II by defrauding the other capitalists within the same
department—viz. in the process of the mutual selling of consumer goods.
No time need be wasted on this little effort.
Then comes a more sober proposition: ‘Or, a certain portion of IIs,
represented by necessities of life, might be directly converted into new
variable capital of Department II.’[130]
It is not quite clear how this can help us over the hurdle, help to get
accumulation going. For one thing, the formation of additional variable
capital in Department II is not much use if we have no additional constant
capital for this department, being in fact engaged on the task of finding it.
For another thing, our present concern is to see if we can find in
Department II a source of money for the purchase of additional means of
production from I, and Department II’s problem how to place its own
additional product in some way or other in the process of production is
beside the point. Further, is the implication that the respective consumer
goods should be used ‘direct’, i.e. without the mediation of money, in the
production of Department II, so that the corresponding amount of money
can be diverted from variable capital to the purpose of accumulation? If so,
we could not accept the solution. Under normal conditions of capitalist
production, the remuneration of the workers by consumer goods direct is
precluded, one of the corner-stones of capitalist economy being the money-
form of the variable capital, the independent transaction between the worker
keep for the circulation of their own consumption and investigates whether
none of this money can be diverted to the purposes of capitalisation. Yet
this, he allows, is ‘still more impossible’.
‘Here the capitalists of the same department are standing face to face,
heavily buying and selling their articles of consumption. The money
required for these transactions serves only as a medium of circulation and
must flow back to the interested parties in the normal course of things, to
the extent that they have advanced it to the circulation, in order to pass
again and again over the same course.’[129]
The next attempt to follow belongs, as was to have been expected, to the
category of those ‘subterfuges’ which Marx ruthlessly refutes: the attempt
to explain that money-capital can be formed in the hands of one capitalist
group in Department II by defrauding the other capitalists within the same
department—viz. in the process of the mutual selling of consumer goods.
No time need be wasted on this little effort.
Then comes a more sober proposition: ‘Or, a certain portion of IIs,
represented by necessities of life, might be directly converted into new
variable capital of Department II.’[130]
It is not quite clear how this can help us over the hurdle, help to get
accumulation going. For one thing, the formation of additional variable
capital in Department II is not much use if we have no additional constant
capital for this department, being in fact engaged on the task of finding it.
For another thing, our present concern is to see if we can find in
Department II a source of money for the purchase of additional means of
production from I, and Department II’s problem how to place its own
additional product in some way or other in the process of production is
beside the point. Further, is the implication that the respective consumer
goods should be used ‘direct’, i.e. without the mediation of money, in the
production of Department II, so that the corresponding amount of money
can be diverted from variable capital to the purpose of accumulation? If so,
we could not accept the solution. Under normal conditions of capitalist
production, the remuneration of the workers by consumer goods direct is
precluded, one of the corner-stones of capitalist economy being the money-
form of the variable capital, the independent transaction between the worker
Page 153
as buyer of commodities and producer of consumer goods. Marx himself
stresses this point in another context:
‘We know that the actual variable capital consists of labour-power, and
therefore the additional must consist of the same thing. It is not the
capitalist of I who among other things buys from II a supply of necessities
of life for his labourers, or accumulates them for this purpose, as the slave
holder had to do. It is the labourers themselves who trade with II.’[131]
And that goes for the capitalists of Department II just as much as for those
of Department I, thus disposing of Marx’s last effort.
Marx ends up by referring us to the last part of Capital, volume ii, chapter
21, the ‘Concluding Remarks sub iv’, as Engels has called them. Here we
find the curt explanation:
‘The original source for the money of II is v + s of the gold producers in
Department I, exchanged for a portion of IIc. Only to the extent that the
gold producer accumulates surplus-value or converts it into means of
production of I, in other words, to the extent that he expands his production,
does his v + s stay out of Department II. On the other hand, to the extent
that the accumulation of gold on the part of the gold producer himself leads
ultimately to an expansion of production, a portion of the surplus-value of
gold production not spent as revenue passes into Department II as
additional variable capital of the gold producers, promotes the accumulation
of new hoards in II and supplies it with means by which to buy from I
without having to sell to it immediately.’[132]
After the breakdown of all conceivable attempts at explaining
accumulation, therefore, after chasing from pillar to post, from A I to B I,
and from B I to A II, we are made to fall back in the end on the very gold
producer, recourse to whom Marx had at the outset of his analysis branded
as ‘absurd’. The analysis of the reproductive process, and the second
volume of Capital finally comes to a close without having provided the
long sought-for solution to our difficulty.
stresses this point in another context:
‘We know that the actual variable capital consists of labour-power, and
therefore the additional must consist of the same thing. It is not the
capitalist of I who among other things buys from II a supply of necessities
of life for his labourers, or accumulates them for this purpose, as the slave
holder had to do. It is the labourers themselves who trade with II.’[131]
And that goes for the capitalists of Department II just as much as for those
of Department I, thus disposing of Marx’s last effort.
Marx ends up by referring us to the last part of Capital, volume ii, chapter
21, the ‘Concluding Remarks sub iv’, as Engels has called them. Here we
find the curt explanation:
‘The original source for the money of II is v + s of the gold producers in
Department I, exchanged for a portion of IIc. Only to the extent that the
gold producer accumulates surplus-value or converts it into means of
production of I, in other words, to the extent that he expands his production,
does his v + s stay out of Department II. On the other hand, to the extent
that the accumulation of gold on the part of the gold producer himself leads
ultimately to an expansion of production, a portion of the surplus-value of
gold production not spent as revenue passes into Department II as
additional variable capital of the gold producers, promotes the accumulation
of new hoards in II and supplies it with means by which to buy from I
without having to sell to it immediately.’[132]
After the breakdown of all conceivable attempts at explaining
accumulation, therefore, after chasing from pillar to post, from A I to B I,
and from B I to A II, we are made to fall back in the end on the very gold
producer, recourse to whom Marx had at the outset of his analysis branded
as ‘absurd’. The analysis of the reproductive process, and the second
volume of Capital finally comes to a close without having provided the
long sought-for solution to our difficulty.
Page 154
CHAPTER IX
Page 155
THE DIFFICULTY VIEWED FROM THE
ANGLE OF THE PROCESS OF CIRCULATION
The flaw in Marx’s analysis is, in our opinion, the misguided formulation of
the problem as a mere question of ‘the sources of money’, whereas the real
issue is the effective demand, the use made of goods, not the source of the
money which is paid for them. As to money as a means of circulation: when
considering the reproductive process as a whole, we must assume that
capitalist society must always dispose of money, or a substitute, in just that
quantity that is needed for its process of circulation. What has to be
explained is the great social transaction of exchange, caused by real
economic needs. While it is important to remember that capitalist surplus
value must invariably pass through the money stage before it can be
accumulated, we must nevertheless try to track down the economic demand
for the surplus product, quite apart from the puzzle where the money comes
from. As Marx himself says in another passage:
‘The money on one side in that case calls forth expanded reproduction on
the other, because the possibility for it exists without the money. For money
in itself is not an element of actual reproduction.’[133]
And in a different context, Marx actually shows the question about the
‘sources of money’ to be a completely barren formulation of the problem of
accumulation.
In fact, he had come up against this difficulty once before when examining
the process of circulation. Still dealing with simple reproduction, he had
asked, in connection with the circulation of the surplus value:
‘But the commodity capital must be monetised before its conversion into
productive capital, or before the surplus-value contained in it can be spent.
Where does the money for this purpose come from? This question seems
difficult at the first glance, and neither Tooke nor anyone else has answered
it so far.’[134]
ANGLE OF THE PROCESS OF CIRCULATION
The flaw in Marx’s analysis is, in our opinion, the misguided formulation of
the problem as a mere question of ‘the sources of money’, whereas the real
issue is the effective demand, the use made of goods, not the source of the
money which is paid for them. As to money as a means of circulation: when
considering the reproductive process as a whole, we must assume that
capitalist society must always dispose of money, or a substitute, in just that
quantity that is needed for its process of circulation. What has to be
explained is the great social transaction of exchange, caused by real
economic needs. While it is important to remember that capitalist surplus
value must invariably pass through the money stage before it can be
accumulated, we must nevertheless try to track down the economic demand
for the surplus product, quite apart from the puzzle where the money comes
from. As Marx himself says in another passage:
‘The money on one side in that case calls forth expanded reproduction on
the other, because the possibility for it exists without the money. For money
in itself is not an element of actual reproduction.’[133]
And in a different context, Marx actually shows the question about the
‘sources of money’ to be a completely barren formulation of the problem of
accumulation.
In fact, he had come up against this difficulty once before when examining
the process of circulation. Still dealing with simple reproduction, he had
asked, in connection with the circulation of the surplus value:
‘But the commodity capital must be monetised before its conversion into
productive capital, or before the surplus-value contained in it can be spent.
Where does the money for this purpose come from? This question seems
difficult at the first glance, and neither Tooke nor anyone else has answered
it so far.’[134]
Page 156
And he was then quite uncompromising about getting to the root of the
matter: ‘The circulating capital of 500 p.st. advanced in the form of money-
capital, whatever may be its period of turn-over, may now stand for the total
capital of society, that is to say, of the capitalist class. Let the surplus-value
be 100 p.st. How can the entire capitalist class manage to draw continually
600 p.st. out of the circulation, when they continually throw only 500 p.st.
into it?’[135]
All that, mind you, refers to simple reproduction, where the entire surplus
value is used for the personal consumption of the capitalist class. The
question should therefore from the outset have been put more precisely in
this form: how can the capitalists secure for themselves consumer goods to
the amount of £100 surplus value on top of putting £500 into circulation for
constant and variable capital? It is immediately obvious that those £500
which, in form of capital, always serve to buy means of production and to
pay the workers, cannot simultaneously defray the expense of the
capitalists’ personal consumption. Where, then, does the additional money
come from?—the £100 the capitalists need to realise their own surplus
value? Thus all theoretical dodges one might devise for this point are
summarily disposed of by Marx right away:
‘It should not be attempted to avoid this difficulty by plausible subterfuges.
‘For instance: So far as the constant circulating capital is concerned, it is
obvious that not all invest it simultaneously. While the capitalist A sells his
commodities so that his advanced capital assumes the form of money, there
is on the other hand, the available money-capital of the buyer B which
assumes the form of his means of production which A is just producing. The
same transaction, which restores that of B to its productive form, transforms
it from money into materials of production and labour-power; the same
amount of money serves in the two-sided process as in every simple
purchase C-M. On the other hand, when A reconverts his money into means
of production, he buys from C, and this man pays B with it, etc., and thus
the transaction would be explained.
‘But none of the laws referring to the quantity of the circulating money,
which have been analysed in the circulation of commodities (vol. i, chap,
iii), are in any way changed by the capitalist character of the process of
production.
matter: ‘The circulating capital of 500 p.st. advanced in the form of money-
capital, whatever may be its period of turn-over, may now stand for the total
capital of society, that is to say, of the capitalist class. Let the surplus-value
be 100 p.st. How can the entire capitalist class manage to draw continually
600 p.st. out of the circulation, when they continually throw only 500 p.st.
into it?’[135]
All that, mind you, refers to simple reproduction, where the entire surplus
value is used for the personal consumption of the capitalist class. The
question should therefore from the outset have been put more precisely in
this form: how can the capitalists secure for themselves consumer goods to
the amount of £100 surplus value on top of putting £500 into circulation for
constant and variable capital? It is immediately obvious that those £500
which, in form of capital, always serve to buy means of production and to
pay the workers, cannot simultaneously defray the expense of the
capitalists’ personal consumption. Where, then, does the additional money
come from?—the £100 the capitalists need to realise their own surplus
value? Thus all theoretical dodges one might devise for this point are
summarily disposed of by Marx right away:
‘It should not be attempted to avoid this difficulty by plausible subterfuges.
‘For instance: So far as the constant circulating capital is concerned, it is
obvious that not all invest it simultaneously. While the capitalist A sells his
commodities so that his advanced capital assumes the form of money, there
is on the other hand, the available money-capital of the buyer B which
assumes the form of his means of production which A is just producing. The
same transaction, which restores that of B to its productive form, transforms
it from money into materials of production and labour-power; the same
amount of money serves in the two-sided process as in every simple
purchase C-M. On the other hand, when A reconverts his money into means
of production, he buys from C, and this man pays B with it, etc., and thus
the transaction would be explained.
‘But none of the laws referring to the quantity of the circulating money,
which have been analysed in the circulation of commodities (vol. i, chap,
iii), are in any way changed by the capitalist character of the process of
production.
Page 157
‘Hence, when we have said that the circulating capital of society, to be
advanced in the form of money, amounts to 500 p.st., we have already
accounted for the fact that this is on the one hand the sum simultaneously
advanced, and that, on the other hand, it sets in motion more productive
capital than 500 p.st., because it serves alternately as the money fund of
different productive capitals. This mode of explanation, then, assumes that
money as existing whose existence it is called upon to explain.
‘It may be furthermore said: Capitalist A produces articles which capitalist
B consumes unproductively, individually. The money of B therefore
monetises the commodity-capital of A, and thus the same amount serves for
the monetisation of the surplus-value of B and the circulating constant
capital of A. But in that case, the solution of the question to be solved is still
more directly assumed, the question: Whence does B get the money for the
payment of his revenue? How does he himself monetise this surplus-portion
of his product?
‘It might also be answered that that portion of the circulating variable
capital, which A continually advances to his labourers, flows back to him
continually from the circulation, and only an alternating part stays
continually tied up for the payment of wages. But a certain time elapses
between the expenditure and the reflux, and meanwhile the money paid out
for wages might, among other uses, serve for the monetisation of surplus-
value. But we know, in the first place, that, the greater the time, the greater
must be the supply of money which the capitalist A must keep continually
in reserve. In the second place, the labourer spends the money, buys
commodities for it, and thus monetises to that extent the surplus-value
contained in them. Without penetrating any further into the question at this
point, it is sufficient to say that the consumption of the entire capitalist
class, and of the unproductive persons dependent upon it, keeps step with
that of the labouring class; so that, simultaneously with the money thrown
into circulation by the labouring class, the capitalists must throw money
into it, in order to spend their surplus-value as revenue. Hence money must
be withdrawn from circulation for it. This explanation would merely reduce
the quantity of money required, but not do away with it.
‘Finally it might be said: A large amount of money is continually thrown
into circulation when fixed capital is first invested, and it is not recovered
from the circulation until after the lapse of years, by him who threw it into
advanced in the form of money, amounts to 500 p.st., we have already
accounted for the fact that this is on the one hand the sum simultaneously
advanced, and that, on the other hand, it sets in motion more productive
capital than 500 p.st., because it serves alternately as the money fund of
different productive capitals. This mode of explanation, then, assumes that
money as existing whose existence it is called upon to explain.
‘It may be furthermore said: Capitalist A produces articles which capitalist
B consumes unproductively, individually. The money of B therefore
monetises the commodity-capital of A, and thus the same amount serves for
the monetisation of the surplus-value of B and the circulating constant
capital of A. But in that case, the solution of the question to be solved is still
more directly assumed, the question: Whence does B get the money for the
payment of his revenue? How does he himself monetise this surplus-portion
of his product?
‘It might also be answered that that portion of the circulating variable
capital, which A continually advances to his labourers, flows back to him
continually from the circulation, and only an alternating part stays
continually tied up for the payment of wages. But a certain time elapses
between the expenditure and the reflux, and meanwhile the money paid out
for wages might, among other uses, serve for the monetisation of surplus-
value. But we know, in the first place, that, the greater the time, the greater
must be the supply of money which the capitalist A must keep continually
in reserve. In the second place, the labourer spends the money, buys
commodities for it, and thus monetises to that extent the surplus-value
contained in them. Without penetrating any further into the question at this
point, it is sufficient to say that the consumption of the entire capitalist
class, and of the unproductive persons dependent upon it, keeps step with
that of the labouring class; so that, simultaneously with the money thrown
into circulation by the labouring class, the capitalists must throw money
into it, in order to spend their surplus-value as revenue. Hence money must
be withdrawn from circulation for it. This explanation would merely reduce
the quantity of money required, but not do away with it.
‘Finally it might be said: A large amount of money is continually thrown
into circulation when fixed capital is first invested, and it is not recovered
from the circulation until after the lapse of years, by him who threw it into
Page 158
circulation. May not this sum suffice to monetise the surplus-value? The
answer to this is that the employment as fixed capital, if not by him who
threw it into circulation, then by some one else, is probably implied in the
sum of 500 p.st. (which includes the formation of a hoard for needed
reserve funds). Besides, it is already assumed in the amount expended for
the purchase of products serving as fixed capital, that the surplus-value
contained in them is also paid, and the question is precisely, where the
money for this purpose came from.’[136]
This parting shot, by the way, is particularly noteworthy in that Marx here
expressly repudiates the attempt to explain realisation of the surplus value,
even in the case of simple reproduction, by means of a hoard formed for the
periodical renewal of fixed capital. Later on, with a view to realising the
surplus value under the much more difficult conditions of accumulation, he
makes more than one tentative effort to substantiate an explanation of this
type which he himself dismissed as a ‘plausible subterfuge’.
Then follows a solution which has a somewhat disconcerting ring: ‘The
general reply has already been given: When a mass of commodities valued
at x times 1,000 p.st. has to circulate, it changes absolutely nothing in the
quantity of the money required for this circulation, whether this mass of
commodities contains any surplus-value or not, and whether this mass of
commodities has been produced capitalistically or not. In other words, the
problem itself does not exist. All other conditions being given, such as
velocity of circulation of money, etc., a definite sum of money is required in
order to circulate the value of commodities worth x times 1,000 p.st., quite
independently of the fact how much or how little of this value falls to the
share of the direct producers of these commodities. So far as any problem
exists here, it coincides with the general problem: Where does all the
money required for the circulation of the commodities of a certain country
come from?’[137]
The argument is quite sound. The answer to the general question about the
origin of the money for putting a certain quantity of commodities into
circulation within a country will also tell us where the money for circulating
the surplus value comes from. The division of the bulk of value contained in
these commodities into constant and variable capital, and surplus value,
does not exist from the angle of the circulation of money—in this
connection, it is quite meaningless. But it is only from the angle of the
answer to this is that the employment as fixed capital, if not by him who
threw it into circulation, then by some one else, is probably implied in the
sum of 500 p.st. (which includes the formation of a hoard for needed
reserve funds). Besides, it is already assumed in the amount expended for
the purchase of products serving as fixed capital, that the surplus-value
contained in them is also paid, and the question is precisely, where the
money for this purpose came from.’[136]
This parting shot, by the way, is particularly noteworthy in that Marx here
expressly repudiates the attempt to explain realisation of the surplus value,
even in the case of simple reproduction, by means of a hoard formed for the
periodical renewal of fixed capital. Later on, with a view to realising the
surplus value under the much more difficult conditions of accumulation, he
makes more than one tentative effort to substantiate an explanation of this
type which he himself dismissed as a ‘plausible subterfuge’.
Then follows a solution which has a somewhat disconcerting ring: ‘The
general reply has already been given: When a mass of commodities valued
at x times 1,000 p.st. has to circulate, it changes absolutely nothing in the
quantity of the money required for this circulation, whether this mass of
commodities contains any surplus-value or not, and whether this mass of
commodities has been produced capitalistically or not. In other words, the
problem itself does not exist. All other conditions being given, such as
velocity of circulation of money, etc., a definite sum of money is required in
order to circulate the value of commodities worth x times 1,000 p.st., quite
independently of the fact how much or how little of this value falls to the
share of the direct producers of these commodities. So far as any problem
exists here, it coincides with the general problem: Where does all the
money required for the circulation of the commodities of a certain country
come from?’[137]
The argument is quite sound. The answer to the general question about the
origin of the money for putting a certain quantity of commodities into
circulation within a country will also tell us where the money for circulating
the surplus value comes from. The division of the bulk of value contained in
these commodities into constant and variable capital, and surplus value,
does not exist from the angle of the circulation of money—in this
connection, it is quite meaningless. But it is only from the angle of the
Page 159
circulation of money, or of a simple commodity circulation, that the
problem has no existence. Under the aspect of social reproduction as a
whole, it is very real indeed; but it should not, of course, be put in that
misleading form that brings us back to simple commodity circulation,
where it has no meaning. We should not ask, accordingly: Where does the
money required for realising the surplus value come from? but: Where are
the consumers for this surplus value? It is they, for sure, who must have this
money in hand in order to throw it into circulation. Thus, Marx himself,
although he just now denied the problem to exist, keeps coming back to it
time and again:
‘Now, there are only two points of departure: The capitalist and the
labourer. All third classes of persons must either receive money for their
services from these two classes, or, to the extent that they receive it without
any equivalent services, they are joint owners of the surplus-value in the
form of rent, interest, etc. The fact that the surplus-value does not all stay in
the pocket of the industrial capitalist, but must be shared by him with other
persons, has nothing to do with the present question. The question is: How
does he maintain his surplus-value, not, how does he divide the money later
after he has secured it? For the present case, the capitalist may as well be
regarded as the sole owner of his surplus-value. As for the labourer it has
already been said that he is but the secondary point of departure, while the
capitalist is the primary starting point of the money thrown by the labourer
into circulation. The money first advanced as variable capital is going
through its second circulation, when the labourer spends it for the payment
of means of subsistence.
‘The capitalist class, then, remains the sole point of departure of the
circulation of money. If they need 400 p.st. for the payment of means of
production, and 100 p.st. for the payment of labour-power, they throw 500
p.st. into circulation. But the surplus-value incorporated in the product, with
a rate of surplus-value of 100 per cent, is equal to the value of 100 p.st.
How can they continually draw 600 p.st. out of circulation, when they
continually throw only 500 p.st. into it? From nothing comes nothing. The
capitalist class as a whole cannot draw out of circulation what was not
previously in it.’[138]
Marx further explodes another device which might conceivably be thought
adequate to the problem, i.e. a more rapid turnover of money enabling a
problem has no existence. Under the aspect of social reproduction as a
whole, it is very real indeed; but it should not, of course, be put in that
misleading form that brings us back to simple commodity circulation,
where it has no meaning. We should not ask, accordingly: Where does the
money required for realising the surplus value come from? but: Where are
the consumers for this surplus value? It is they, for sure, who must have this
money in hand in order to throw it into circulation. Thus, Marx himself,
although he just now denied the problem to exist, keeps coming back to it
time and again:
‘Now, there are only two points of departure: The capitalist and the
labourer. All third classes of persons must either receive money for their
services from these two classes, or, to the extent that they receive it without
any equivalent services, they are joint owners of the surplus-value in the
form of rent, interest, etc. The fact that the surplus-value does not all stay in
the pocket of the industrial capitalist, but must be shared by him with other
persons, has nothing to do with the present question. The question is: How
does he maintain his surplus-value, not, how does he divide the money later
after he has secured it? For the present case, the capitalist may as well be
regarded as the sole owner of his surplus-value. As for the labourer it has
already been said that he is but the secondary point of departure, while the
capitalist is the primary starting point of the money thrown by the labourer
into circulation. The money first advanced as variable capital is going
through its second circulation, when the labourer spends it for the payment
of means of subsistence.
‘The capitalist class, then, remains the sole point of departure of the
circulation of money. If they need 400 p.st. for the payment of means of
production, and 100 p.st. for the payment of labour-power, they throw 500
p.st. into circulation. But the surplus-value incorporated in the product, with
a rate of surplus-value of 100 per cent, is equal to the value of 100 p.st.
How can they continually draw 600 p.st. out of circulation, when they
continually throw only 500 p.st. into it? From nothing comes nothing. The
capitalist class as a whole cannot draw out of circulation what was not
previously in it.’[138]
Marx further explodes another device which might conceivably be thought
adequate to the problem, i.e. a more rapid turnover of money enabling a
Page 160
larger amount of value to circulate by means of a smaller amount of money.
The dodge will not work, of course, since the velocity of money in
circulation is already taken into account by equating the aggregate bulk of
commodities with a certain number of pounds sterling. But then at last we
seem in sight of a proper solution:
‘Indeed, paradoxical as it may appear at first sight, it is the capitalist class
itself that throws the money into circulation which serves for the realisation
of the surplus-value incorporated in the commodities. But, mark well, it is
not thrown into circulation as advanced money, not as capital. The capitalist
class spends it for their individual consumption. The money is not advanced
by them, although they are the point of departure of its circulation.’[139]
This lucid and comprehensive account is the best evidence that the problem
is not just imaginary but very real. It provides a solution, not by disclosing a
new ‘source of money’ for the realisation of the surplus value, but by
pointing out at last the consumers of this surplus value. We are still, on
Marx’s assumption, within the bounds of simple reproduction; the capitalist
class, that is to say, use the whole of their surplus value for personal
consumption. Since the capitalists are the consumers of surplus value, it is
not so much a paradox as a truism that they must, in the nature of things,
possess the money for appropriating the objects of consumption, the natural
form of this surplus value. The circulatory transaction of exchange is the
necessary consequence of the fact that the individual capitalist cannot
immediately consume his individual surplus value, and accordingly the
individual surplus product, as could, for instance, the employer of slave
labour. As a rule the natural material form of the surplus product tends to
preclude such use. The aggregate surplus value of the capitalists in general
is, however, contained in the total social product—as long as there is simple
reproduction—as expressed by a corresponding quantity of consumer goods
for the capitalist class, just as the sum total of variable capital has its
corresponding equivalent in the quantity of consumer goods for the working
class, and as the constant capital of all individual capitalists taken together
is represented by material means of production in an equivalent quantity. In
order to exchange the unconsumable individual surplus values for a
corresponding amount of consumer goods, a double transaction of
commodity exchange is needed: first, the sale of one’s own surplus product
and then the purchase of consumer goods out of the surplus product of
The dodge will not work, of course, since the velocity of money in
circulation is already taken into account by equating the aggregate bulk of
commodities with a certain number of pounds sterling. But then at last we
seem in sight of a proper solution:
‘Indeed, paradoxical as it may appear at first sight, it is the capitalist class
itself that throws the money into circulation which serves for the realisation
of the surplus-value incorporated in the commodities. But, mark well, it is
not thrown into circulation as advanced money, not as capital. The capitalist
class spends it for their individual consumption. The money is not advanced
by them, although they are the point of departure of its circulation.’[139]
This lucid and comprehensive account is the best evidence that the problem
is not just imaginary but very real. It provides a solution, not by disclosing a
new ‘source of money’ for the realisation of the surplus value, but by
pointing out at last the consumers of this surplus value. We are still, on
Marx’s assumption, within the bounds of simple reproduction; the capitalist
class, that is to say, use the whole of their surplus value for personal
consumption. Since the capitalists are the consumers of surplus value, it is
not so much a paradox as a truism that they must, in the nature of things,
possess the money for appropriating the objects of consumption, the natural
form of this surplus value. The circulatory transaction of exchange is the
necessary consequence of the fact that the individual capitalist cannot
immediately consume his individual surplus value, and accordingly the
individual surplus product, as could, for instance, the employer of slave
labour. As a rule the natural material form of the surplus product tends to
preclude such use. The aggregate surplus value of the capitalists in general
is, however, contained in the total social product—as long as there is simple
reproduction—as expressed by a corresponding quantity of consumer goods
for the capitalist class, just as the sum total of variable capital has its
corresponding equivalent in the quantity of consumer goods for the working
class, and as the constant capital of all individual capitalists taken together
is represented by material means of production in an equivalent quantity. In
order to exchange the unconsumable individual surplus values for a
corresponding amount of consumer goods, a double transaction of
commodity exchange is needed: first, the sale of one’s own surplus product
and then the purchase of consumer goods out of the surplus product of
Page 161
society. These two transactions can only take place among members of the
capitalist class, among individual capitalists, which means that their agent,
the money, thereby merely changes hands as between one capitalist and
another without ever being alienated from the capitalist class in general.
Since simple reproduction inevitably implies the exchange of equivalents,
one and the same amount of money can serve year by year for the
circulation of the surplus value, and only an excess of zeal will inspire the
further query: where does the money which mediates the capitalists’ own
consumption come from in the first place? This, question, however, reduces
to a more general one: how did money capital initially come into the hands
of the capitalists, that money capital of which they always retain a certain
part for their personal consumption, apart from what they use for productive
investment? Put in this way, however, the question belongs in the chapter of
so-called ‘primitive accumulation’, i.e. the historical genesis of capital,
going beyond the framework of an analysis of the process of circulation as
well as of reproduction.
Thus the fact is clear and unequivocal—so long as we remain within the
bounds of simple reproduction. Here the problem is solved by the premises
themselves; in fact, the solution is already anticipated by the very concept
of simple reproduction which indeed is based on the entire surplus value
being consumed by the capitalist class. This implies that it must also be the
latter who buy it, that is to say, individual capitalists must buy it from each
other.
‘In the present case’, Marx says himself, ‘we had assumed, that the sum of
money which the capitalist throws into circulation until the first surplus-
value flows back to him, is exactly equal to the surplus-value which he is
going to produce and monetise. This is obviously an arbitrary assumption,
so far as, the individual capitalist is concerned. But it must be correct when
applied to the entire capitalist class, when simple reproduction is assumed.
It expresses the same thing that this assumption does, namely, that the entire
surplus-value is consumed unproductively, but it only, not any portion of
the original capital stock.’[140]
But simple reproduction on a capitalist basis is after all an imaginary
quantity in economic theory: no more and no less legitimate, and quite as
unavoidable as √−1 in mathematics. What is worse, it cannot offer any help
at all with the problem of realising the surplus value in real life, i.e. with
capitalist class, among individual capitalists, which means that their agent,
the money, thereby merely changes hands as between one capitalist and
another without ever being alienated from the capitalist class in general.
Since simple reproduction inevitably implies the exchange of equivalents,
one and the same amount of money can serve year by year for the
circulation of the surplus value, and only an excess of zeal will inspire the
further query: where does the money which mediates the capitalists’ own
consumption come from in the first place? This, question, however, reduces
to a more general one: how did money capital initially come into the hands
of the capitalists, that money capital of which they always retain a certain
part for their personal consumption, apart from what they use for productive
investment? Put in this way, however, the question belongs in the chapter of
so-called ‘primitive accumulation’, i.e. the historical genesis of capital,
going beyond the framework of an analysis of the process of circulation as
well as of reproduction.
Thus the fact is clear and unequivocal—so long as we remain within the
bounds of simple reproduction. Here the problem is solved by the premises
themselves; in fact, the solution is already anticipated by the very concept
of simple reproduction which indeed is based on the entire surplus value
being consumed by the capitalist class. This implies that it must also be the
latter who buy it, that is to say, individual capitalists must buy it from each
other.
‘In the present case’, Marx says himself, ‘we had assumed, that the sum of
money which the capitalist throws into circulation until the first surplus-
value flows back to him, is exactly equal to the surplus-value which he is
going to produce and monetise. This is obviously an arbitrary assumption,
so far as, the individual capitalist is concerned. But it must be correct when
applied to the entire capitalist class, when simple reproduction is assumed.
It expresses the same thing that this assumption does, namely, that the entire
surplus-value is consumed unproductively, but it only, not any portion of
the original capital stock.’[140]
But simple reproduction on a capitalist basis is after all an imaginary
quantity in economic theory: no more and no less legitimate, and quite as
unavoidable as √−1 in mathematics. What is worse, it cannot offer any help
at all with the problem of realising the surplus value in real life, i.e. with
Page 162
regard to enlarged reproduction or accumulation. Marx himself says so for a
second time in the further development of his analysis.
Where does the money for realising the surplus value come from if there is
accumulation, i.e. not consumption but capitalisation of part of the surplus
value? Marx’s first answer is as follows:
‘In the first place, the additional money-capital required for the function of
the increasing productive capital is supplied by that portion of the realised
surplus-value which is thrown into circulation by the capitalists as money-
capital, not as the money form of their revenue. The money is already
present in the hands of the capitalists. Only its employment is different.’[141]
Our investigation of the reproductive process has already made us familiar
with this explanation, and we are equally familiar with its defects; for one
thing, the answer rests on the moment of the first transition from simple
reproduction to accumulation. The capitalists only yesterday consumed
their entire surplus value, and thus had in hand an appropriate amount of
money for their circulation. To-day they decide to ‘save’ part of the surplus
value and to invest it productively instead of squandering it. Provided that
material means of production were manufactured instead of luxury goods,
they need only put part of their personal money fund to a different use. But
the transition from simple reproduction to expanded reproduction is no less
a theoretical fiction than simple reproduction of capital itself, for which
reason Marx immediately goes on to say:
‘Now, by means of the additional productive capital, its product, an
additional quantity of commodities, is thrown into circulation. Together
with this additional quantity of commodities, a portion of the additional
money required for its circulation is thrown into circulation, so far as the
value of this mass of commodities is equal to that of the productive capital
consumed in their production. This additional quantity of money has
precisely been advanced as an additional money-capital, and therefore it
flows back to the capitalist through the turn-over of his capital. Here the
same question reappears, which we met previously. Where does the
additional money come from, by which the additional surplus-value now
contained in the form of commodities is to be realised?’[142]
The problem could not be put more precisely. But instead of a solution,
there follows the surprising conclusion:
second time in the further development of his analysis.
Where does the money for realising the surplus value come from if there is
accumulation, i.e. not consumption but capitalisation of part of the surplus
value? Marx’s first answer is as follows:
‘In the first place, the additional money-capital required for the function of
the increasing productive capital is supplied by that portion of the realised
surplus-value which is thrown into circulation by the capitalists as money-
capital, not as the money form of their revenue. The money is already
present in the hands of the capitalists. Only its employment is different.’[141]
Our investigation of the reproductive process has already made us familiar
with this explanation, and we are equally familiar with its defects; for one
thing, the answer rests on the moment of the first transition from simple
reproduction to accumulation. The capitalists only yesterday consumed
their entire surplus value, and thus had in hand an appropriate amount of
money for their circulation. To-day they decide to ‘save’ part of the surplus
value and to invest it productively instead of squandering it. Provided that
material means of production were manufactured instead of luxury goods,
they need only put part of their personal money fund to a different use. But
the transition from simple reproduction to expanded reproduction is no less
a theoretical fiction than simple reproduction of capital itself, for which
reason Marx immediately goes on to say:
‘Now, by means of the additional productive capital, its product, an
additional quantity of commodities, is thrown into circulation. Together
with this additional quantity of commodities, a portion of the additional
money required for its circulation is thrown into circulation, so far as the
value of this mass of commodities is equal to that of the productive capital
consumed in their production. This additional quantity of money has
precisely been advanced as an additional money-capital, and therefore it
flows back to the capitalist through the turn-over of his capital. Here the
same question reappears, which we met previously. Where does the
additional money come from, by which the additional surplus-value now
contained in the form of commodities is to be realised?’[142]
The problem could not be put more precisely. But instead of a solution,
there follows the surprising conclusion:
Page 163
‘The general reply is again the same. The sum total of the prices of the
commodities has been increased, not because the prices of a given quantity
of commodities have risen, but because the mass of the commodities now
circulating is greater than that of the previously circulating commodities,
and because this increase has not been offset by a fall in prices. The
additional money required for the circulation of this greater quantity of
commodities of greater value must be secured, either by greater economy in
the circulating quantity of money—whether by means of balancing
payments, etc., or by some measure which accelerates the circulation of the
same coins,—or by the transformation of money from the form of a hoard
into that of a circulating medium.’[143]
All this amounts to an exposition along these lines: under conditions of
developing and growing accumulation, capitalist reproduction dumps ever
larger masses of commodity values on the market. To put this commodity
mass of a continually increasing value into circulation requires an ever
larger amount of money. This increasing amount of money must be found
somehow or other. All this is, no doubt, plausible and correct as far as it
goes, but our problem is not solved, it is merely wished away.
One thing or the other! Either we regard the aggregate social product in a
capitalist economy simply as a mass, a conglomeration of commodities of a
certain value, seeing under conditions of accumulation, a mere increase in
this undifferentiated mass of commodities and in the bulk of its value. Then
all we need say is that a corresponding quantity of money is required for
circulating this bulk of value, that with an increasing bulk of value the
quantity of money must also increase, unless this growth of value is offset
by acceleration of, and economy in, the traffic. And the final question,
where does all money originally come from, could then be answered on
Marx’s recipe: from the gold mines. This, of course, is one way of looking
at things, that of simple commodity circulation. But in that case there is no
need to drag in concepts such as constant and variable capital, or surplus
value, which have no place in simple commodity circulation, belonging
essentially to the circulation of capitals and to social reproduction; nor is
there need to inquire for sources of money for the realisation of the social
surplus value under conditions of first simple, and then enlarged,
reproduction. Under the aspect of simple commodity circulation puzzles of
this kind are without meaning or content. But once these questions have
commodities has been increased, not because the prices of a given quantity
of commodities have risen, but because the mass of the commodities now
circulating is greater than that of the previously circulating commodities,
and because this increase has not been offset by a fall in prices. The
additional money required for the circulation of this greater quantity of
commodities of greater value must be secured, either by greater economy in
the circulating quantity of money—whether by means of balancing
payments, etc., or by some measure which accelerates the circulation of the
same coins,—or by the transformation of money from the form of a hoard
into that of a circulating medium.’[143]
All this amounts to an exposition along these lines: under conditions of
developing and growing accumulation, capitalist reproduction dumps ever
larger masses of commodity values on the market. To put this commodity
mass of a continually increasing value into circulation requires an ever
larger amount of money. This increasing amount of money must be found
somehow or other. All this is, no doubt, plausible and correct as far as it
goes, but our problem is not solved, it is merely wished away.
One thing or the other! Either we regard the aggregate social product in a
capitalist economy simply as a mass, a conglomeration of commodities of a
certain value, seeing under conditions of accumulation, a mere increase in
this undifferentiated mass of commodities and in the bulk of its value. Then
all we need say is that a corresponding quantity of money is required for
circulating this bulk of value, that with an increasing bulk of value the
quantity of money must also increase, unless this growth of value is offset
by acceleration of, and economy in, the traffic. And the final question,
where does all money originally come from, could then be answered on
Marx’s recipe: from the gold mines. This, of course, is one way of looking
at things, that of simple commodity circulation. But in that case there is no
need to drag in concepts such as constant and variable capital, or surplus
value, which have no place in simple commodity circulation, belonging
essentially to the circulation of capitals and to social reproduction; nor is
there need to inquire for sources of money for the realisation of the social
surplus value under conditions of first simple, and then enlarged,
reproduction. Under the aspect of simple commodity circulation puzzles of
this kind are without meaning or content. But once these questions have
Page 164
been raised, once the course has been set for an investigation into the
circulation of capitals and social reproduction, there can be no appealing to
the sphere of simple commodity circulation, where there is no such problem
at all, and consequently no solution to it. There can be no looking for the
answer there, and then saying triumphantly that the problem has long been
solved and in fact never really existed.
All this time, it appears, Marx has been tackling the problem from a wrong
approach. No intelligent purpose can be served by asking for the source of
the money needed to realise the surplus value. The question is rather where
the demand can arise—to find an effective demand for the surplus value. If
the problem had been put in this way at the start, no such long-winded
detours would have been needed to show whether it can be solved or not.
On the basis of simple reproduction, the matter is easy enough: since all
surplus value is consumed by the capitalists, they themselves are the buyers
and provide the full demand for the social surplus value, and by the same
token they must also have the requisite cash in hand for circulation of the
surplus value. But in this showing it is quite evident that under conditions
of accumulation, i.e. of capitalisation of part of the surplus value, it cannot,
ex hypothesi, be the capitalists themselves who buy the entire surplus value,
that they cannot possibly realise it. True, if the capitalised surplus value is
to be realised at all, money must be forthcoming in adequate quantities for
its realisation. But it is quite impossible that this money should come from
the purse of the capitalist class itself. Just because accumulation is
postulated, the capitalists cannot buy their surplus value themselves, even
though they might, in abstracto, have the money to do so. But who else
could provide the demand for the commodities incorporating the capitalised
surplus value?
‘Apart from this class (the capitalists), there is, according to our assumption
—the general and exclusive domination of capitalist production—no other
class but the working class. All that the working class buys is equal to the
sum total of its wages, equal to the sum total of the variable capital
advanced by the entire capitalist class.’[144]
The workers, then, are even less able than the capitalist class to realise the
capitalised surplus value. Somebody must buy it, if the capitalists are still to
be able to recover the capital they have accumulated and advanced; and yet
—we cannot think of any buyers other than capitalists and workers. ‘How
circulation of capitals and social reproduction, there can be no appealing to
the sphere of simple commodity circulation, where there is no such problem
at all, and consequently no solution to it. There can be no looking for the
answer there, and then saying triumphantly that the problem has long been
solved and in fact never really existed.
All this time, it appears, Marx has been tackling the problem from a wrong
approach. No intelligent purpose can be served by asking for the source of
the money needed to realise the surplus value. The question is rather where
the demand can arise—to find an effective demand for the surplus value. If
the problem had been put in this way at the start, no such long-winded
detours would have been needed to show whether it can be solved or not.
On the basis of simple reproduction, the matter is easy enough: since all
surplus value is consumed by the capitalists, they themselves are the buyers
and provide the full demand for the social surplus value, and by the same
token they must also have the requisite cash in hand for circulation of the
surplus value. But in this showing it is quite evident that under conditions
of accumulation, i.e. of capitalisation of part of the surplus value, it cannot,
ex hypothesi, be the capitalists themselves who buy the entire surplus value,
that they cannot possibly realise it. True, if the capitalised surplus value is
to be realised at all, money must be forthcoming in adequate quantities for
its realisation. But it is quite impossible that this money should come from
the purse of the capitalist class itself. Just because accumulation is
postulated, the capitalists cannot buy their surplus value themselves, even
though they might, in abstracto, have the money to do so. But who else
could provide the demand for the commodities incorporating the capitalised
surplus value?
‘Apart from this class (the capitalists), there is, according to our assumption
—the general and exclusive domination of capitalist production—no other
class but the working class. All that the working class buys is equal to the
sum total of its wages, equal to the sum total of the variable capital
advanced by the entire capitalist class.’[144]
The workers, then, are even less able than the capitalist class to realise the
capitalised surplus value. Somebody must buy it, if the capitalists are still to
be able to recover the capital they have accumulated and advanced; and yet
—we cannot think of any buyers other than capitalists and workers. ‘How
Page 165
can the entire capitalist class accumulate money under such
circumstances?’[144]
Realisation of the surplus value outside the only two existing classes of
society appears as indispensable as it looks impossible. The accumulation
of capital has been caught in a vicious circle. At any rate, the second
volume of Capital offers no way out.
If we should now ask why Marx’s Capital affords no solution to this
important problem of the accumulation of capital, we must bear in mind
above all that this second volume is not a finished whole but a manuscript
that stops short half way through.
The external form of its last chapters in particular proves them to be in the
nature of notes, intended to clear the author’s own mind, rather than final
conclusions ready for the reader’s enlightenment. This fact is amply
authenticated by the man best in the position to know: Friedrich Engels,
who edited the second volume. In his introduction to the second volume he
reports in detail on the conditions of the preliminary studies and the
manuscripts Marx had left, which were to form the basis of this volume:
‘The mere enumeration of the manuscripts left by Marx as a basis for
Volume II proves the unparalleled conscientiousness and strict self-criticism
which he practised in his endeavour to fully elaborate his great economic
discoveries before he published them. This self-criticism rarely permitted
him to adapt his presentation of the subject, in content as well as in form, to
his ever widening horizon, which he enlarged by incessant study.
‘The material ... consists of the following parts: First, a manuscript entitled
“A contribution to the Critique of Political Economy”, containing 1,472
quarto pages in 23 divisions, written in the time from August, 1861, to June,
1863. It is a continuation of the work of the same title, the first volume of
which appeared in Berlin, in 1859.... This manuscript, valuable though it is,
could not be used in the present edition of Volume II.
‘The manuscript next following in the order of time is that of Volume III....
‘The period after the publication of Volume I, which is next in order, is
represented by a collection of four manuscripts for Volume II, marked I-IV
by Marx himself. Manuscript I (150 pages) presumably written in 1865 or
1867, is the first independent, but more or less fragmentary, elaboration of
circumstances?’[144]
Realisation of the surplus value outside the only two existing classes of
society appears as indispensable as it looks impossible. The accumulation
of capital has been caught in a vicious circle. At any rate, the second
volume of Capital offers no way out.
If we should now ask why Marx’s Capital affords no solution to this
important problem of the accumulation of capital, we must bear in mind
above all that this second volume is not a finished whole but a manuscript
that stops short half way through.
The external form of its last chapters in particular proves them to be in the
nature of notes, intended to clear the author’s own mind, rather than final
conclusions ready for the reader’s enlightenment. This fact is amply
authenticated by the man best in the position to know: Friedrich Engels,
who edited the second volume. In his introduction to the second volume he
reports in detail on the conditions of the preliminary studies and the
manuscripts Marx had left, which were to form the basis of this volume:
‘The mere enumeration of the manuscripts left by Marx as a basis for
Volume II proves the unparalleled conscientiousness and strict self-criticism
which he practised in his endeavour to fully elaborate his great economic
discoveries before he published them. This self-criticism rarely permitted
him to adapt his presentation of the subject, in content as well as in form, to
his ever widening horizon, which he enlarged by incessant study.
‘The material ... consists of the following parts: First, a manuscript entitled
“A contribution to the Critique of Political Economy”, containing 1,472
quarto pages in 23 divisions, written in the time from August, 1861, to June,
1863. It is a continuation of the work of the same title, the first volume of
which appeared in Berlin, in 1859.... This manuscript, valuable though it is,
could not be used in the present edition of Volume II.
‘The manuscript next following in the order of time is that of Volume III....
‘The period after the publication of Volume I, which is next in order, is
represented by a collection of four manuscripts for Volume II, marked I-IV
by Marx himself. Manuscript I (150 pages) presumably written in 1865 or
1867, is the first independent, but more or less fragmentary, elaboration of
Page 166
the questions now contained in Volume II. This manuscript is likewise
unsuited for this edition. Manuscript III is partly a compilation of
quotations and references to the manuscripts containing Marx’s extracts and
comments, most of them relating to the first section of Volume II, partly an
elaboration of special points, particularly a critique of Adam Smith’s
statements as to fixed and circulating capital and the source of profits;
furthermore, a discussion of the relations of the rate of surplus-value to the
rate of profit, which belongs in Volume III. The references furnished little
that was new, while the elaborations for Volumes II and III were rendered
valueless through subsequent revisions and had to be ruled out for the
greater part. Manuscript IV is an elaboration, ready for printing, of the first
section and the first chapters of the second section of Volume II, and has
been used in its proper place. Although it was found that this manuscript
had been written earlier than Manuscript II, yet it was far more finished in
form and could be used with advantage for the corresponding part of this
volume. I had to add only a few supplementary parts of Manuscript II. This
last manuscript is the only fairly completed elaboration of Volume II and
dates from the year 1870. The notes for the final revision, which I shall
mention immediately, say explicitly: “The second elaboration must be used
as a basis.”
‘There is another interruption after 1870, due mainly to ill health. Marx
employed this time in his customary way, that is to say he studied
agronomics, agricultural conditions in America and especially Russia, the
money market and banking institutions, and finally natural sciences, such as
geology and physiology. Independent mathematical studies also form a
large part of the numerous manuscripts of this period. In the beginning of
1877, Marx had recovered sufficiently to resume once more his chosen
life’s work. The beginning of 1877 is marked by references and notes from
the above named four manuscripts intended for a new elaboration of
Volume II, the beginning of which is represented by Manuscript V (56
pages in folio). It comprises the first four chapters and is not very fully
worked out. Essential points are treated in footnotes. The material is rather
collected than sifted, but it is the last complete presentation of this most
important first section. A preliminary attempt to prepare this part for the
printer was made in Manuscript VI (after October, 1877, and before July,
1878), embracing 17 quarto pages, the greater part of the first chapter. A
unsuited for this edition. Manuscript III is partly a compilation of
quotations and references to the manuscripts containing Marx’s extracts and
comments, most of them relating to the first section of Volume II, partly an
elaboration of special points, particularly a critique of Adam Smith’s
statements as to fixed and circulating capital and the source of profits;
furthermore, a discussion of the relations of the rate of surplus-value to the
rate of profit, which belongs in Volume III. The references furnished little
that was new, while the elaborations for Volumes II and III were rendered
valueless through subsequent revisions and had to be ruled out for the
greater part. Manuscript IV is an elaboration, ready for printing, of the first
section and the first chapters of the second section of Volume II, and has
been used in its proper place. Although it was found that this manuscript
had been written earlier than Manuscript II, yet it was far more finished in
form and could be used with advantage for the corresponding part of this
volume. I had to add only a few supplementary parts of Manuscript II. This
last manuscript is the only fairly completed elaboration of Volume II and
dates from the year 1870. The notes for the final revision, which I shall
mention immediately, say explicitly: “The second elaboration must be used
as a basis.”
‘There is another interruption after 1870, due mainly to ill health. Marx
employed this time in his customary way, that is to say he studied
agronomics, agricultural conditions in America and especially Russia, the
money market and banking institutions, and finally natural sciences, such as
geology and physiology. Independent mathematical studies also form a
large part of the numerous manuscripts of this period. In the beginning of
1877, Marx had recovered sufficiently to resume once more his chosen
life’s work. The beginning of 1877 is marked by references and notes from
the above named four manuscripts intended for a new elaboration of
Volume II, the beginning of which is represented by Manuscript V (56
pages in folio). It comprises the first four chapters and is not very fully
worked out. Essential points are treated in footnotes. The material is rather
collected than sifted, but it is the last complete presentation of this most
important first section. A preliminary attempt to prepare this part for the
printer was made in Manuscript VI (after October, 1877, and before July,
1878), embracing 17 quarto pages, the greater part of the first chapter. A
Page 167
second and last attempt was made in Manuscript VII, dated July 2, 1878,
and consisting of 7 pages in folio.
‘About this time Marx seems to have realised that he would never be able to
complete the second and third volume in a manner satisfactory to himself,
unless a complete revolution in his health took place. Manuscripts V-VIII
show traces of hard struggles against depressing physical conditions far too
frequently to be ignored. The most difficult part of the first section had been
worked over in Manuscript V. The remainder of the first, and the entire
second section, with the exception of Chapter 17, presented no great
theoretical difficulties. But the third section, dealing with the reproduction
and circulation of social capital, seemed to be very much in need of
revision. Manuscript II, it must be pointed out, had first treated of this
reproduction without regard to the circulation which is instrumental in
effecting it, and then taken up the same question with regard to circulation.
It was the intention of Marx to eliminate this section and to reconstruct it in
such a way that it would conform to his wider grasp of the subject. This
gave rise to Manuscript VIII, containing only 70 pages in quarto. A
comparison with Section III, as printed after deducting the paragraphs
inserted out of Manuscript II, shows the amount of matter compressed by
Marx into this space.
‘Manuscript VIII is likewise merely a preliminary presentation of the
subject, and its main object was to ascertain and develop the new points of
view not set forth in Manuscript II, while those points were ignored about
which there was nothing new to say. An essential part of Chapter 17,
Section II, which is more or less relevant to Section III, was at the same
time drawn into this discussion and expanded. The logical sequence was
frequently interrupted, the treatment of the subject was incomplete in
various places, and especially the conclusion was very fragmentary. But
Marx expressed as nearly as possible what he intended to say on the
subject.
‘This is the material for Volume II, out of which I was supposed “to make
something”, as Marx said to his daughter Eleanor shortly before his
death.’[145]
We cannot but admire this ‘something’ which Engels managed to ‘make’
from material of such a kind. As far as our present problem is concerned,
and consisting of 7 pages in folio.
‘About this time Marx seems to have realised that he would never be able to
complete the second and third volume in a manner satisfactory to himself,
unless a complete revolution in his health took place. Manuscripts V-VIII
show traces of hard struggles against depressing physical conditions far too
frequently to be ignored. The most difficult part of the first section had been
worked over in Manuscript V. The remainder of the first, and the entire
second section, with the exception of Chapter 17, presented no great
theoretical difficulties. But the third section, dealing with the reproduction
and circulation of social capital, seemed to be very much in need of
revision. Manuscript II, it must be pointed out, had first treated of this
reproduction without regard to the circulation which is instrumental in
effecting it, and then taken up the same question with regard to circulation.
It was the intention of Marx to eliminate this section and to reconstruct it in
such a way that it would conform to his wider grasp of the subject. This
gave rise to Manuscript VIII, containing only 70 pages in quarto. A
comparison with Section III, as printed after deducting the paragraphs
inserted out of Manuscript II, shows the amount of matter compressed by
Marx into this space.
‘Manuscript VIII is likewise merely a preliminary presentation of the
subject, and its main object was to ascertain and develop the new points of
view not set forth in Manuscript II, while those points were ignored about
which there was nothing new to say. An essential part of Chapter 17,
Section II, which is more or less relevant to Section III, was at the same
time drawn into this discussion and expanded. The logical sequence was
frequently interrupted, the treatment of the subject was incomplete in
various places, and especially the conclusion was very fragmentary. But
Marx expressed as nearly as possible what he intended to say on the
subject.
‘This is the material for Volume II, out of which I was supposed “to make
something”, as Marx said to his daughter Eleanor shortly before his
death.’[145]
We cannot but admire this ‘something’ which Engels managed to ‘make’
from material of such a kind. As far as our present problem is concerned,
Page 168
however, this detailed report makes it clear that no more than the first two
of the three sections that make up volume ii were anything like ready for
print in the manuscripts Marx left: the section ‘On the Circulation of Money
and Commodity Capital’ and on ‘The Causes of Circulation and the
Turnover of Capital’. The third section which treats of the reproduction of
total capital is merely a collection of fragments which Marx himself
considered to be ‘very much in need of revision.’ Yet it is the last part of
this section, i.e. chapter 21, ‘On Accumulation and Enlarged Reproduction’,
which is of primary importance in the present context, and of the whole
book this is the most incomplete. It comprises thirty-five pages of print in
all and breaks off right in the middle of the analysis.
Besides this extraneous circumstance, we would suggest another point of
great influence. Marx’s investigation of the social reproductive process
starts off, as we have seen, from the analysis of Adam Smith which came to
grief, among other reasons, because of the erroneous doctrine that the price
of all commodities is composed of v + s. Polemics against this dogma
dominated Marx’s entire analysis of the reproductive process. He devoted
all his attention to proving that the total capital of society must serve, not
only for consumption to the full amount of the various sources of revenue,
but also for renewal of the constant capital. And inasmuch as the purest
theoretical form for this line of reasoning is given, not by enlarged
reproduction, but by simple reproduction, Marx tends to consider
reproduction mainly from a point of view that is the very opposite of
accumulation, from the assumption that the entire surplus value is
consumed by the capitalists. How greatly these polemics influenced his
analysis is proved by his returning time and again in the course of his work
to the attack on Adam Smith from the most various angles. So already in
volume i, the following pages are devoted to it: vol. i, sect. 7, chap. 24, (2),
pp. 588-602, and in vol. ii, pp. 417-56, p. 473, pp. 504-8, and pp. 554 f.
Marx again takes up the question of total reproduction in volume iii but
from the start becomes once more involved with the problem set by Smith
to which he devotes the whole of his 49th chapter and most of chapter 50
(pp. 968-92 and 992-1022). Finally, in Theorien ueber den Mehrwert, we
again find detailed polemics against Smith’s dogma: pp. 164-253 in vol. i,
and pp. 92, 95, 126, 233, and 262 in vol. ii, part 2. Marx repeatedly stressed
and emphasised the fact that he considered replacement of the constant
of the three sections that make up volume ii were anything like ready for
print in the manuscripts Marx left: the section ‘On the Circulation of Money
and Commodity Capital’ and on ‘The Causes of Circulation and the
Turnover of Capital’. The third section which treats of the reproduction of
total capital is merely a collection of fragments which Marx himself
considered to be ‘very much in need of revision.’ Yet it is the last part of
this section, i.e. chapter 21, ‘On Accumulation and Enlarged Reproduction’,
which is of primary importance in the present context, and of the whole
book this is the most incomplete. It comprises thirty-five pages of print in
all and breaks off right in the middle of the analysis.
Besides this extraneous circumstance, we would suggest another point of
great influence. Marx’s investigation of the social reproductive process
starts off, as we have seen, from the analysis of Adam Smith which came to
grief, among other reasons, because of the erroneous doctrine that the price
of all commodities is composed of v + s. Polemics against this dogma
dominated Marx’s entire analysis of the reproductive process. He devoted
all his attention to proving that the total capital of society must serve, not
only for consumption to the full amount of the various sources of revenue,
but also for renewal of the constant capital. And inasmuch as the purest
theoretical form for this line of reasoning is given, not by enlarged
reproduction, but by simple reproduction, Marx tends to consider
reproduction mainly from a point of view that is the very opposite of
accumulation, from the assumption that the entire surplus value is
consumed by the capitalists. How greatly these polemics influenced his
analysis is proved by his returning time and again in the course of his work
to the attack on Adam Smith from the most various angles. So already in
volume i, the following pages are devoted to it: vol. i, sect. 7, chap. 24, (2),
pp. 588-602, and in vol. ii, pp. 417-56, p. 473, pp. 504-8, and pp. 554 f.
Marx again takes up the question of total reproduction in volume iii but
from the start becomes once more involved with the problem set by Smith
to which he devotes the whole of his 49th chapter and most of chapter 50
(pp. 968-92 and 992-1022). Finally, in Theorien ueber den Mehrwert, we
again find detailed polemics against Smith’s dogma: pp. 164-253 in vol. i,
and pp. 92, 95, 126, 233, and 262 in vol. ii, part 2. Marx repeatedly stressed
and emphasised the fact that he considered replacement of the constant
Page 169
capital from the aggregate social product the most difficult and important
problem of reproduction.[146] The other problem, that of accumulation, i.e.
realisation of the surplus value for the purpose of capitalisation, was thus
pushed into the background, so that in the end Marx hardly touched upon it.
This problem being of such paramount importance for capitalist economy, it
is not surprising that bourgeois economists have dealt with it again and
again. Attempts to grapple with this vital question for capitalist economy,
with the question whether capital accumulation is possible in practice, come
up time and again in the history of economic theory. To these historical
attempts, before and after Marx, at solving this problem we shall now turn.
problem of reproduction.[146] The other problem, that of accumulation, i.e.
realisation of the surplus value for the purpose of capitalisation, was thus
pushed into the background, so that in the end Marx hardly touched upon it.
This problem being of such paramount importance for capitalist economy, it
is not surprising that bourgeois economists have dealt with it again and
again. Attempts to grapple with this vital question for capitalist economy,
with the question whether capital accumulation is possible in practice, come
up time and again in the history of economic theory. To these historical
attempts, before and after Marx, at solving this problem we shall now turn.
Page 170
SECTION TWO
★
★
Page 171
HISTORICAL EXPOSITION OF THE
PROBLEM
★
FIRST ROUND
SISMONDI-MALTHUS v. SAY-RICARDO—MacCULLOCH
PROBLEM
★
FIRST ROUND
SISMONDI-MALTHUS v. SAY-RICARDO—MacCULLOCH
Page 172
CHAPTER X
Page 173
SISMONDI’S THEORY OF REPRODUCTION
The first grave doubts as to the divine character of the capitalist order came
to bourgeois economists under the immediate impact of the first crises of
1815 and 1818-19 in England. Even then it had still been external
circumstances which led up to these crises, and they appeared to be
ephemeral. Napoleon’s blockade of the Continent which for a time had cut
off England from her European markets and had favoured a considerable
development of home industries in some of the continental countries, was
partly responsible; for the rest the material exhaustion of the Continent,
owing to the long period of war, made for a smaller demand for English
products than had been expected when the blockade was lifted. Still, these
early crises were enough to reveal to the contemporary world the sinister
aspects of this best of all social orders. Glutted markets, shops filled with
goods nobody could buy, frequent bankruptcies—and on the other hand the
glaring poverty of the toiling masses—for the first time all this starkly met
the eyes of theorists who had preached the gospel of the beautiful
harmonies of bourgeois laissez-faire and had sung its praises in all keys. All
contemporary trade reports, periodicals and travellers’ notes told of the
losses sustained by English merchants. In Italy, Germany, Russia, and
Brazil, the English disposed of their commodity stocks at a loss of anything
between 25 per cent and 331⁄3 per cent. People at the Cape of Good Hope in
1818 complained that all the shops were flooded with European goods
offered at lower prices than in Europe and still unmarketable. From Calcutta
there came similar complaints. From New Holland whole cargoes returned
to England. In the United States, a contemporary traveller reports, ‘there
was no town nor hamlet from one end to the other of this immense and
prosperous continent where the amount of commodities displayed for sale
did not considerably exceed the means of the purchasers, although the
vendors tried to attract custom by long-term credits, all sorts of facilities for
payment, payment by instalments and acceptance of payment in kind’.
At the same time, England was hearing the desperate outcry of her workers.
The Edinburgh Review of 1820[147] quotes an address by the Nottingham
The first grave doubts as to the divine character of the capitalist order came
to bourgeois economists under the immediate impact of the first crises of
1815 and 1818-19 in England. Even then it had still been external
circumstances which led up to these crises, and they appeared to be
ephemeral. Napoleon’s blockade of the Continent which for a time had cut
off England from her European markets and had favoured a considerable
development of home industries in some of the continental countries, was
partly responsible; for the rest the material exhaustion of the Continent,
owing to the long period of war, made for a smaller demand for English
products than had been expected when the blockade was lifted. Still, these
early crises were enough to reveal to the contemporary world the sinister
aspects of this best of all social orders. Glutted markets, shops filled with
goods nobody could buy, frequent bankruptcies—and on the other hand the
glaring poverty of the toiling masses—for the first time all this starkly met
the eyes of theorists who had preached the gospel of the beautiful
harmonies of bourgeois laissez-faire and had sung its praises in all keys. All
contemporary trade reports, periodicals and travellers’ notes told of the
losses sustained by English merchants. In Italy, Germany, Russia, and
Brazil, the English disposed of their commodity stocks at a loss of anything
between 25 per cent and 331⁄3 per cent. People at the Cape of Good Hope in
1818 complained that all the shops were flooded with European goods
offered at lower prices than in Europe and still unmarketable. From Calcutta
there came similar complaints. From New Holland whole cargoes returned
to England. In the United States, a contemporary traveller reports, ‘there
was no town nor hamlet from one end to the other of this immense and
prosperous continent where the amount of commodities displayed for sale
did not considerably exceed the means of the purchasers, although the
vendors tried to attract custom by long-term credits, all sorts of facilities for
payment, payment by instalments and acceptance of payment in kind’.
At the same time, England was hearing the desperate outcry of her workers.
The Edinburgh Review of 1820[147] quotes an address by the Nottingham
Page 174
frame-work knitters which contained the following statements:
‘After working from 14 to 16 hours a day, we only earn from 4s. to 7s. a
week, to maintain our wives and families upon; and we farther state, that
although we have substituted bread and water, or potatoes and salt, for that
more wholesome food an Englishman’s table used to abound with, we have
repeatedly retired, after a heavy day’s labour, and have been under the
necessity of putting our children supperless to bed, to stifle the cries of
hunger. We can most solemnly declare, that for the last eighteen months we
have scarcely known what it was to be free from the pangs of hunger.’[148]
Then Owen in England, and Sismondi in France, almost simultaneously
raised their voices in a weighty indictment of capitalist society. Owen, as a
hard-headed Englishman and citizen of the leading industrial state,
constituted himself spokesman for a generous social reform, whereas the
petty-bourgeois Swiss rather lost himself in sweeping denunciations of the
imperfections of the existing social order and of classical economics. And
yet, by so doing, Sismondi gave bourgeois economics a much harder nut to
crack than Owen, whose fertile practical activities were directly applied to
the proletariat.
Sismondi explained in some detail that the impetus for his social criticism
came from England, and especially her first crisis. In the second edition of
his Nouveaux Principes d’Économie Politique Ou De La Richesse Dans Ses
Rapports Avec La Population,[149] eight years after the publication of the
first edition in 1819, he writes as follows:
‘It was in England that I performed the task of preparing the new edition.
England has given birth to the most celebrated Political Economists: the
science is cultivated even at this time with increased ardour.... Universal
competition or the effort always to produce more and always cheaper, has
long been the system in England, a system which I have attacked as
dangerous. This system has used production by manufacture to advance
with gigantic steps, but it has from time to time precipitated the
manufacturers into frightful distress. It was in presence of these convulsions
of wealth that I thought I ought to place myself, to review my reasonings
and compare them with facts.—The study of England has confirmed me in
my “New Principles”. In this astonishing country, which seems to be
subject to a great experiment for the instruction of the rest of the world, I
‘After working from 14 to 16 hours a day, we only earn from 4s. to 7s. a
week, to maintain our wives and families upon; and we farther state, that
although we have substituted bread and water, or potatoes and salt, for that
more wholesome food an Englishman’s table used to abound with, we have
repeatedly retired, after a heavy day’s labour, and have been under the
necessity of putting our children supperless to bed, to stifle the cries of
hunger. We can most solemnly declare, that for the last eighteen months we
have scarcely known what it was to be free from the pangs of hunger.’[148]
Then Owen in England, and Sismondi in France, almost simultaneously
raised their voices in a weighty indictment of capitalist society. Owen, as a
hard-headed Englishman and citizen of the leading industrial state,
constituted himself spokesman for a generous social reform, whereas the
petty-bourgeois Swiss rather lost himself in sweeping denunciations of the
imperfections of the existing social order and of classical economics. And
yet, by so doing, Sismondi gave bourgeois economics a much harder nut to
crack than Owen, whose fertile practical activities were directly applied to
the proletariat.
Sismondi explained in some detail that the impetus for his social criticism
came from England, and especially her first crisis. In the second edition of
his Nouveaux Principes d’Économie Politique Ou De La Richesse Dans Ses
Rapports Avec La Population,[149] eight years after the publication of the
first edition in 1819, he writes as follows:
‘It was in England that I performed the task of preparing the new edition.
England has given birth to the most celebrated Political Economists: the
science is cultivated even at this time with increased ardour.... Universal
competition or the effort always to produce more and always cheaper, has
long been the system in England, a system which I have attacked as
dangerous. This system has used production by manufacture to advance
with gigantic steps, but it has from time to time precipitated the
manufacturers into frightful distress. It was in presence of these convulsions
of wealth that I thought I ought to place myself, to review my reasonings
and compare them with facts.—The study of England has confirmed me in
my “New Principles”. In this astonishing country, which seems to be
subject to a great experiment for the instruction of the rest of the world, I
Page 175
have seen production increasing, whilst enjoyments were diminishing. The
mass of the nation here, no less than philosophers, seems to forget that the
increase of wealth is not the end in political economy, but its instrument in
procuring the happiness of all. I sought for this happiness in every class,
and I could nowhere find it. The high English aristocracy has indeed arrived
to a degree of wealth and luxury which surpasses all that can be seen in
other nations; nevertheless it does not itself enjoy the opulence which it
seems to have acquired at the expense of the other classes; security is
wanting and in every family most of the individuals experience privation
rather than abundance.... Below this titled and not titled aristocracy, I see
commerce occupy a distinguished rank; its enterprises embrace the whole
world, its agents brave the ices of the poles, and the heats of the equator,
whilst every one of its leading men, meeting on Exchange, can dispose of
thousands. At the same time, in the streets of London, and in those of the
other great towns of England, the shops display goods sufficient for the
consumption of the world.—But have riches secured to the English
merchant the kind of happiness which they ought to secure him? No: in no
country are failures so frequent, nowhere are those colossal fortunes,
sufficient in themselves to supply a public loan to uphold an Empire, or a
republic, overthrown with as much rapidity. All complain that business is
scarce, difficult, not remunerative. Twice, within an interval of a few years,
a terrible crisis has ruined part of the bankers, and spread desolation among
all the English manufacturers. At the same time another crisis has ruined the
farmers, and been felt in its rebound by retail dealers. On the other hand,
commerce, in spite of its immense extent, has ceased to call for young men
who have their fortunes to make; every place is occupied, in the superior
ranks of society no less than in the inferior; the greater number offer their
labour in vain, without being able to obtain remuneration.—Has, then, this
national opulence, whose material progress strikes every eye, nevertheless
tended to the advantage of the poor? Not so. The people of England are
destitute of comfort now, and of security for the future. There are no longer
yeomen, they have been obliged to become day labourers. In the towns
there are scarcely any longer artisans, or independent heads of a small
business, but only manufacturers. The operative, to employ a word which
the system has created, does not know what it is to have a station; he only
gains wages, and as these wages cannot suffice for all seasons, he is almost
every year reduced to ask alms from the poor-rates.—This opulent nation
mass of the nation here, no less than philosophers, seems to forget that the
increase of wealth is not the end in political economy, but its instrument in
procuring the happiness of all. I sought for this happiness in every class,
and I could nowhere find it. The high English aristocracy has indeed arrived
to a degree of wealth and luxury which surpasses all that can be seen in
other nations; nevertheless it does not itself enjoy the opulence which it
seems to have acquired at the expense of the other classes; security is
wanting and in every family most of the individuals experience privation
rather than abundance.... Below this titled and not titled aristocracy, I see
commerce occupy a distinguished rank; its enterprises embrace the whole
world, its agents brave the ices of the poles, and the heats of the equator,
whilst every one of its leading men, meeting on Exchange, can dispose of
thousands. At the same time, in the streets of London, and in those of the
other great towns of England, the shops display goods sufficient for the
consumption of the world.—But have riches secured to the English
merchant the kind of happiness which they ought to secure him? No: in no
country are failures so frequent, nowhere are those colossal fortunes,
sufficient in themselves to supply a public loan to uphold an Empire, or a
republic, overthrown with as much rapidity. All complain that business is
scarce, difficult, not remunerative. Twice, within an interval of a few years,
a terrible crisis has ruined part of the bankers, and spread desolation among
all the English manufacturers. At the same time another crisis has ruined the
farmers, and been felt in its rebound by retail dealers. On the other hand,
commerce, in spite of its immense extent, has ceased to call for young men
who have their fortunes to make; every place is occupied, in the superior
ranks of society no less than in the inferior; the greater number offer their
labour in vain, without being able to obtain remuneration.—Has, then, this
national opulence, whose material progress strikes every eye, nevertheless
tended to the advantage of the poor? Not so. The people of England are
destitute of comfort now, and of security for the future. There are no longer
yeomen, they have been obliged to become day labourers. In the towns
there are scarcely any longer artisans, or independent heads of a small
business, but only manufacturers. The operative, to employ a word which
the system has created, does not know what it is to have a station; he only
gains wages, and as these wages cannot suffice for all seasons, he is almost
every year reduced to ask alms from the poor-rates.—This opulent nation
Page 176
has found it more economical to sell all the gold and silver which she
possessed, to do without coin, and to depend entirely on a paper circulation;
she has thus voluntarily deprived herself of the most valuable of all the
advantages of coin: stability of value. The holders of the notes of the
provincial banks run the risk every day of being ruined by frequent and, as
it were, epidemic failures of the bankers; and the whole state is exposed to a
convulsion in the fortune of every individual, if an invasion or a revolution
should shake the credit of the national bank. The English nation has found it
more economical to give up those modes of cultivation which require much
hand-labour, and she has dismissed half the cultivators who lived in the
fields. She has found it more economical to supersede workmen by steam-
engines; she has dismissed ... the operatives in towns, and weavers giving
place to power-looms, are now sinking under famine; she has found it more
economical to reduce all working people to the lowest possible wages on
which they can subsist, and these working people being no longer anything
but a rabble, have not feared plunging into still deeper misery by the
addition of an increasing family. She has found it more economical to feed
the Irish with potatoes, and clothe them in rags; and now every packet
brings legions of Irish, who, working for less than the English, drive them
from every employment. What is the fruit of this immense accumulation of
wealth? Have they had any other effect than to make every class partake of
care, privation and the danger of complete ruin? Has not England, by
forgetting men for things, sacrificed the end to the means?’[150]
This mirror, held up to capitalist society almost a century before the time of
writing, is clear and comprehensive enough in all conscience. Sismondi put
his finger on every one of the sore spots of bourgeois economics: the ruin of
small enterprise; the drift from the country; the proletarisation of the middle
classes; the impoverishment of the workers; the displacement of the worker
by the machine; unemployment; the dangers of the credit system; social
antagonisms; the insecurity of existence; crises and anarchy. His harsh,
emphatic scepticism struck a specially shrill discord with the complacent
optimism, the idle worship of harmony as preached by vulgar economics
which, in the person of MacCulloch in England and of Say in France, was
becoming the fashion in both countries. It is easy to imagine what a deep
and painful impression remarks like the following were bound to make:
possessed, to do without coin, and to depend entirely on a paper circulation;
she has thus voluntarily deprived herself of the most valuable of all the
advantages of coin: stability of value. The holders of the notes of the
provincial banks run the risk every day of being ruined by frequent and, as
it were, epidemic failures of the bankers; and the whole state is exposed to a
convulsion in the fortune of every individual, if an invasion or a revolution
should shake the credit of the national bank. The English nation has found it
more economical to give up those modes of cultivation which require much
hand-labour, and she has dismissed half the cultivators who lived in the
fields. She has found it more economical to supersede workmen by steam-
engines; she has dismissed ... the operatives in towns, and weavers giving
place to power-looms, are now sinking under famine; she has found it more
economical to reduce all working people to the lowest possible wages on
which they can subsist, and these working people being no longer anything
but a rabble, have not feared plunging into still deeper misery by the
addition of an increasing family. She has found it more economical to feed
the Irish with potatoes, and clothe them in rags; and now every packet
brings legions of Irish, who, working for less than the English, drive them
from every employment. What is the fruit of this immense accumulation of
wealth? Have they had any other effect than to make every class partake of
care, privation and the danger of complete ruin? Has not England, by
forgetting men for things, sacrificed the end to the means?’[150]
This mirror, held up to capitalist society almost a century before the time of
writing, is clear and comprehensive enough in all conscience. Sismondi put
his finger on every one of the sore spots of bourgeois economics: the ruin of
small enterprise; the drift from the country; the proletarisation of the middle
classes; the impoverishment of the workers; the displacement of the worker
by the machine; unemployment; the dangers of the credit system; social
antagonisms; the insecurity of existence; crises and anarchy. His harsh,
emphatic scepticism struck a specially shrill discord with the complacent
optimism, the idle worship of harmony as preached by vulgar economics
which, in the person of MacCulloch in England and of Say in France, was
becoming the fashion in both countries. It is easy to imagine what a deep
and painful impression remarks like the following were bound to make:
Page 177
‘There can only be luxury if it is bought with another’s labour; only those
will work hard and untiringly who have to do so in order to get not the frills
but the very necessities of life.’[151]
‘Although the invention of the machine which increases man’s capacity, is a
blessing for mankind, it is made into a scourge for the poor by the unjust
distribution we make of its benefits.’[152]
‘The gain of an employer of labour is sometimes nothing if not despoiling
the worker he employs; he does not benefit because his enterprise produces
much more than it costs, but because he does not pay all the costs, because
he does not accord the labourer a remuneration equal to his work. Such an
industry is a social evil, for it reduces those who perform the work to
utmost poverty, assuring to those who direct it but the ordinary profits on
capital.’[153]
‘Amongst those who share in the national income, one group acquires new
rights each year by new labours, the other have previously acquired
permanent rights by reason of a primary effort which makes a year’s labour
more advantageous.’[154]
‘Nothing can prevent that every new discovery in applied mechanics should
diminish the working population by that much. To this danger it is
constantly exposed, and society provides no remedy for it.’[155]
‘A time will come, no doubt, when our descendants will condemn us as
barbarians because we have left the working classes without security, just as
we already condemn, as they also will, as barbarian the nations who
reduced those same classes to slavery.’[156]
Sismondi’s criticism thus goes right to the root of the matter; for him there
can be no compromise or evasion which might try to gloss over the dark
aspects of capitalist enrichment he exposed, as merely temporary
shortcomings of a transition period. He concludes his investigation with the
following rejoinder to Say:
‘For seven years I have indicated this malady of the social organism, and
for seven years it has continuously increased. I cannot regard such
prolonged suffering as the mere frictions which always accompany a
change. Going back to the origin of income, I believe to have shown the ills
will work hard and untiringly who have to do so in order to get not the frills
but the very necessities of life.’[151]
‘Although the invention of the machine which increases man’s capacity, is a
blessing for mankind, it is made into a scourge for the poor by the unjust
distribution we make of its benefits.’[152]
‘The gain of an employer of labour is sometimes nothing if not despoiling
the worker he employs; he does not benefit because his enterprise produces
much more than it costs, but because he does not pay all the costs, because
he does not accord the labourer a remuneration equal to his work. Such an
industry is a social evil, for it reduces those who perform the work to
utmost poverty, assuring to those who direct it but the ordinary profits on
capital.’[153]
‘Amongst those who share in the national income, one group acquires new
rights each year by new labours, the other have previously acquired
permanent rights by reason of a primary effort which makes a year’s labour
more advantageous.’[154]
‘Nothing can prevent that every new discovery in applied mechanics should
diminish the working population by that much. To this danger it is
constantly exposed, and society provides no remedy for it.’[155]
‘A time will come, no doubt, when our descendants will condemn us as
barbarians because we have left the working classes without security, just as
we already condemn, as they also will, as barbarian the nations who
reduced those same classes to slavery.’[156]
Sismondi’s criticism thus goes right to the root of the matter; for him there
can be no compromise or evasion which might try to gloss over the dark
aspects of capitalist enrichment he exposed, as merely temporary
shortcomings of a transition period. He concludes his investigation with the
following rejoinder to Say:
‘For seven years I have indicated this malady of the social organism, and
for seven years it has continuously increased. I cannot regard such
prolonged suffering as the mere frictions which always accompany a
change. Going back to the origin of income, I believe to have shown the ills
Page 178
we experience to be the consequence of a flaw in our organisation, to have
shown that they are not likely to come to an end.’[157]
The disproportion between capitalist production and the distribution of
incomes determined by the former appears to him the source of all evil.
This is the point from which he comes to the problem of accumulation with
which we are now concerned.
The main thread of his criticism against classical economics is this:
capitalist production is encouraged to expand indefinitely without any
regard to consumption; consumption, however, is determined by income.
‘All the modern economists, in fact, have allowed that the fortune of the
public, being only the aggregation of private fortunes, has its origin, is
augmented, distributed and destroyed by the same means as the fortune of
each individual. They all know perfectly well, that in a private fortune, the
most important fact to consider is the income, and that by the income must
be regulated consumption or expenditure, or the capital will be destroyed.
But as, in the fortune of the public, the capital of one becomes the income
of another, they have been perplexed to decide what was capital, and what
income, and they have therefore found it more simple to leave the latter
entirely out of their calculations. By neglecting a quality so essential to be
determined, Say and Ricardo have arrived at the conclusion, that
consumption is an unlimited power, or at least having no limits but those of
production, whilst it is in fact limited by income.... They announced that
whatever abundance might be produced, it would always find consumers,
and they have encouraged the producers to cause that glut in the markets,
which at this time occasions the distress of the civilised world; whereas
they should have forewarned the producers that they could only reckon on
those consumers who possessed income.’[158]
Sismondi thus grounds his views in a theory of income. What is income,
and what is capital? He pays the greatest attention to this distinction which
he calls ‘the most abstract and difficult question of political economics’.
The fourth chapter of his second book is devoted to this problem. As usual,
Sismondi starts his investigation with Robinson Crusoe. For such a one, the
distinction between capital and income was still ‘confused’; it becomes
‘essential’ only in society. Yet in society, too, this distinction is very
difficult, largely on account of the already familiar myth of bourgeois
shown that they are not likely to come to an end.’[157]
The disproportion between capitalist production and the distribution of
incomes determined by the former appears to him the source of all evil.
This is the point from which he comes to the problem of accumulation with
which we are now concerned.
The main thread of his criticism against classical economics is this:
capitalist production is encouraged to expand indefinitely without any
regard to consumption; consumption, however, is determined by income.
‘All the modern economists, in fact, have allowed that the fortune of the
public, being only the aggregation of private fortunes, has its origin, is
augmented, distributed and destroyed by the same means as the fortune of
each individual. They all know perfectly well, that in a private fortune, the
most important fact to consider is the income, and that by the income must
be regulated consumption or expenditure, or the capital will be destroyed.
But as, in the fortune of the public, the capital of one becomes the income
of another, they have been perplexed to decide what was capital, and what
income, and they have therefore found it more simple to leave the latter
entirely out of their calculations. By neglecting a quality so essential to be
determined, Say and Ricardo have arrived at the conclusion, that
consumption is an unlimited power, or at least having no limits but those of
production, whilst it is in fact limited by income.... They announced that
whatever abundance might be produced, it would always find consumers,
and they have encouraged the producers to cause that glut in the markets,
which at this time occasions the distress of the civilised world; whereas
they should have forewarned the producers that they could only reckon on
those consumers who possessed income.’[158]
Sismondi thus grounds his views in a theory of income. What is income,
and what is capital? He pays the greatest attention to this distinction which
he calls ‘the most abstract and difficult question of political economics’.
The fourth chapter of his second book is devoted to this problem. As usual,
Sismondi starts his investigation with Robinson Crusoe. For such a one, the
distinction between capital and income was still ‘confused’; it becomes
‘essential’ only in society. Yet in society, too, this distinction is very
difficult, largely on account of the already familiar myth of bourgeois
Page 179
economics, according to which ‘the capital of one becomes the income of
another’, and vice versa. Adam Smith was responsible for this confusion
which was then elevated to an axiom by Say in justification of mental
inertia and superficiality. It was loyally accepted by Sismondi.
‘The nature of capital and of income are always confused by the mind; we
see that what is income for one becomes capital for another, and the same
object, in passing from hand to hand, successively acquires different
denominations; the value which becomes detached from an object that has
been consumed, appears as a metaphysical quantity which one expends and
the other exchanges, which for one perishes together with the object itself
and which for the other renews itself and lasts for the time of
circulation.’[159]
After this promising introduction, Sismondi dives right into the difficult
problem and declares: all wealth is a product of labour; income is part of
wealth, and must therefore have the same origin. However, it is ‘customary’
to recognise three kinds of income, called rent, profit and wage respectively,
which spring from the three sources of ‘land, accumulated capital and
labour’. As to the first thesis, he is obviously on the wrong tack. As the
wealth of a society, i.e. as the aggregate of useful objects, of use-values,
wealth is not merely a product of labour but also of nature who both
supplies raw materials and provides the means to support human labour.
Income, on the other hand, is a concept of value. It indicates the amount to
which an individual or individuals can dispose over part of the wealth of
society or of the aggregate social product. In view of Sismondi’s insistence
that social income is part of social wealth, we might assume him to
understand by social income the actual annual fund for consumption. The
remaining part of wealth that has not been consumed, then, is the capital of
society. Thus we obtain at least a vague outline of the required distinction
between capital and income on a social basis. At the very next moment,
however, Sismondi accepts the ‘customary’ distinction between three kinds
of income, only one of which derives exclusively from ‘accumulated
capital’ while in the other two ‘land’ or ‘labour’ are conjoined with capital.
The concept of capital thus at once becomes hazy again. However, let us see
what Sismondi has to say about the origin of these three kinds of income
which betray a rift in the foundations of society. He is right to take a certain
development of labour productivity as his point of departure.
another’, and vice versa. Adam Smith was responsible for this confusion
which was then elevated to an axiom by Say in justification of mental
inertia and superficiality. It was loyally accepted by Sismondi.
‘The nature of capital and of income are always confused by the mind; we
see that what is income for one becomes capital for another, and the same
object, in passing from hand to hand, successively acquires different
denominations; the value which becomes detached from an object that has
been consumed, appears as a metaphysical quantity which one expends and
the other exchanges, which for one perishes together with the object itself
and which for the other renews itself and lasts for the time of
circulation.’[159]
After this promising introduction, Sismondi dives right into the difficult
problem and declares: all wealth is a product of labour; income is part of
wealth, and must therefore have the same origin. However, it is ‘customary’
to recognise three kinds of income, called rent, profit and wage respectively,
which spring from the three sources of ‘land, accumulated capital and
labour’. As to the first thesis, he is obviously on the wrong tack. As the
wealth of a society, i.e. as the aggregate of useful objects, of use-values,
wealth is not merely a product of labour but also of nature who both
supplies raw materials and provides the means to support human labour.
Income, on the other hand, is a concept of value. It indicates the amount to
which an individual or individuals can dispose over part of the wealth of
society or of the aggregate social product. In view of Sismondi’s insistence
that social income is part of social wealth, we might assume him to
understand by social income the actual annual fund for consumption. The
remaining part of wealth that has not been consumed, then, is the capital of
society. Thus we obtain at least a vague outline of the required distinction
between capital and income on a social basis. At the very next moment,
however, Sismondi accepts the ‘customary’ distinction between three kinds
of income, only one of which derives exclusively from ‘accumulated
capital’ while in the other two ‘land’ or ‘labour’ are conjoined with capital.
The concept of capital thus at once becomes hazy again. However, let us see
what Sismondi has to say about the origin of these three kinds of income
which betray a rift in the foundations of society. He is right to take a certain
development of labour productivity as his point of departure.
Page 180
‘By reason of the advances both in industry and science, by which man has
subjugated the forces of nature, every worker can produce more, far more,
in a day than he needs to consume.’[160]
Sismondi thus rightly stresses the fact that the productivity of labour is an
indispensable condition for the historical foundation of exploitation. Yet he
goes on to explain the actual origin of exploitation in a way typical of
bourgeois economics: ‘But even though his labour produces wealth, this
wealth, if he is called upon to enjoy it, will make him less and less fit for
work. Besides, wealth hardly ever remains in the possession of the man
who must live by the work of his hands.’[160]
Thus he makes exploitation and class antagonism the necessary spur to
production, quite in accord with the followers of Ricardo and Malthus. But
now he comes to the real cause of exploitation, the divorce of labour power
from the means of production.
‘The worker cannot, as a rule, keep the land as his own; land, however, has
a productive capacity which human labour but directs to the uses of man.
The master of the land on which labour is performed, reserves a share in the
fruits of labour to which his land has contributed, as his remuneration for
the benefits afforded by this productive capacity.’[161]
This is called rent. And further: ‘In our state of civilisation, the worker can
no longer call his own an adequate fund of objects for his consumption,
enough to live while he performs the labours he has undertaken—until he
has found a buyer. He no longer owns the raw materials, often coming from
far away, on which he must exercise his industry. Even less does he possess
that complicated and costly machinery which facilitates his work and makes
it infinitely more productive. The rich man who possesses his consumption
goods, his raw materials and his machines, need not work himself, for by
supplying the worker with all these, he becomes in a sense the master of his
work. As reward for the advantages he has put at the worker’s disposal, he
takes outright the greater part of the fruits of his labour.’[162]
This is called capital profits. What remains of wealth, after the cream has
been taken off twice, by landlord and capitalist, is the wage of labour, the
income of the worker. And Sismondi adds: ‘He can consume it without
reproduction.’[163]
subjugated the forces of nature, every worker can produce more, far more,
in a day than he needs to consume.’[160]
Sismondi thus rightly stresses the fact that the productivity of labour is an
indispensable condition for the historical foundation of exploitation. Yet he
goes on to explain the actual origin of exploitation in a way typical of
bourgeois economics: ‘But even though his labour produces wealth, this
wealth, if he is called upon to enjoy it, will make him less and less fit for
work. Besides, wealth hardly ever remains in the possession of the man
who must live by the work of his hands.’[160]
Thus he makes exploitation and class antagonism the necessary spur to
production, quite in accord with the followers of Ricardo and Malthus. But
now he comes to the real cause of exploitation, the divorce of labour power
from the means of production.
‘The worker cannot, as a rule, keep the land as his own; land, however, has
a productive capacity which human labour but directs to the uses of man.
The master of the land on which labour is performed, reserves a share in the
fruits of labour to which his land has contributed, as his remuneration for
the benefits afforded by this productive capacity.’[161]
This is called rent. And further: ‘In our state of civilisation, the worker can
no longer call his own an adequate fund of objects for his consumption,
enough to live while he performs the labours he has undertaken—until he
has found a buyer. He no longer owns the raw materials, often coming from
far away, on which he must exercise his industry. Even less does he possess
that complicated and costly machinery which facilitates his work and makes
it infinitely more productive. The rich man who possesses his consumption
goods, his raw materials and his machines, need not work himself, for by
supplying the worker with all these, he becomes in a sense the master of his
work. As reward for the advantages he has put at the worker’s disposal, he
takes outright the greater part of the fruits of his labour.’[162]
This is called capital profits. What remains of wealth, after the cream has
been taken off twice, by landlord and capitalist, is the wage of labour, the
income of the worker. And Sismondi adds: ‘He can consume it without
reproduction.’[163]
Page 181
Thus, Sismondi makes the fact of non-reproduction the criterion of income
as distinct from capital for wages as well as for rent. In this, however, he is
only right with regard to rent and the consumed part of capital profits; as for
the part of the social product which is consumed in form of wages, it
certainly does reproduce itself; it becomes the labour power of the wage
labourer, for him a commodity by whose sale he lives, which he can bring
to market again and again; for society it becomes the material form of
variable capital which must reappear time and again in the aggregate
reproduction of a year, if there is to be no loss.
So far so good. Hitherto we have only learned two facts: the productivity of
labour permits of the exploitation of the workers by those who do not work
themselves, and exploitation becomes the actual foundation of the
distribution of income owing to the divorce of the worker from his means of
production. But we still do not know what is capital and what income, and
Sismondi proceeds to clarify this point, starting as usual with Robinson
Crusoe:
‘In the eyes of the individual all wealth was nothing but a provision
prepared beforehand for the time of need. Even so, he already distinguished
two elements in this provision ... one part which he budgets to have at hand
for immediate or almost immediate use, and the other which he will not
need until it is to afford him new production. Thus one part of his corn must
feed him until the next harvest, another part, reserved for sowing, is to bear
fruit the following year. The formation of society and the introduction of
exchange, permit to increase this seed, this fertile part of accumulated
wealth, almost indefinitely, and this is what is called capital.’[164]
Balderdash would be a better name for all this. In using the analogy of seed,
Sismondi here identifies means of production and capital, and this is wrong
for two reasons. First, means of production are capital not intrinsically, but
only under quite definite historical conditions; secondly, the concept of
capital covers more than just the means of production. In capitalist society
—with all the conditions Sismondi ignores—the means of production are
only a part of capital, i.e. they are constant capital.
Sismondi here lost his thread plainly because he tried to establish a
connection between the capital concept and the material aspects of social
reproduction. Earlier, so long as he was concerned with the individual
as distinct from capital for wages as well as for rent. In this, however, he is
only right with regard to rent and the consumed part of capital profits; as for
the part of the social product which is consumed in form of wages, it
certainly does reproduce itself; it becomes the labour power of the wage
labourer, for him a commodity by whose sale he lives, which he can bring
to market again and again; for society it becomes the material form of
variable capital which must reappear time and again in the aggregate
reproduction of a year, if there is to be no loss.
So far so good. Hitherto we have only learned two facts: the productivity of
labour permits of the exploitation of the workers by those who do not work
themselves, and exploitation becomes the actual foundation of the
distribution of income owing to the divorce of the worker from his means of
production. But we still do not know what is capital and what income, and
Sismondi proceeds to clarify this point, starting as usual with Robinson
Crusoe:
‘In the eyes of the individual all wealth was nothing but a provision
prepared beforehand for the time of need. Even so, he already distinguished
two elements in this provision ... one part which he budgets to have at hand
for immediate or almost immediate use, and the other which he will not
need until it is to afford him new production. Thus one part of his corn must
feed him until the next harvest, another part, reserved for sowing, is to bear
fruit the following year. The formation of society and the introduction of
exchange, permit to increase this seed, this fertile part of accumulated
wealth, almost indefinitely, and this is what is called capital.’[164]
Balderdash would be a better name for all this. In using the analogy of seed,
Sismondi here identifies means of production and capital, and this is wrong
for two reasons. First, means of production are capital not intrinsically, but
only under quite definite historical conditions; secondly, the concept of
capital covers more than just the means of production. In capitalist society
—with all the conditions Sismondi ignores—the means of production are
only a part of capital, i.e. they are constant capital.
Sismondi here lost his thread plainly because he tried to establish a
connection between the capital concept and the material aspects of social
reproduction. Earlier, so long as he was concerned with the individual
Page 182
capitalist, he listed means of subsistence for the workers together with
means of production as component parts of capital—again a mistake in
view of the material aspects of the reproduction of individual capitals. Yet
as soon as he tries to focus the material foundations of social reproduction
and sets out to make the correct distinction between consumer goods and
means of production, the concept of capital dissolves in his hands.
However, Sismondi well knows that the means of production are not the
sole requisites for production and exploitation; indeed, he has the proper
instinct that the core of the relation of exploitation is the very fact of
exchange with living labour. Having just reduced capital to constant capital,
he now immediately reduces it exclusively to variable capital:
‘When the farmer has put in reserve all the corn he expects to need till the
next harvest, he will find a good use for the surplus corn: he will feed what
he has left over to other people who are going to work for him, till his land,
spin and weave his hemp and wool, etc.... By this procedure, the farmer
converts a part of his income into capital, and in fact, this is the way in
which new capital is always formed.... The corn he has reaped over and
above what he must eat while he is working, and over and above what he
will have to sow in order to maintain the same level of exploitation, is
wealth which he can give away, squander and consume in idleness without
becoming any poorer; it was income, but as soon as he uses it to feed
producers, as soon as he exchanges it for labour, or for the fruits to come
from the work of his labourers, his weavers, his miners, it is a permanent
value that multiplies and will no longer perish; it is capital.’[165]
Here there is some grain mixed up with quite a lot of chaff. Constant capital
seems still required to maintain production on the old scale, although it is
strangely reduced to circulating capital, and although the reproduction of
fixed capital is completely ignored. Circulating capital apparently is also
superfluous for the expansion of reproduction, for accumulation: the whole
capitalised part of the surplus value is converted into wages for new
workers who evidently labour in mid-air, without material means of
production. The same view is expressed even more clearly elsewhere:
‘When the rich man cuts down his income in order to add to his capital, he
is thus conferring a benefit on the poor, because he himself shares out the
annual product; and whatever he calls income, he will keep for his own
means of production as component parts of capital—again a mistake in
view of the material aspects of the reproduction of individual capitals. Yet
as soon as he tries to focus the material foundations of social reproduction
and sets out to make the correct distinction between consumer goods and
means of production, the concept of capital dissolves in his hands.
However, Sismondi well knows that the means of production are not the
sole requisites for production and exploitation; indeed, he has the proper
instinct that the core of the relation of exploitation is the very fact of
exchange with living labour. Having just reduced capital to constant capital,
he now immediately reduces it exclusively to variable capital:
‘When the farmer has put in reserve all the corn he expects to need till the
next harvest, he will find a good use for the surplus corn: he will feed what
he has left over to other people who are going to work for him, till his land,
spin and weave his hemp and wool, etc.... By this procedure, the farmer
converts a part of his income into capital, and in fact, this is the way in
which new capital is always formed.... The corn he has reaped over and
above what he must eat while he is working, and over and above what he
will have to sow in order to maintain the same level of exploitation, is
wealth which he can give away, squander and consume in idleness without
becoming any poorer; it was income, but as soon as he uses it to feed
producers, as soon as he exchanges it for labour, or for the fruits to come
from the work of his labourers, his weavers, his miners, it is a permanent
value that multiplies and will no longer perish; it is capital.’[165]
Here there is some grain mixed up with quite a lot of chaff. Constant capital
seems still required to maintain production on the old scale, although it is
strangely reduced to circulating capital, and although the reproduction of
fixed capital is completely ignored. Circulating capital apparently is also
superfluous for the expansion of reproduction, for accumulation: the whole
capitalised part of the surplus value is converted into wages for new
workers who evidently labour in mid-air, without material means of
production. The same view is expressed even more clearly elsewhere:
‘When the rich man cuts down his income in order to add to his capital, he
is thus conferring a benefit on the poor, because he himself shares out the
annual product; and whatever he calls income, he will keep for his own
Page 183
consumption; whatever he calls capital, he gives to the poor man to
constitute an income for him.’[166]
Yet at the same time Sismondi gives due weight to the ‘secret of profit-
making’ and the origin of capital. Surplus value arises from the exchange of
capital for labour, from variable capital, and capital arises from the
accumulation of surplus value.
With all this, however, we have not made much progress towards a
distinction between capital and income. Sismondi now attempts to represent
the various elements of production and income in terms of the appropriate
parts of the aggregate social product.
‘The employer of labour, as also the labourer, does not use all his
productive wealth for the sowing; he devotes part of it to buildings, mills
and tools which render the work easier and more productive, just as a share
of the labourer’s wealth had been devoted to the permanent work of making
the soil more fertile. Thus we see how the different kinds of wealth
successively come into being and become distinct. One part of the wealth
accumulated by society is devoted by every one who possesses it to render
labour more profitable by slow consumption, and make the blind forces of
nature execute the work of man; this part is called fixed capital and
comprises reclaiming, irrigation, factories, the tools of trade, and
mechanical contrivances of every description. A second part of wealth is
destined for immediate consumption, to reproduce itself in the work it gets
done, to change its form, though not its value, without cease. This part is
called circulating capital and it comprises seed, raw materials for
manufacture, and wages. Finally, a third part of wealth becomes
distinguishable from the second: it is the value by which the finished job
exceeds the advances which had to be made: this part is called income on
capitals and is destined to be consumed without reproduction.’[167]
After this laborious attempt to achieve a division of the aggregate social
production according to incommensurable categories, fixed capital,
circulating capital, and surplus value, Sismondi soon shows unmistakable
signs that he means constant capital when he speaks of fixed capital, and
variable capital when he speaks of circulating capital. For ‘all that is
created’, is destined for human consumption, though fixed capital is
consumed ‘mediately’ while the circulating capital ‘passes into the
constitute an income for him.’[166]
Yet at the same time Sismondi gives due weight to the ‘secret of profit-
making’ and the origin of capital. Surplus value arises from the exchange of
capital for labour, from variable capital, and capital arises from the
accumulation of surplus value.
With all this, however, we have not made much progress towards a
distinction between capital and income. Sismondi now attempts to represent
the various elements of production and income in terms of the appropriate
parts of the aggregate social product.
‘The employer of labour, as also the labourer, does not use all his
productive wealth for the sowing; he devotes part of it to buildings, mills
and tools which render the work easier and more productive, just as a share
of the labourer’s wealth had been devoted to the permanent work of making
the soil more fertile. Thus we see how the different kinds of wealth
successively come into being and become distinct. One part of the wealth
accumulated by society is devoted by every one who possesses it to render
labour more profitable by slow consumption, and make the blind forces of
nature execute the work of man; this part is called fixed capital and
comprises reclaiming, irrigation, factories, the tools of trade, and
mechanical contrivances of every description. A second part of wealth is
destined for immediate consumption, to reproduce itself in the work it gets
done, to change its form, though not its value, without cease. This part is
called circulating capital and it comprises seed, raw materials for
manufacture, and wages. Finally, a third part of wealth becomes
distinguishable from the second: it is the value by which the finished job
exceeds the advances which had to be made: this part is called income on
capitals and is destined to be consumed without reproduction.’[167]
After this laborious attempt to achieve a division of the aggregate social
production according to incommensurable categories, fixed capital,
circulating capital, and surplus value, Sismondi soon shows unmistakable
signs that he means constant capital when he speaks of fixed capital, and
variable capital when he speaks of circulating capital. For ‘all that is
created’, is destined for human consumption, though fixed capital is
consumed ‘mediately’ while the circulating capital ‘passes into the
Page 184
consumption fund of the worker whose wage it forms’.[168] Thus we are a
little nearer to the division of the social product into constant capital (means
of production), variable capital (provisions for the workers) and surplus
value (provisions for the capitalists). But so far Sismondi’s explanations are
not particularly illuminating on the subject which he himself describes as
‘fundamental’. In this welter of confusion, at any rate, we cannot see any
progress beyond Adam Smith’s ‘massive thought’.
Sismondi feels this himself and would clarify the problem ‘by the simplest
of all methods’, sighing that ‘this movement of wealth is so abstract and
requires such great power of concentration to grasp it properly’.[168] Thus
again we put on blinkers with a focus on Robinson [Crusoe], who in the
meantime has changed to the extent that he has produced a family and is
now a pioneer of colonial policy:
‘A solitary farmer in a distant colony on the border of the desert has reaped
100 sacks of corn this year; there is no market where to bring them; this
corn, in any case, must be consumed within the year, else it will be of no
value to the farmer; yet the farmer and his family eat only 30 sacks of it;
this will be his expenditure, constituting the exchange of his income; it is
not reproduced for anybody whatever. Then he will call for workers, he will
make them clear woods, and drain swamps in his neighbourhood and put
part of the desert under the plough. These workers will eat another 30 sacks
of corn: this will be their expenditure; they will be in a position to afford
this expenditure at the price of their revenue, that is to say their labour; for
the farmer it will be an exchange: he will have converted his 30 sacks into
fixed capital. In the end, he is left with 40 sacks. He will sow them that
year, instead of the 20 he had sown the previous year; this constitutes his
circulating capital which he will have doubled. Thus the 100 sacks will
have been consumed, but of these 100 sacks 70 are a real investment for
him, which will reappear with great increase, some of them at the very next
harvest, and the others in all subsequent harvests.—The very isolation of
the farmer we have just assumed gives us a better feeling for the limitations
of such an operation. If he has only found consumers for 60 of the 100
sacks harvested in that year, who is going to eat the 200 sacks produced the
following year by the increase in his sowing? His family, you might say,
which will increase. No doubt; but human generations do not multiply as
quickly as subsistence. If our farmer had hands available to repeat this
little nearer to the division of the social product into constant capital (means
of production), variable capital (provisions for the workers) and surplus
value (provisions for the capitalists). But so far Sismondi’s explanations are
not particularly illuminating on the subject which he himself describes as
‘fundamental’. In this welter of confusion, at any rate, we cannot see any
progress beyond Adam Smith’s ‘massive thought’.
Sismondi feels this himself and would clarify the problem ‘by the simplest
of all methods’, sighing that ‘this movement of wealth is so abstract and
requires such great power of concentration to grasp it properly’.[168] Thus
again we put on blinkers with a focus on Robinson [Crusoe], who in the
meantime has changed to the extent that he has produced a family and is
now a pioneer of colonial policy:
‘A solitary farmer in a distant colony on the border of the desert has reaped
100 sacks of corn this year; there is no market where to bring them; this
corn, in any case, must be consumed within the year, else it will be of no
value to the farmer; yet the farmer and his family eat only 30 sacks of it;
this will be his expenditure, constituting the exchange of his income; it is
not reproduced for anybody whatever. Then he will call for workers, he will
make them clear woods, and drain swamps in his neighbourhood and put
part of the desert under the plough. These workers will eat another 30 sacks
of corn: this will be their expenditure; they will be in a position to afford
this expenditure at the price of their revenue, that is to say their labour; for
the farmer it will be an exchange: he will have converted his 30 sacks into
fixed capital. In the end, he is left with 40 sacks. He will sow them that
year, instead of the 20 he had sown the previous year; this constitutes his
circulating capital which he will have doubled. Thus the 100 sacks will
have been consumed, but of these 100 sacks 70 are a real investment for
him, which will reappear with great increase, some of them at the very next
harvest, and the others in all subsequent harvests.—The very isolation of
the farmer we have just assumed gives us a better feeling for the limitations
of such an operation. If he has only found consumers for 60 of the 100
sacks harvested in that year, who is going to eat the 200 sacks produced the
following year by the increase in his sowing? His family, you might say,
which will increase. No doubt; but human generations do not multiply as
quickly as subsistence. If our farmer had hands available to repeat this
Page 185
assumed process each year, his corn harvest will be doubled every year, and
his family could at the most be doubled once in 25 years.’[169]
Though the example is naïve, the vital question stands out clearly in the
end: where are the buyers for the surplus value that has been capitalised?
The accumulation of capital can indefinitely increase the production of the
society. But what about the consumption of society? This is determined by
the various kinds of income. Sismondi explains this important subject in
chapter v of book ii, ‘The Distribution of the National Income Among the
Various Classes of Citizens’, in a resumed effort to describe the components
of the social product.
‘Under this aspect, the national income is composed of two parts and no
more; the one consists in annual production ... the profit arising from
wealth. The second is the capacity for work which springs from life. This
time we understand by wealth both territorial possessions and capital, and
by profit the net income accruing to the owners as well as the profit of the
capitalist.’[170]
Thus all the means of production are separated from the national income as
‘wealth’, and this income is divided into surplus value and labour power, or
better, its equivalent, the variable capital. This, then, though still far too
vague, is our division into constant capital, variable capital and surplus
value. But ‘national income’, it soon transpires, means for Sismondi the
annual aggregate product of society:
‘Similarly, annual production, or the result of all the nation’s work in the
course of a year, is composed of two parts: one we have just discussed—the
profit resulting from wealth; the other is the capacity for work, which is
assumed to equal the part of wealth for which it is exchanged, or the
subsistence of the workers.’[171]
The aggregate social product is thus resolved, in terms of value, into two
parts: variable capital and surplus value—constant capital has disappeared.
We have arrived at Smith’s dogma that the commodity price is resolved into
v + s (or is composed of v + s)—in other words, the aggregate product
consists solely of consumer goods for workers and capitalists.
Sismondi then goes on to the problem of realising the aggregate product.
On the one hand, the sum total of incomes in a society consists of wages,
his family could at the most be doubled once in 25 years.’[169]
Though the example is naïve, the vital question stands out clearly in the
end: where are the buyers for the surplus value that has been capitalised?
The accumulation of capital can indefinitely increase the production of the
society. But what about the consumption of society? This is determined by
the various kinds of income. Sismondi explains this important subject in
chapter v of book ii, ‘The Distribution of the National Income Among the
Various Classes of Citizens’, in a resumed effort to describe the components
of the social product.
‘Under this aspect, the national income is composed of two parts and no
more; the one consists in annual production ... the profit arising from
wealth. The second is the capacity for work which springs from life. This
time we understand by wealth both territorial possessions and capital, and
by profit the net income accruing to the owners as well as the profit of the
capitalist.’[170]
Thus all the means of production are separated from the national income as
‘wealth’, and this income is divided into surplus value and labour power, or
better, its equivalent, the variable capital. This, then, though still far too
vague, is our division into constant capital, variable capital and surplus
value. But ‘national income’, it soon transpires, means for Sismondi the
annual aggregate product of society:
‘Similarly, annual production, or the result of all the nation’s work in the
course of a year, is composed of two parts: one we have just discussed—the
profit resulting from wealth; the other is the capacity for work, which is
assumed to equal the part of wealth for which it is exchanged, or the
subsistence of the workers.’[171]
The aggregate social product is thus resolved, in terms of value, into two
parts: variable capital and surplus value—constant capital has disappeared.
We have arrived at Smith’s dogma that the commodity price is resolved into
v + s (or is composed of v + s)—in other words, the aggregate product
consists solely of consumer goods for workers and capitalists.
Sismondi then goes on to the problem of realising the aggregate product.
On the one hand, the sum total of incomes in a society consists of wages,
Page 186
capital profits and rents, and is thus represented by v + s; on the other hand,
the aggregate social product, in terms of value, is equally resolved into v + s
‘so that national income and annual production balance each other (and
appear as equal quantities)’, i.e. so that they must be equal in value.
‘Annual production is consumed altogether during the year, but in part by
the workers who, by exchanging their labour for it, convert it into capital
and reproduce it; in part by the capitalists who, exchanging their income for
it, annihilate it. The whole of the annual income is destined to be exchanged
for the whole of annual production.’[172]
This is the basis on which, in the sixth chapter of book ii, ‘On Reciprocal
Determination of Production and Consumption’, Sismondi finally sets up
the following precise law of reproduction: ‘It is the income of the past year
which must pay for the production of the present year.’[173]
If this is true, how can there be any accumulation of capital? If the
aggregate product must be completely consumed by the workers and
capitalists, we obviously remain within the bounds of simple reproduction,
and there can be no solution to the problem of accumulation. Sismondi’s
theory in fact amounts to a denial of the possibility of accumulation. The
aggregate social demand being the bulk of wages given to the workers and
the previous consumption of the capitalists, who will be left to buy the
surplus product if reproduction expands? On this count, Sismondi argues
that accumulation is objectively impossible, as follows:
‘What happens after all is always that we exchange the whole of production
for the whole production of the previous year. Besides, if production
gradually increases, the exchange, at the same time as it improves future
conditions, must entail a small loss every year.’[174]
In other words, when the aggregate product is realised, accumulation is
bound each year to create a surplus that cannot be sold. Sismondi, however,
is afraid of drawing this final conclusion, and prefers a ‘middle course’,
necessitating a somewhat obscure subterfuge: ‘If this loss is not heavy, and
evenly distributed, everyone will bear with it without complaining about his
income. This is what constitutes the national economy, and the series of
such small sacrifices increases capital and common wealth.’[174]
the aggregate social product, in terms of value, is equally resolved into v + s
‘so that national income and annual production balance each other (and
appear as equal quantities)’, i.e. so that they must be equal in value.
‘Annual production is consumed altogether during the year, but in part by
the workers who, by exchanging their labour for it, convert it into capital
and reproduce it; in part by the capitalists who, exchanging their income for
it, annihilate it. The whole of the annual income is destined to be exchanged
for the whole of annual production.’[172]
This is the basis on which, in the sixth chapter of book ii, ‘On Reciprocal
Determination of Production and Consumption’, Sismondi finally sets up
the following precise law of reproduction: ‘It is the income of the past year
which must pay for the production of the present year.’[173]
If this is true, how can there be any accumulation of capital? If the
aggregate product must be completely consumed by the workers and
capitalists, we obviously remain within the bounds of simple reproduction,
and there can be no solution to the problem of accumulation. Sismondi’s
theory in fact amounts to a denial of the possibility of accumulation. The
aggregate social demand being the bulk of wages given to the workers and
the previous consumption of the capitalists, who will be left to buy the
surplus product if reproduction expands? On this count, Sismondi argues
that accumulation is objectively impossible, as follows:
‘What happens after all is always that we exchange the whole of production
for the whole production of the previous year. Besides, if production
gradually increases, the exchange, at the same time as it improves future
conditions, must entail a small loss every year.’[174]
In other words, when the aggregate product is realised, accumulation is
bound each year to create a surplus that cannot be sold. Sismondi, however,
is afraid of drawing this final conclusion, and prefers a ‘middle course’,
necessitating a somewhat obscure subterfuge: ‘If this loss is not heavy, and
evenly distributed, everyone will bear with it without complaining about his
income. This is what constitutes the national economy, and the series of
such small sacrifices increases capital and common wealth.’[174]
Page 187
If, on the other hand, there is ruthless accumulation, this surplus residue
becomes a public calamity, and the result is a crisis. Thus a petty-bourgeois
subterfuge becomes the solution of Sismondi: putting the dampers on
accumulation. He constantly polemises against the classical school which
advocates unrestricted development of the productive forces and expansion
of production; and his whole work is a warning against the fatal
consequences of giving full rein to the desire to accumulate.
Sismondi’s exposition proves that he was unable to grasp the reproductive
process as a whole. Quite apart from his unsuccessful attempt to distinguish
between the categories of capital and income from the point of view of
society, his theory of reproduction suffers from the fundamental error he
took over from Adam Smith: the idea that personal consumption absorbs the
entire annual product, without leaving any part of the value for the renewal
of society’s constant capital, and also, that accumulation consists merely of
the transformation of capitalised surplus value into variable capital. Yet, if
later critics of Sismondi, e.g. the Russian Marxist Ilyin,[175] think that
pointing out this fundamental error in the analysis of the aggregate product
can justify a cavalier dismissal of Sismondi’s entire theory of accumulation
as inadequate, as ‘nonsense’, they merely demonstrate their own obtuseness
in respect of Sismondi’s real concern, his ultimate problem. The analysis of
Marx at a later date, showing up the crude mistakes of Adam Smith for the
first time, is the best proof that the problem of accumulation is far from
solved just by attending to the equivalent of the constant capital in the
aggregate product. This is proved even more strikingly in the actual
development of Sismondi’s theory: his views involved him in bitter
controversy with the exponents and popularisers of the classical school,
with Ricardo, Say and MacCulloch. The two parties to the conflict represent
diametrically opposed points of view: Sismondi stands for the sheer
impossibility, the others for the unrestricted possibility, of accumulation.
Sismondi and his opponents alike disregard constant capital in their
exposition of reproduction, and it was Say in particular who presumed to
perpetuate Adam Smith’s confused concept of the aggregate product as v +
s as an unassailable dogma.
The knowledge we owe to Marx that the aggregate product must, apart from
consumer goods for the workers and capitalists (v + s), also contain means
of production to renew what has been used, that accumulation accordingly
becomes a public calamity, and the result is a crisis. Thus a petty-bourgeois
subterfuge becomes the solution of Sismondi: putting the dampers on
accumulation. He constantly polemises against the classical school which
advocates unrestricted development of the productive forces and expansion
of production; and his whole work is a warning against the fatal
consequences of giving full rein to the desire to accumulate.
Sismondi’s exposition proves that he was unable to grasp the reproductive
process as a whole. Quite apart from his unsuccessful attempt to distinguish
between the categories of capital and income from the point of view of
society, his theory of reproduction suffers from the fundamental error he
took over from Adam Smith: the idea that personal consumption absorbs the
entire annual product, without leaving any part of the value for the renewal
of society’s constant capital, and also, that accumulation consists merely of
the transformation of capitalised surplus value into variable capital. Yet, if
later critics of Sismondi, e.g. the Russian Marxist Ilyin,[175] think that
pointing out this fundamental error in the analysis of the aggregate product
can justify a cavalier dismissal of Sismondi’s entire theory of accumulation
as inadequate, as ‘nonsense’, they merely demonstrate their own obtuseness
in respect of Sismondi’s real concern, his ultimate problem. The analysis of
Marx at a later date, showing up the crude mistakes of Adam Smith for the
first time, is the best proof that the problem of accumulation is far from
solved just by attending to the equivalent of the constant capital in the
aggregate product. This is proved even more strikingly in the actual
development of Sismondi’s theory: his views involved him in bitter
controversy with the exponents and popularisers of the classical school,
with Ricardo, Say and MacCulloch. The two parties to the conflict represent
diametrically opposed points of view: Sismondi stands for the sheer
impossibility, the others for the unrestricted possibility, of accumulation.
Sismondi and his opponents alike disregard constant capital in their
exposition of reproduction, and it was Say in particular who presumed to
perpetuate Adam Smith’s confused concept of the aggregate product as v +
s as an unassailable dogma.
The knowledge we owe to Marx that the aggregate product must, apart from
consumer goods for the workers and capitalists (v + s), also contain means
of production to renew what has been used, that accumulation accordingly
Page 188
consists not merely in the enlargement of variable but also of constant
capital, is not enough, as amply demonstrated by this entertaining turn of
events, to solve the problem of accumulation. Later we shall see how this
stress on the share of constant capital in the reproductive process gave rise
to new fallacies in the theory of accumulation. At present it will suffice to
put on record that the deference to Smith’s error about the reproduction of
aggregate capital is not a weakness unique to Sismondi’s position but is
rather the common ground on which the first controversy about the problem
of accumulation was fought out. Scientific research, not only in this sphere,
proceeds in devious ways; it often tackles the upper storeys of the edifice,
as it were, without making sure of the foundations; and so this conflict only
resulted in that bourgeois economics took on the further complicated
problem of accumulation without even having assimilated the elementary
problem of simple reproduction. At all events, Sismondi, in his critique of
accumulation, had indubitably given bourgeois economics a hard nut to
crack—seeing that in spite of his transparently feeble and awkward
deductions, Sismondi’s opponents were still unable to get the better of him.
capital, is not enough, as amply demonstrated by this entertaining turn of
events, to solve the problem of accumulation. Later we shall see how this
stress on the share of constant capital in the reproductive process gave rise
to new fallacies in the theory of accumulation. At present it will suffice to
put on record that the deference to Smith’s error about the reproduction of
aggregate capital is not a weakness unique to Sismondi’s position but is
rather the common ground on which the first controversy about the problem
of accumulation was fought out. Scientific research, not only in this sphere,
proceeds in devious ways; it often tackles the upper storeys of the edifice,
as it were, without making sure of the foundations; and so this conflict only
resulted in that bourgeois economics took on the further complicated
problem of accumulation without even having assimilated the elementary
problem of simple reproduction. At all events, Sismondi, in his critique of
accumulation, had indubitably given bourgeois economics a hard nut to
crack—seeing that in spite of his transparently feeble and awkward
deductions, Sismondi’s opponents were still unable to get the better of him.
Page 189
CHAPTER XI
Page 190
MacCULLOCH v. SISMONDI
Sismondi’s emphatic warnings against the ruthless ascendancy of capital in
Europe called forth severe opposition on three sides: in England the school
of Ricardo, in France J. B. Say, the commonplace vulgariser of Adam
Smith, and the St. Simonians. While Owen in England, profoundly aware of
the dark aspects of the industrial system and of the crises in particular, saw
eye to eye with Sismondi in many respects, the school of that other great
European, St. Simon, who had stressed the world-embracing conception of
large industrial expansion, the unlimited unfolding of the productive forces
of human labour, felt perturbed by Sismondi’s alarms. Here, however, we
are interested in the controversy between Sismondi and the Ricardians
which proved the most fruitful from the theoretical point of view. In the
name of Ricardo, and, it seemed, with Ricardo’s personal approval,
MacCulloch anonymously published a polemical article[176] against
Sismondi in the Edinburgh Review in October 1819, i.e. immediately after
the publication of the Nouveaux Principes.
In 1820, Sismondi replied in Rossi’s Annales de Jurisprudence with an
essay entitled: ‘Does the Power of Consuming Necessarily Increase with
the Power to Produce? An Enquiry.’[177]
In his reply Sismondi[178] himself states that his polemics were conceived
under the impact of the commercial crisis: ‘This truth we are both looking
for, is of utmost importance under present conditions. It may be considered
as fundamental for economics. Universal distress is in evidence in the trade,
in industry and, in many countries certainly, even in agriculture. Such
prolonged and extraordinary suffering has brought misfortune to countless
families and insecurity and despondency to all, until it threatens the very
bases of the social order. Two contrasting explanations have been advanced
for the distress that has caused such a stir. Some say: we have produced too
much, and others: we have not produced enough. “There will be no
equilibrium,” say the former, “no peace and no prosperity until we consume
the entire commodity surplus which remains unsold on the market, until we
organise production for the future in accordance with the buyers’
Sismondi’s emphatic warnings against the ruthless ascendancy of capital in
Europe called forth severe opposition on three sides: in England the school
of Ricardo, in France J. B. Say, the commonplace vulgariser of Adam
Smith, and the St. Simonians. While Owen in England, profoundly aware of
the dark aspects of the industrial system and of the crises in particular, saw
eye to eye with Sismondi in many respects, the school of that other great
European, St. Simon, who had stressed the world-embracing conception of
large industrial expansion, the unlimited unfolding of the productive forces
of human labour, felt perturbed by Sismondi’s alarms. Here, however, we
are interested in the controversy between Sismondi and the Ricardians
which proved the most fruitful from the theoretical point of view. In the
name of Ricardo, and, it seemed, with Ricardo’s personal approval,
MacCulloch anonymously published a polemical article[176] against
Sismondi in the Edinburgh Review in October 1819, i.e. immediately after
the publication of the Nouveaux Principes.
In 1820, Sismondi replied in Rossi’s Annales de Jurisprudence with an
essay entitled: ‘Does the Power of Consuming Necessarily Increase with
the Power to Produce? An Enquiry.’[177]
In his reply Sismondi[178] himself states that his polemics were conceived
under the impact of the commercial crisis: ‘This truth we are both looking
for, is of utmost importance under present conditions. It may be considered
as fundamental for economics. Universal distress is in evidence in the trade,
in industry and, in many countries certainly, even in agriculture. Such
prolonged and extraordinary suffering has brought misfortune to countless
families and insecurity and despondency to all, until it threatens the very
bases of the social order. Two contrasting explanations have been advanced
for the distress that has caused such a stir. Some say: we have produced too
much, and others: we have not produced enough. “There will be no
equilibrium,” say the former, “no peace and no prosperity until we consume
the entire commodity surplus which remains unsold on the market, until we
organise production for the future in accordance with the buyers’
Page 191
demand.”—“There will be a new equilibrium,” say the latter, “if only we
double our efforts to accumulate as well as to produce. It is a mistake to
believe that there is a glut on the market; no more than half our warehouses
are full; let us fill the other half, too, and the mutual exchange of these new
riches will revive our trade.”’[179]
In this supremely lucid way, Sismondi sets out and underlines the real crux
of the dispute. MacCulloch’s whole position in truth stands or falls with the
statement that exchange is actually an interchange of commodities; every
commodity accordingly represents not only supply but demand. The
dialogue then continues as follows:
‘Demand and supply are truly correlative and convertible terms. The supply
of one set of commodities constitutes the demand for another. Thus, there is
a demand for a given quantity of agricultural produce, when a quantity of
wrought goods equal thereto in productive cost is offered in exchange for it;
and conversely, there is an effectual demand for this quantity of wrought
goods, when the supply of agricultural produce which it required the same
expense to raise, is presented as its equivalent.’[180]
The Ricardian’s dodge is obvious: he has chosen to ignore the circulation of
money and to pretend that commodities are immediately bought and paid
for by commodities.
From the conditions of highly developed capitalist production, we are thus
suddenly taken to a stage of primitive barter such as we might find still
flourishing at present in Central Africa. There is a distant element of truth in
this trick since money, in a simple circulation of commodities, plays merely
the part of an agent. But of course, it is just the intervention of an agent
which separates the two transactions of circulation, sale and purchase, and
makes them independent of one another in respect of both time and place.
That is why a further purchase need not follow hard upon a sale for one
thing; and secondly, sale and purchase are by no means bound up with the
same people: in fact, they will involve the same performers only in rare and
exceptional cases. MacCulloch, however, makes just this baseless
assumption by confronting, as buyer and seller, industry on the one hand
and agriculture on the other. The universality of these categories, qua total
categories of exchange, obscures the actual splitting up of this social
division of labour which results in innumerable private exchange
double our efforts to accumulate as well as to produce. It is a mistake to
believe that there is a glut on the market; no more than half our warehouses
are full; let us fill the other half, too, and the mutual exchange of these new
riches will revive our trade.”’[179]
In this supremely lucid way, Sismondi sets out and underlines the real crux
of the dispute. MacCulloch’s whole position in truth stands or falls with the
statement that exchange is actually an interchange of commodities; every
commodity accordingly represents not only supply but demand. The
dialogue then continues as follows:
‘Demand and supply are truly correlative and convertible terms. The supply
of one set of commodities constitutes the demand for another. Thus, there is
a demand for a given quantity of agricultural produce, when a quantity of
wrought goods equal thereto in productive cost is offered in exchange for it;
and conversely, there is an effectual demand for this quantity of wrought
goods, when the supply of agricultural produce which it required the same
expense to raise, is presented as its equivalent.’[180]
The Ricardian’s dodge is obvious: he has chosen to ignore the circulation of
money and to pretend that commodities are immediately bought and paid
for by commodities.
From the conditions of highly developed capitalist production, we are thus
suddenly taken to a stage of primitive barter such as we might find still
flourishing at present in Central Africa. There is a distant element of truth in
this trick since money, in a simple circulation of commodities, plays merely
the part of an agent. But of course, it is just the intervention of an agent
which separates the two transactions of circulation, sale and purchase, and
makes them independent of one another in respect of both time and place.
That is why a further purchase need not follow hard upon a sale for one
thing; and secondly, sale and purchase are by no means bound up with the
same people: in fact, they will involve the same performers only in rare and
exceptional cases. MacCulloch, however, makes just this baseless
assumption by confronting, as buyer and seller, industry on the one hand
and agriculture on the other. The universality of these categories, qua total
categories of exchange, obscures the actual splitting up of this social
division of labour which results in innumerable private exchange
Page 192
transactions where the sale and purchase of two commodities rarely come to
the same thing. MacCulloch’s simplified conception of commodity
exchange in general which immediately turns the commodity into money
and pretends that it can be directly exchanged, makes it impossible to
understand the economic significance of money, its historical appearance.
Sismondi’s answer to this is regrettably clumsy. In order to show that
MacCulloch’s explanation of commodity exchange has no application for
capitalist production, he takes recourse to the Leipsic Book Fair.[181]
‘At the Book Fair of Leipsic, booksellers from all over Germany arrive,
each with four or five publications of his own in some 40 or 50 dozen
copies; these are exchanged for others and every seller takes home 200
dozen books, just as he has brought 200 dozen, with the sole difference, that
he brought four different works and takes home 200. This is the demand
and the production which, according to M. Ricardo’s disciple, are
correlative and convertible; one buys the other, one pays for the other, one
is the consequence of the other. But as far as we are concerned, for the
bookseller and for the general public, demand and consumption have not
even begun. For all that it has changed hands at Leipsic, a bad book will
still be just as unsold (a bad mistake of Sismondi’s, this!), it will still clutter
up the merchants’ shops, either because nobody wants it, or because
everyone has a copy already. The books exchanged at Leipsic will only sell
if the booksellers can find individuals who not only want them but are also
prepared to make sacrifices in order to withdraw them from circulation.
They alone constitute an effective demand.’[182]
Although this example is rather crude, it shows clearly that Sismondi was
not side-tracked by his opponent’s trick, that he knows after all what he is
talking about.
MacCulloch then attempts to turn the examination from abstract commodity
exchange to concrete social conditions: ‘Supposing, for the sake of
illustration, that a cultivator advanced food and clothing for 100 labourers,
who raised for him food for 200; while a master-manufacturer also
advanced food and clothing for 100, who fabricated for him clothing for
200. Then the farmer, besides replacing the food of his own labourers,
would have food for 100 to dispose of; while the manufacturer, after
replacing the clothing of his own labourers, would have clothing for 100 to
the same thing. MacCulloch’s simplified conception of commodity
exchange in general which immediately turns the commodity into money
and pretends that it can be directly exchanged, makes it impossible to
understand the economic significance of money, its historical appearance.
Sismondi’s answer to this is regrettably clumsy. In order to show that
MacCulloch’s explanation of commodity exchange has no application for
capitalist production, he takes recourse to the Leipsic Book Fair.[181]
‘At the Book Fair of Leipsic, booksellers from all over Germany arrive,
each with four or five publications of his own in some 40 or 50 dozen
copies; these are exchanged for others and every seller takes home 200
dozen books, just as he has brought 200 dozen, with the sole difference, that
he brought four different works and takes home 200. This is the demand
and the production which, according to M. Ricardo’s disciple, are
correlative and convertible; one buys the other, one pays for the other, one
is the consequence of the other. But as far as we are concerned, for the
bookseller and for the general public, demand and consumption have not
even begun. For all that it has changed hands at Leipsic, a bad book will
still be just as unsold (a bad mistake of Sismondi’s, this!), it will still clutter
up the merchants’ shops, either because nobody wants it, or because
everyone has a copy already. The books exchanged at Leipsic will only sell
if the booksellers can find individuals who not only want them but are also
prepared to make sacrifices in order to withdraw them from circulation.
They alone constitute an effective demand.’[182]
Although this example is rather crude, it shows clearly that Sismondi was
not side-tracked by his opponent’s trick, that he knows after all what he is
talking about.
MacCulloch then attempts to turn the examination from abstract commodity
exchange to concrete social conditions: ‘Supposing, for the sake of
illustration, that a cultivator advanced food and clothing for 100 labourers,
who raised for him food for 200; while a master-manufacturer also
advanced food and clothing for 100, who fabricated for him clothing for
200. Then the farmer, besides replacing the food of his own labourers,
would have food for 100 to dispose of; while the manufacturer, after
replacing the clothing of his own labourers, would have clothing for 100 to
Page 193
bring to market. In this case, the two articles would be exchanged against
each other, the supply of food constituting the demand for the clothing, and
that of the clothing the demand for the food.’[183]
What are we to admire more in this hypothesis: the absurdity of the set-up
which reverses all actual relations, or the effrontery which simply takes for
granted in the premises all that is later claimed proved? In order to prove
that it is always possible to create an unlimited demand for all kinds of
goods, MacCulloch chooses for his example two commodities which
pertain to the most urgent and elementary wants of every human being:
food and clothing. In order to prove that commodities may be exchanged at
any time, and without regard to the needs of society, he chooses for his
example two products in quantities which are right from the start in strict
conformity with these needs, and which therefore contain no surplus as far
as society is concerned. And yet he calls this quantity needed by society a
surplus—viz. as measured against the producer’s personal requirements for
his own product, and is consequently able to demonstrate brilliantly that
any amount of commodity ‘surplus’ can be exchanged for a corresponding
‘surplus’ of other commodities. Finally, in order to prove that different
privately produced commodities can yet be exchanged, although their
quantity, production costs and social importance must of course be
different, he chooses for his example commodities whose quantity,
production cost and general social necessity are precisely the same right
from the start. In short, MacCulloch posits a planned, strictly regulated
production without any over-production in order to prove that no crisis is
possible in an unplanned private economy.
The principal joke of canny Mac, however, lies elsewhere. What is at issue
is the problem of accumulation. Sismondi was worried by, and worried
Ricardo and his followers with, the following question: if part of the surplus
value is capitalised, i.e. used to expand production over and above the
income of society, instead of being privately consumed by the capitalists,
where are we to find buyers for the commodity surplus? What will become
of the capitalised surplus value? Who will buy the commodities in which it
is hidden? Thus Sismondi. And the flower of Ricardo’s school, its official
representative on the Chair of London University, the authority for the then
English Ministers of the Liberal Party and for the City of London, the great
Mr. MacCulloch replies—by constructing an example in which no surplus
each other, the supply of food constituting the demand for the clothing, and
that of the clothing the demand for the food.’[183]
What are we to admire more in this hypothesis: the absurdity of the set-up
which reverses all actual relations, or the effrontery which simply takes for
granted in the premises all that is later claimed proved? In order to prove
that it is always possible to create an unlimited demand for all kinds of
goods, MacCulloch chooses for his example two commodities which
pertain to the most urgent and elementary wants of every human being:
food and clothing. In order to prove that commodities may be exchanged at
any time, and without regard to the needs of society, he chooses for his
example two products in quantities which are right from the start in strict
conformity with these needs, and which therefore contain no surplus as far
as society is concerned. And yet he calls this quantity needed by society a
surplus—viz. as measured against the producer’s personal requirements for
his own product, and is consequently able to demonstrate brilliantly that
any amount of commodity ‘surplus’ can be exchanged for a corresponding
‘surplus’ of other commodities. Finally, in order to prove that different
privately produced commodities can yet be exchanged, although their
quantity, production costs and social importance must of course be
different, he chooses for his example commodities whose quantity,
production cost and general social necessity are precisely the same right
from the start. In short, MacCulloch posits a planned, strictly regulated
production without any over-production in order to prove that no crisis is
possible in an unplanned private economy.
The principal joke of canny Mac, however, lies elsewhere. What is at issue
is the problem of accumulation. Sismondi was worried by, and worried
Ricardo and his followers with, the following question: if part of the surplus
value is capitalised, i.e. used to expand production over and above the
income of society, instead of being privately consumed by the capitalists,
where are we to find buyers for the commodity surplus? What will become
of the capitalised surplus value? Who will buy the commodities in which it
is hidden? Thus Sismondi. And the flower of Ricardo’s school, its official
representative on the Chair of London University, the authority for the then
English Ministers of the Liberal Party and for the City of London, the great
Mr. MacCulloch replies—by constructing an example in which no surplus
Page 194
value whatever is produced. His ‘capitalists’ slave away in agriculture and
industry in the name of charity, and all the time the entire social product,
including the ‘surplus’, is only enough for the needs of the workers, for the
wages, while the ‘farmer’ and ‘manufacturer’ see to production and
exchange without food and clothing.
Sismondi, justly impatient, now exclaims: ‘The moment we want to find out
what is to constitute the surplus of production over consumption of the
workers, it will not do to abstract from that surplus which forms the due
profit of labour and the due share of the master.’[184]
MacCulloch’s only reaction is to multiply his silly argument by a thousand.
He asks the reader to assume ‘1,000 farmers’, and ‘also 1,000 master-
manufacturers’ all acting as ingenuously as the individuals. The exchange,
then, proceeds as smoothly as can be desired. Finally, he exactly doubles
labour productivity ‘in consequence of more skilful application of labour
and of the introduction of machinery—thus that every one of the 1,000
farmers, by advancing food and clothing for 100 labourers, obtains a return
consisting of ordinary food for 200 together with sugar, grapes and tobacco
equal in production cost to that food’, while every manufacturer obtains, by
an analogous procedure, in addition to the previous quantity of clothing for
all workers, ‘ribbands, cambrics and lace, equal in productive cost, and
therefore in exchangeable value, to that clothing’.[185] After such complete
reversal of the chronological order, the assumption, that is, of first the
existence of private property with wage labour, and then, at a later stage,
such level of labour productivity as makes exploitation possible at all, he
now assumes labour productivity to progress with equal speed in all
spheres, the surplus product to contain precisely the same amount of value
in all branches of industry, and to be divided among precisely the same
number of people. When these various surplus products are then exchanged
against one another, is it any wonder that the exchange proceeds smoothly
and completely to everybody’s satisfaction? It is only another of his many
absurdities that MacCulloch makes the capitalists who had hitherto lived on
air and exercised their profession in their birthday suits, now live
exclusively on sugar, tobacco and wine, and array themselves only in
ribbons, cambrics and lace.
The most ridiculous performance, however, is the volte-face by which he
evades the real problem. The question had been what happens to the
industry in the name of charity, and all the time the entire social product,
including the ‘surplus’, is only enough for the needs of the workers, for the
wages, while the ‘farmer’ and ‘manufacturer’ see to production and
exchange without food and clothing.
Sismondi, justly impatient, now exclaims: ‘The moment we want to find out
what is to constitute the surplus of production over consumption of the
workers, it will not do to abstract from that surplus which forms the due
profit of labour and the due share of the master.’[184]
MacCulloch’s only reaction is to multiply his silly argument by a thousand.
He asks the reader to assume ‘1,000 farmers’, and ‘also 1,000 master-
manufacturers’ all acting as ingenuously as the individuals. The exchange,
then, proceeds as smoothly as can be desired. Finally, he exactly doubles
labour productivity ‘in consequence of more skilful application of labour
and of the introduction of machinery—thus that every one of the 1,000
farmers, by advancing food and clothing for 100 labourers, obtains a return
consisting of ordinary food for 200 together with sugar, grapes and tobacco
equal in production cost to that food’, while every manufacturer obtains, by
an analogous procedure, in addition to the previous quantity of clothing for
all workers, ‘ribbands, cambrics and lace, equal in productive cost, and
therefore in exchangeable value, to that clothing’.[185] After such complete
reversal of the chronological order, the assumption, that is, of first the
existence of private property with wage labour, and then, at a later stage,
such level of labour productivity as makes exploitation possible at all, he
now assumes labour productivity to progress with equal speed in all
spheres, the surplus product to contain precisely the same amount of value
in all branches of industry, and to be divided among precisely the same
number of people. When these various surplus products are then exchanged
against one another, is it any wonder that the exchange proceeds smoothly
and completely to everybody’s satisfaction? It is only another of his many
absurdities that MacCulloch makes the capitalists who had hitherto lived on
air and exercised their profession in their birthday suits, now live
exclusively on sugar, tobacco and wine, and array themselves only in
ribbons, cambrics and lace.
The most ridiculous performance, however, is the volte-face by which he
evades the real problem. The question had been what happens to the
Page 195
capitalist surplus, that surplus which is used not for the capitalist’s own
consumption but for the expansion of production. MacCulloch solves it on
the one hand by ignoring the production of surplus value altogether, and on
the other, by using all surplus value in the production of luxury goods. What
buyers, then, does he advance for this new luxury production? The
capitalists, evidently; the farmers and manufacturers, since, apart from
these, there are only workers in MacCulloch’s model. Thus the entire
surplus value is consumed for the personal satisfaction of the capitalists,
that is to say, simple reproduction takes place. The answer to the problem of
the capitalisation of surplus value is, according to MacCulloch, either to
ignore surplus value altogether, or to assume simple reproduction instead of
accumulation as soon as surplus value comes into being. He still pretends to
speak of expanding reproduction, but again, as before when he pretended to
deal with the ‘surplus’, he uses a trick, viz. first setting out an impossible
species of capitalist production without any surplus value, and then
persuading the reader that the subsequent début of the surplus value
constitutes an expansion of production.
Sismondi is not quite up to these Scottish acrobatics. He had up to now
succeeded in pinning his Mac down, proving him to be ‘obviously absurd’.
But now he himself becomes confused with regard to the crucial point at
issue. On the above rantings of his opponent, he should have declared
coldly: Sir, with all respect for the flexibility of your mind, you are dodging
the issue. I keep on asking, who will buy the surplus product, if the
capitalists use it for the purpose of accumulation, i.e. to expand production,
instead of squandering it altogether? And you reply: Oh well, they will
expand their production of luxury goods, which they will, of course, eat up
themselves. But this is a conjuring trick, seeing that the capitalists consume
the surplus value in so far as they spend it on their luxuries—they do not
accumulate at all. My question is about the possibility of accumulation, not
whether the personal luxuries of the capitalists are possible. Answer this
clearly, if you can, or else go play with your wine and tobacco, or go to
blazes for all I care.
But Sismondi, instead of putting the screws on the vulgariser, suddenly
begins to moralise with pathos and social conscience. He exclaims: ‘Whose
demand? Whose satisfaction? The masters or the workers in town or
country? On this new conception [of Mac’s] there is a surplus of products,
consumption but for the expansion of production. MacCulloch solves it on
the one hand by ignoring the production of surplus value altogether, and on
the other, by using all surplus value in the production of luxury goods. What
buyers, then, does he advance for this new luxury production? The
capitalists, evidently; the farmers and manufacturers, since, apart from
these, there are only workers in MacCulloch’s model. Thus the entire
surplus value is consumed for the personal satisfaction of the capitalists,
that is to say, simple reproduction takes place. The answer to the problem of
the capitalisation of surplus value is, according to MacCulloch, either to
ignore surplus value altogether, or to assume simple reproduction instead of
accumulation as soon as surplus value comes into being. He still pretends to
speak of expanding reproduction, but again, as before when he pretended to
deal with the ‘surplus’, he uses a trick, viz. first setting out an impossible
species of capitalist production without any surplus value, and then
persuading the reader that the subsequent début of the surplus value
constitutes an expansion of production.
Sismondi is not quite up to these Scottish acrobatics. He had up to now
succeeded in pinning his Mac down, proving him to be ‘obviously absurd’.
But now he himself becomes confused with regard to the crucial point at
issue. On the above rantings of his opponent, he should have declared
coldly: Sir, with all respect for the flexibility of your mind, you are dodging
the issue. I keep on asking, who will buy the surplus product, if the
capitalists use it for the purpose of accumulation, i.e. to expand production,
instead of squandering it altogether? And you reply: Oh well, they will
expand their production of luxury goods, which they will, of course, eat up
themselves. But this is a conjuring trick, seeing that the capitalists consume
the surplus value in so far as they spend it on their luxuries—they do not
accumulate at all. My question is about the possibility of accumulation, not
whether the personal luxuries of the capitalists are possible. Answer this
clearly, if you can, or else go play with your wine and tobacco, or go to
blazes for all I care.
But Sismondi, instead of putting the screws on the vulgariser, suddenly
begins to moralise with pathos and social conscience. He exclaims: ‘Whose
demand? Whose satisfaction? The masters or the workers in town or
country? On this new conception [of Mac’s] there is a surplus of products,
Page 196
an advantage from labour—to whom will it accrue?’[186] and gives his own
answer in the following impassioned words: ‘But we know full well, and
the history of the commercial world teaches us all too thoroughly, that it is
not the worker who profits from the increase in products and labour; his pay
is not in the least swelled by it. M. Ricardo himself said formerly that it
ought not to be, unless you want the social wealth to stop growing. On the
contrary, sorry experience teaches us that wages nearly always contract by
very reason of this increase. Where, then, does the accumulation of wealth
make itself felt as a public benefit? Our author assumes 1,000 farmers who
profit, while 100,000 workers toil; 1,000 entrepreneurs who wax rich, while
100,000 artisans are kept under their orders. Whatever good may result
from the accumulation of the frivolous enjoyment of luxuries is only felt by
a 100th part of the nation. And will this 100th part, called upon to consume
the entire surplus product of the whole working class, be adequate to a
production that may grow without let or hindrance, owing to progress of
machinery and capitals? In the assumption made by the author, every time
the national product is doubled, the master of the farm or of the factory
must increase his consumption a hundredfold; if the national wealth to-day,
thanks to the invention of so many machines, is a hundred times what it was
when it only covered the cost of production, every employer would to-day
have to consume enough products to support 10,000 workers.’[187]
At this point Sismondi again believes himself to have a firm grasp on how
crises begin to arise: ‘We might imagine, if put to it, that a rich man can
consume the goods manufactured by 10,000 workers, this being the fate of
the ribbons, lace and cambrics whose origin the author has shown us. But a
single individual would not know how to consume agricultural product to
the same tune, the wines, sugar and spices which M. Ricardo [whom
Sismondi evidently suspected of having written the article since he only got
to know ‘Anonymous’ of the Edinburgh Review at a later date] conjures up
in exchange, are too much for the table of one man. They will not sell, or
else the strict proportion between agricultural and industrial products,
apparently the basis of his whole system, cannot be maintained.’[188]
Sismondi, we see, has thus fallen into MacCulloch’s trap. Instead of
waiving an answer to the problem of accumulation which refers to the
production of luxuries, he pursues his opponent into this field without
noticing that the ground under his feet has shifted. Here he finds two causes
answer in the following impassioned words: ‘But we know full well, and
the history of the commercial world teaches us all too thoroughly, that it is
not the worker who profits from the increase in products and labour; his pay
is not in the least swelled by it. M. Ricardo himself said formerly that it
ought not to be, unless you want the social wealth to stop growing. On the
contrary, sorry experience teaches us that wages nearly always contract by
very reason of this increase. Where, then, does the accumulation of wealth
make itself felt as a public benefit? Our author assumes 1,000 farmers who
profit, while 100,000 workers toil; 1,000 entrepreneurs who wax rich, while
100,000 artisans are kept under their orders. Whatever good may result
from the accumulation of the frivolous enjoyment of luxuries is only felt by
a 100th part of the nation. And will this 100th part, called upon to consume
the entire surplus product of the whole working class, be adequate to a
production that may grow without let or hindrance, owing to progress of
machinery and capitals? In the assumption made by the author, every time
the national product is doubled, the master of the farm or of the factory
must increase his consumption a hundredfold; if the national wealth to-day,
thanks to the invention of so many machines, is a hundred times what it was
when it only covered the cost of production, every employer would to-day
have to consume enough products to support 10,000 workers.’[187]
At this point Sismondi again believes himself to have a firm grasp on how
crises begin to arise: ‘We might imagine, if put to it, that a rich man can
consume the goods manufactured by 10,000 workers, this being the fate of
the ribbons, lace and cambrics whose origin the author has shown us. But a
single individual would not know how to consume agricultural product to
the same tune, the wines, sugar and spices which M. Ricardo [whom
Sismondi evidently suspected of having written the article since he only got
to know ‘Anonymous’ of the Edinburgh Review at a later date] conjures up
in exchange, are too much for the table of one man. They will not sell, or
else the strict proportion between agricultural and industrial products,
apparently the basis of his whole system, cannot be maintained.’[188]
Sismondi, we see, has thus fallen into MacCulloch’s trap. Instead of
waiving an answer to the problem of accumulation which refers to the
production of luxuries, he pursues his opponent into this field without
noticing that the ground under his feet has shifted. Here he finds two causes
Page 197
for complaint. For one thing, he has moral objections to MacCulloch’s
allowing the capitalists instead of the workers to benefit by the surplus
value, and is side-tracked into polemising against distribution under
capitalism. From this digression, he unexpectedly reverts to the original
problem which he now formulates as follows: the capitalists, then, consume
the entire surplus value in luxuries. Let it be so. But could anyone increase
his consumption as rapidly and indefinitely as the progress of labour
productivity makes the surplus value increase? And in this second instance,
Sismondi himself abandons his own problem. Instead of perceiving that it is
the lack of consumers other than workers and capitalists which accounts for
the difficulty in capitalist accumulation, he discovers a snag in simple
reproduction because the capitalists’ capacity to consume has physical
limits. Since the absorptive capacity of the capitalists for luxuries cannot
keep up with labour productivity, that is to say with the increase in surplus
value, there must be crises and over-production. We have encountered this
line of thought once before in the Nouveaux Principes—so Sismondi
himself was manifestly not quite clear about the problem at all times. And
that is hardly surprising, since one can really come to grips with the whole
problem of accumulation only when one has fully grasped the problem of
simple reproduction, and we have seen how much Sismondi was at fault in
this respect.
Yet in spite of all this, the first time that Sismondi crossed swords with the
heirs of the classical school, he proved himself by no means the weaker
party. On the contrary, in the end he routed his opponent. If Sismondi
misunderstood the most elementary principles of social reproduction and
ignored constant capital, quite in keeping with Adam Smith’s dogma, he
was in this respect no worse at any rate than his opponent. Constant capital
does not exist for MacCulloch either, his farmers and manufacturers
‘advance’ merely food and clothing to their workers, and food and clothing
between them make up the aggregate product of society. If there is, then,
nothing to choose between the two as far as this elementary blunder is
concerned, Sismondi towers heads above Mac because of his intuitive
understanding of the contradictions in the capitalist mode of production. In
the end, the Ricardian was at a loss to answer Sismondi’s scepticism
concerning the possibility of realising the surplus value. Sismondi also
shows himself more penetrating in that he throws the Nottingham
proletarians’ cry of distress in the teeth of the apostles and apologists of
allowing the capitalists instead of the workers to benefit by the surplus
value, and is side-tracked into polemising against distribution under
capitalism. From this digression, he unexpectedly reverts to the original
problem which he now formulates as follows: the capitalists, then, consume
the entire surplus value in luxuries. Let it be so. But could anyone increase
his consumption as rapidly and indefinitely as the progress of labour
productivity makes the surplus value increase? And in this second instance,
Sismondi himself abandons his own problem. Instead of perceiving that it is
the lack of consumers other than workers and capitalists which accounts for
the difficulty in capitalist accumulation, he discovers a snag in simple
reproduction because the capitalists’ capacity to consume has physical
limits. Since the absorptive capacity of the capitalists for luxuries cannot
keep up with labour productivity, that is to say with the increase in surplus
value, there must be crises and over-production. We have encountered this
line of thought once before in the Nouveaux Principes—so Sismondi
himself was manifestly not quite clear about the problem at all times. And
that is hardly surprising, since one can really come to grips with the whole
problem of accumulation only when one has fully grasped the problem of
simple reproduction, and we have seen how much Sismondi was at fault in
this respect.
Yet in spite of all this, the first time that Sismondi crossed swords with the
heirs of the classical school, he proved himself by no means the weaker
party. On the contrary, in the end he routed his opponent. If Sismondi
misunderstood the most elementary principles of social reproduction and
ignored constant capital, quite in keeping with Adam Smith’s dogma, he
was in this respect no worse at any rate than his opponent. Constant capital
does not exist for MacCulloch either, his farmers and manufacturers
‘advance’ merely food and clothing to their workers, and food and clothing
between them make up the aggregate product of society. If there is, then,
nothing to choose between the two as far as this elementary blunder is
concerned, Sismondi towers heads above Mac because of his intuitive
understanding of the contradictions in the capitalist mode of production. In
the end, the Ricardian was at a loss to answer Sismondi’s scepticism
concerning the possibility of realising the surplus value. Sismondi also
shows himself more penetrating in that he throws the Nottingham
proletarians’ cry of distress in the teeth of the apostles and apologists of
Page 198
harmony with their smug complacency, of those who deny ‘any surplus of
production over demand, any congestion of the market, any suffering’,
when he proves that the introduction of the machine must of necessity
create a ‘superabundant population’, and particularly in the end, when he
underlines the tendency of the capitalist world market in general with its
inherent contradictions. MacCulloch denies outright that general over-
production is possible. He has a specific for every partial over-production
up his sleeve:
‘It may be objected, perhaps, that on the principle that the demand for
commodities increases in the same ratio as their supply, there is no
accounting for the gluts and stagnation produced by overtrading. We answer
very easily—A glut is an increase in the supply of a particular class of
commodities, unaccompanied by a corresponding increase in the supply of
those other commodities which should serve as their equivalents. While our
1,000 farmers and 1,000 master-manufacturers are exchanging their
respective surplus products, and reciprocally affording a market to each
other, if 1,000 new capitalists were to join their society, employing each 100
labourers in tillage, there would be an immediate glut in agricultural
produce ... because in this case there would be no contemporaneous
increase in the supply of the manufactured articles which should purchase
it. But let one half of the new capitalists become manufacturers, and
equivalents in the form of wrought goods will be created for the new
produce raised by the other half: the equilibrium will be restored, and the
1,500 farmers and 1,500 master-manufacturers will exchange their
respective surplus products with exactly the same facility with which the
1,000 farmers and 1,000 manufacturers formerly exchanged theirs.’[189]
Sismondi answers this buffoonery which ‘very easily’ pokes about in a fog,
by pointing to the real changes and revolutions which take place before his
own eyes. ‘It was possible to put barbarous countries under the plough, and
political revolutions, changes in the financial system, and peace, at once
brought cargoes to the ports of the old agricultural countries which almost
equalled their entire harvest. The recent Russian conquest of the vast
provinces on the Black Sea, the change in the system of government in
Egypt, and the outlawing of piracy in High Barbary, have suddenly poured
the granaries of Odessa, Alexandria and Tunis into the Italian ports and
have put such an abundance of corn on the markets that all along the coasts
production over demand, any congestion of the market, any suffering’,
when he proves that the introduction of the machine must of necessity
create a ‘superabundant population’, and particularly in the end, when he
underlines the tendency of the capitalist world market in general with its
inherent contradictions. MacCulloch denies outright that general over-
production is possible. He has a specific for every partial over-production
up his sleeve:
‘It may be objected, perhaps, that on the principle that the demand for
commodities increases in the same ratio as their supply, there is no
accounting for the gluts and stagnation produced by overtrading. We answer
very easily—A glut is an increase in the supply of a particular class of
commodities, unaccompanied by a corresponding increase in the supply of
those other commodities which should serve as their equivalents. While our
1,000 farmers and 1,000 master-manufacturers are exchanging their
respective surplus products, and reciprocally affording a market to each
other, if 1,000 new capitalists were to join their society, employing each 100
labourers in tillage, there would be an immediate glut in agricultural
produce ... because in this case there would be no contemporaneous
increase in the supply of the manufactured articles which should purchase
it. But let one half of the new capitalists become manufacturers, and
equivalents in the form of wrought goods will be created for the new
produce raised by the other half: the equilibrium will be restored, and the
1,500 farmers and 1,500 master-manufacturers will exchange their
respective surplus products with exactly the same facility with which the
1,000 farmers and 1,000 manufacturers formerly exchanged theirs.’[189]
Sismondi answers this buffoonery which ‘very easily’ pokes about in a fog,
by pointing to the real changes and revolutions which take place before his
own eyes. ‘It was possible to put barbarous countries under the plough, and
political revolutions, changes in the financial system, and peace, at once
brought cargoes to the ports of the old agricultural countries which almost
equalled their entire harvest. The recent Russian conquest of the vast
provinces on the Black Sea, the change in the system of government in
Egypt, and the outlawing of piracy in High Barbary, have suddenly poured
the granaries of Odessa, Alexandria and Tunis into the Italian ports and
have put such an abundance of corn on the markets that all along the coasts
Page 199
the farmer’s trade is fighting a losing battle. Nor is the remainder of Europe
safe from a similar revolution, caused by the simultaneous ploughing under
of immense expanses of new land on the banks of the Mississippi, which
export all their agricultural produce. Even the influence of New Holland
may one day be the ruin of English industry, if not in the price of foodstuffs,
which are too expensive to transport, at least in respect of wool and other
agricultural products which are easier to transport.’[190]
What would MacCulloch have to advise in view of such an agrarian crisis
in Southern Europe? That half the new farmers should turn manufacturer.
Whereupon Sismondi counters: ‘Such counsel cannot seriously apply to the
Tartars of the Crimea or to the fellaheen of Egypt.’ And he adds: ‘The time
is not yet ripe to set up new industries in the regions oversea or in New
Holland.’[191]
Sismondi’s acuity recognised that industrialisation of the lands overseas
was only a matter of time. He was equally aware of the fact that the
expansion of the world market would not bring with it the solution to the
difficulty but would only reproduce it in a higher degree, in yet more potent
crises. His prediction for the expansive tendency of capitalism is that it will
reveal an aspect of fiercer and fiercer competition, of mounting anarchy
within production itself. Indeed, he puts his finger on the fundamental
causes of crises in a passage where he states the trend of capitalist
production precisely as surpassing all limits of the market. At the end of his
reply to MacCulloch he says: ‘Time and again it has been proclaimed that
the equilibrium will re-establish itself, that work will start again, but a
single demand each time provides an impetus in excess of the real needs of
trade, and this new activity must soon be followed by a yet more painful
glut.’[192]
To such a profound grasp of the real contradictions in the movements of
capital, the vulgarus on the Chair of London University with his harmony
cant and his country-dance of 1,000 beribboned farmers and 1,000 bibulous
manufacturers could find no effective answer.
safe from a similar revolution, caused by the simultaneous ploughing under
of immense expanses of new land on the banks of the Mississippi, which
export all their agricultural produce. Even the influence of New Holland
may one day be the ruin of English industry, if not in the price of foodstuffs,
which are too expensive to transport, at least in respect of wool and other
agricultural products which are easier to transport.’[190]
What would MacCulloch have to advise in view of such an agrarian crisis
in Southern Europe? That half the new farmers should turn manufacturer.
Whereupon Sismondi counters: ‘Such counsel cannot seriously apply to the
Tartars of the Crimea or to the fellaheen of Egypt.’ And he adds: ‘The time
is not yet ripe to set up new industries in the regions oversea or in New
Holland.’[191]
Sismondi’s acuity recognised that industrialisation of the lands overseas
was only a matter of time. He was equally aware of the fact that the
expansion of the world market would not bring with it the solution to the
difficulty but would only reproduce it in a higher degree, in yet more potent
crises. His prediction for the expansive tendency of capitalism is that it will
reveal an aspect of fiercer and fiercer competition, of mounting anarchy
within production itself. Indeed, he puts his finger on the fundamental
causes of crises in a passage where he states the trend of capitalist
production precisely as surpassing all limits of the market. At the end of his
reply to MacCulloch he says: ‘Time and again it has been proclaimed that
the equilibrium will re-establish itself, that work will start again, but a
single demand each time provides an impetus in excess of the real needs of
trade, and this new activity must soon be followed by a yet more painful
glut.’[192]
To such a profound grasp of the real contradictions in the movements of
capital, the vulgarus on the Chair of London University with his harmony
cant and his country-dance of 1,000 beribboned farmers and 1,000 bibulous
manufacturers could find no effective answer.
Page 200
CHAPTER XII
Page 201
RICARDO v. SISMONDI
MacCulloch’s reply to Sismondi’s theoretical objections evidently did not
settle the matter to Ricardo’s own satisfaction. Unlike that shrewd ‘Scottish
arch-humbug’, as Marx calls him, Ricardo really wanted to discover the
truth and throughout retained the genuine modesty of a great mind.[193] That
Sismondi’s polemics against him and his pupil had made a deep impression
is proved by Ricardo’s revised approach to the question of the effects of the
machine, that being the point on which Sismondi, to his eternal credit, had
confronted the classical school of harmony with the sinister aspects of
capitalism. Ricardo’s followers had enlarged upon the doctrine that the
machine can always create as many or even more opportunities for the
wage labourers as it takes away by displacing living labour. This so-called
theory of compensation was subjected to a stern attack by Sismondi in the
chapter ‘On the Division of Labour and Machinery’[194] and in another
chapter significantly entitled: ‘Machinery Creates a Surplus Population’,
[195]
both published in the Nouveaux Principes of 1819, two years later than
Ricardo’s main work. In 1821, after the MacCulloch-Sismondi controversy,
Ricardo inserted a new chapter in the third edition of his Principles, where
he frankly confesses to his error and says in the strain of Sismondi: ‘That
the opinion entertained by the labouring classes, that the employment of
machinery is frequently detrimental to their interests, is not founded on
prejudice and error, but is conformable to the correct principles of political
economy.’[196]
He, like Sismondi, had to defend himself against the suspicion that he is
opposing technical progress, but, less ruthless, he compromises with the
evasion that the evil emerges only gradually. ‘To elucidate the principle, I
have been supposing, that improved machinery is suddenly discovered, and
extensively used; but the truth is, that these discoveries are gradual, and
rather operate in determining the employment of the capital which is saved
and accumulated, than in diverting capital from its actual employment.’[197]
Yet the problem of crises and accumulation continued to worry Ricardo
also. In 1823, the last year of his life, he spent some days in Geneva in
MacCulloch’s reply to Sismondi’s theoretical objections evidently did not
settle the matter to Ricardo’s own satisfaction. Unlike that shrewd ‘Scottish
arch-humbug’, as Marx calls him, Ricardo really wanted to discover the
truth and throughout retained the genuine modesty of a great mind.[193] That
Sismondi’s polemics against him and his pupil had made a deep impression
is proved by Ricardo’s revised approach to the question of the effects of the
machine, that being the point on which Sismondi, to his eternal credit, had
confronted the classical school of harmony with the sinister aspects of
capitalism. Ricardo’s followers had enlarged upon the doctrine that the
machine can always create as many or even more opportunities for the
wage labourers as it takes away by displacing living labour. This so-called
theory of compensation was subjected to a stern attack by Sismondi in the
chapter ‘On the Division of Labour and Machinery’[194] and in another
chapter significantly entitled: ‘Machinery Creates a Surplus Population’,
[195]
both published in the Nouveaux Principes of 1819, two years later than
Ricardo’s main work. In 1821, after the MacCulloch-Sismondi controversy,
Ricardo inserted a new chapter in the third edition of his Principles, where
he frankly confesses to his error and says in the strain of Sismondi: ‘That
the opinion entertained by the labouring classes, that the employment of
machinery is frequently detrimental to their interests, is not founded on
prejudice and error, but is conformable to the correct principles of political
economy.’[196]
He, like Sismondi, had to defend himself against the suspicion that he is
opposing technical progress, but, less ruthless, he compromises with the
evasion that the evil emerges only gradually. ‘To elucidate the principle, I
have been supposing, that improved machinery is suddenly discovered, and
extensively used; but the truth is, that these discoveries are gradual, and
rather operate in determining the employment of the capital which is saved
and accumulated, than in diverting capital from its actual employment.’[197]
Yet the problem of crises and accumulation continued to worry Ricardo
also. In 1823, the last year of his life, he spent some days in Geneva in
Page 202
order to talk the problem over face to face with Sismondi. The result of
these talks is Sismondi’s essay ‘On the Balance Between Consumption and
Production’, published in the Revue Encyclopédique of May 1824.[198]
In his Principles, Ricardo had at the crucial points completely accepted
Say’s trite doctrine of harmony in the relations between production and
consumption. In chapter xxi he had declared: ‘M. Say has, however, most
satisfactorily shown, that there is no amount of capital which may not be
employed in a country, because demand is only limited by production. No
man produces, but with a view to consume or sell, and he never sells, but
with an intention to purchase some other commodity, which may be
immediately useful to him, or which may contribute to future production.
By producing, then, he necessarily becomes either the consumer of his own
goods, or the purchaser and consumer of the goods of some other
person.’[199]
To this conception of Ricardo’s, Sismondi’s Nouveaux Principes were a
powerful challenge, and the dispute as a whole turned also on this point.
Ricardo could not deny the fact of crises which had but recently passed over
England and other countries. What was at issue was the explanation for
them. Right at the outset of their debate, Sismondi and Ricardo had agreed
on a remarkably lucid and precise formulation of the problem, excluding
the question of foreign commerce altogether. Sismondi grasped the
significance and necessity of foreign trade for capitalist production, its need
for expansion, well enough; in this line he was quite in step with Ricardo’s
Free Traders, whom he considerably excelled in his dialectical conception
of the expansionist needs of capital. He fully admitted that industry ‘is
increasingly led to look for its vents on foreign markets where it is
threatened by greater revolutions’.[200] He forecast, as we have seen, the
rise of a dangerous competition for European industry in the overseas
countries. This was after all a creditable achievement in the year 1820, and
one which reveals Sismondi’s deep insight into the relations of capitalist
world economy. But even so, Sismondi was in fact far from conceiving the
problem of realising the surplus value, the problem of accumulation, to
depend on foreign commerce as its only means of salvation, a view
attributed to him by later critics. On the contrary, Sismondi was quite
explicit in the sixth chapter of volume i:[201] ‘In order to make these
calculations with greater certainty and to simplify these questions, we have
these talks is Sismondi’s essay ‘On the Balance Between Consumption and
Production’, published in the Revue Encyclopédique of May 1824.[198]
In his Principles, Ricardo had at the crucial points completely accepted
Say’s trite doctrine of harmony in the relations between production and
consumption. In chapter xxi he had declared: ‘M. Say has, however, most
satisfactorily shown, that there is no amount of capital which may not be
employed in a country, because demand is only limited by production. No
man produces, but with a view to consume or sell, and he never sells, but
with an intention to purchase some other commodity, which may be
immediately useful to him, or which may contribute to future production.
By producing, then, he necessarily becomes either the consumer of his own
goods, or the purchaser and consumer of the goods of some other
person.’[199]
To this conception of Ricardo’s, Sismondi’s Nouveaux Principes were a
powerful challenge, and the dispute as a whole turned also on this point.
Ricardo could not deny the fact of crises which had but recently passed over
England and other countries. What was at issue was the explanation for
them. Right at the outset of their debate, Sismondi and Ricardo had agreed
on a remarkably lucid and precise formulation of the problem, excluding
the question of foreign commerce altogether. Sismondi grasped the
significance and necessity of foreign trade for capitalist production, its need
for expansion, well enough; in this line he was quite in step with Ricardo’s
Free Traders, whom he considerably excelled in his dialectical conception
of the expansionist needs of capital. He fully admitted that industry ‘is
increasingly led to look for its vents on foreign markets where it is
threatened by greater revolutions’.[200] He forecast, as we have seen, the
rise of a dangerous competition for European industry in the overseas
countries. This was after all a creditable achievement in the year 1820, and
one which reveals Sismondi’s deep insight into the relations of capitalist
world economy. But even so, Sismondi was in fact far from conceiving the
problem of realising the surplus value, the problem of accumulation, to
depend on foreign commerce as its only means of salvation, a view
attributed to him by later critics. On the contrary, Sismondi was quite
explicit in the sixth chapter of volume i:[201] ‘In order to make these
calculations with greater certainty and to simplify these questions, we have
Page 203
hitherto made complete abstraction from foreign trade and supposed an
isolated nation; this isolated nation is human society itself, and what is true
for a nation without foreign commerce, is equally true for mankind.’
In other words: in considering the entire world market as one society
producing exclusively by capitalist methods, Sismondi grounds his problem
in the same premises as Marx was to do after him. That was also the basis
on which he came to terms with Ricardo. ‘From the question that troubled
us, we had each of us dismissed the instance of a nation that sold more
abroad than it needed to buy there, that could command a growing external
market for its growing internal production. In any case, it is not for us to
decide whether fortunes of war or politics could perhaps bring forth new
consumers for a nation—what is needed is proof that a nation can create
these for itself simply by increasing its production.’[202]
This is how Sismondi formulated the problem of realising the surplus value
in all precision, just as it confronts us throughout the ensuing era in
economics, in contrast with Ricardo who actually maintains along with Say,
as we are already aware and shall show in further detail, that production
creates its own demand.
Ricardo’s thesis in the controversy with Sismondi takes the following form:
‘Supposing that 100 workers produce 1,000 sacks of corn, and 100 weavers
1,000 yards woollen fabric. Let us disregard all other products useful to
man and all intermediaries between them, and consider them alone in the
world. They exchange their 1,000 yards against the 1,000 sacks. Supposing
that the productive power of labour has increased by a tenth owing to a
successive progress of industry, the same people will exchange 1,100 yards
against 1,100 sacks, and each will be better clothed and fed; new progress
will make them exchange 1,200 yards for 1,200 sacks, and so on. The
increase in products always only increases the enjoyment of those who
produce.’[203]
The great Ricardo’s standards of reasoning, it must regretfully be stated, are
if anything even lower than those of the Scottish arch-humbug,
MacCulloch. Once again we are invited to witness a harmonious and
graceful country-dance of sacks and yards—the very proportion which is to
be proved, is again taken for granted. What is more, all relevant premises
for the problem are simply left out. The real problem—you will recollect—
isolated nation; this isolated nation is human society itself, and what is true
for a nation without foreign commerce, is equally true for mankind.’
In other words: in considering the entire world market as one society
producing exclusively by capitalist methods, Sismondi grounds his problem
in the same premises as Marx was to do after him. That was also the basis
on which he came to terms with Ricardo. ‘From the question that troubled
us, we had each of us dismissed the instance of a nation that sold more
abroad than it needed to buy there, that could command a growing external
market for its growing internal production. In any case, it is not for us to
decide whether fortunes of war or politics could perhaps bring forth new
consumers for a nation—what is needed is proof that a nation can create
these for itself simply by increasing its production.’[202]
This is how Sismondi formulated the problem of realising the surplus value
in all precision, just as it confronts us throughout the ensuing era in
economics, in contrast with Ricardo who actually maintains along with Say,
as we are already aware and shall show in further detail, that production
creates its own demand.
Ricardo’s thesis in the controversy with Sismondi takes the following form:
‘Supposing that 100 workers produce 1,000 sacks of corn, and 100 weavers
1,000 yards woollen fabric. Let us disregard all other products useful to
man and all intermediaries between them, and consider them alone in the
world. They exchange their 1,000 yards against the 1,000 sacks. Supposing
that the productive power of labour has increased by a tenth owing to a
successive progress of industry, the same people will exchange 1,100 yards
against 1,100 sacks, and each will be better clothed and fed; new progress
will make them exchange 1,200 yards for 1,200 sacks, and so on. The
increase in products always only increases the enjoyment of those who
produce.’[203]
The great Ricardo’s standards of reasoning, it must regretfully be stated, are
if anything even lower than those of the Scottish arch-humbug,
MacCulloch. Once again we are invited to witness a harmonious and
graceful country-dance of sacks and yards—the very proportion which is to
be proved, is again taken for granted. What is more, all relevant premises
for the problem are simply left out. The real problem—you will recollect—
Page 204
the object of the controversy had been the question: who are the buyers and
consumers of the surplus product that comes into being if the capitalists
produce more goods than are needed for their own and their workers’
consumption; if, that is to say, they capitalise part of their surplus value and
use it to expand production, to increase their capital? Ricardo answers it by
completely ignoring the capital increase. The picture he paints of the
various stages of production is merely that of a gradually increasing
productivity of labour. According to his assumptions, the same amount of
labour first produces 1,000 sacks and 1,000 yards textiles, then 1,100 sacks
and 1,100 yards, further 1,200 sacks and 1,200 yards, and so on, in a
gracefully ascending curve. Not only that the image of a marshalled
uniform progression on both sides, of conformity even in the number of
objects brought to exchange, is wearisome, the expansion of capital is
nowhere as much as mentioned in the model. Here we have no enlarged but
simple reproduction with a greater bulk of use-values indeed, but without
any increase in the value of the aggregate social product. Since only the
amount of value, not the number of use-values is relevant to the exchange
transaction, and this amount remains constant in the example, Ricardo
makes no real advances, even though he seems to analyse the progressive
expansion of production. Finally, he is quite oblivious of the relevant
categories of reproduction. MacCulloch had begun by making the
capitalists produce without any surplus value and live on air, but at least he
recognised the existence of the workers, making provision for their
consumption. Ricardo, however, does not even mention the workers; for
him the distinction between variable capital and surplus value does not exist
at all. Besides this major omission, it is of small account that he, just like
his disciple, takes no notice of constant capital. He wants to solve the
problem of realising the surplus value and expanding capital without
positing more than the existence of a certain quantity of commodities which
are mutually exchanged.
Sismondi was blind to the fact that the venue has been changed altogether.
Yet he tried faithfully to bring the fantasies of his famous guest and
opponent down to earth and to analyse their invisible contradictions,
plaintively saying that these assumptions, ‘just like German metaphysics,
abstract from time and space’.[204] He grafts Ricardo’s hypothesis on to
‘society in its real organisation, with unpropertied workers whose wage is
fixed by competition and who can be dismissed the moment their master
consumers of the surplus product that comes into being if the capitalists
produce more goods than are needed for their own and their workers’
consumption; if, that is to say, they capitalise part of their surplus value and
use it to expand production, to increase their capital? Ricardo answers it by
completely ignoring the capital increase. The picture he paints of the
various stages of production is merely that of a gradually increasing
productivity of labour. According to his assumptions, the same amount of
labour first produces 1,000 sacks and 1,000 yards textiles, then 1,100 sacks
and 1,100 yards, further 1,200 sacks and 1,200 yards, and so on, in a
gracefully ascending curve. Not only that the image of a marshalled
uniform progression on both sides, of conformity even in the number of
objects brought to exchange, is wearisome, the expansion of capital is
nowhere as much as mentioned in the model. Here we have no enlarged but
simple reproduction with a greater bulk of use-values indeed, but without
any increase in the value of the aggregate social product. Since only the
amount of value, not the number of use-values is relevant to the exchange
transaction, and this amount remains constant in the example, Ricardo
makes no real advances, even though he seems to analyse the progressive
expansion of production. Finally, he is quite oblivious of the relevant
categories of reproduction. MacCulloch had begun by making the
capitalists produce without any surplus value and live on air, but at least he
recognised the existence of the workers, making provision for their
consumption. Ricardo, however, does not even mention the workers; for
him the distinction between variable capital and surplus value does not exist
at all. Besides this major omission, it is of small account that he, just like
his disciple, takes no notice of constant capital. He wants to solve the
problem of realising the surplus value and expanding capital without
positing more than the existence of a certain quantity of commodities which
are mutually exchanged.
Sismondi was blind to the fact that the venue has been changed altogether.
Yet he tried faithfully to bring the fantasies of his famous guest and
opponent down to earth and to analyse their invisible contradictions,
plaintively saying that these assumptions, ‘just like German metaphysics,
abstract from time and space’.[204] He grafts Ricardo’s hypothesis on to
‘society in its real organisation, with unpropertied workers whose wage is
fixed by competition and who can be dismissed the moment their master
Page 205
has no further need of their work ... for’—remarks Sismondi, as acute as he
is modest—‘it is just this social organisation to which our objection refers’.
[205]
He lays bare the many difficulties and conflicts bound up with the progress
of labour productivity under capitalism, and shows that Ricardo’s
postulated changes in the technique of labour, from the point of view of
society, lead to the following alternative: Either a number of workers
corresponding to the increase in labour productivity will have to be
dismissed outright—then there will be a surplus of products on the one
hand, and on the other unemployment and misery—a faithful picture of
present-day society. Or the surplus product will be used for the maintenance
of the workers in a new field of production, the production of luxury goods.
Here Sismondi undoubtedly proves himself superior: he suddenly
remembers the existence of the constant capital, and now it is he who
subjects the English classic to a frontal attack:
‘For setting up a new industry for manufacturing luxuries, new capital is
also needed; machines will have to be built, raw materials procured, and
distant commerce brought into activity; for the wealthy are rarely content
with enjoying what is immediately in front of them. Where, then, could we
find this new capital which may perhaps be much more considerable than
that required by agriculture?... Our luxury workers are still a long way from
eating our labourers’ grain, from wearing the clothes from our common
factories; they are not yet made into workers, they may not even have been
born yet, their trade does not exist, the materials on which they are to work
have not arrived from India. All those among whom the former should
distribute their bread, wait for it in vain.’[206]
Sismondi now takes constant capital into account, not only in the
production of luxuries, but also in agriculture, and further raises the
following objection against Ricardo: ‘We must abstract from time, if we
make the assumption that the cultivator, whom a mechanical discovery or
an invention of rural industry enables to treble the productive power of his
workers, will also find sufficient capital to treble his exploitation, his
agricultural implements, his equipment, his livestock, his granaries: to
treble the circulating capital which must serve him while waiting for his
harvest.’[207]
is modest—‘it is just this social organisation to which our objection refers’.
[205]
He lays bare the many difficulties and conflicts bound up with the progress
of labour productivity under capitalism, and shows that Ricardo’s
postulated changes in the technique of labour, from the point of view of
society, lead to the following alternative: Either a number of workers
corresponding to the increase in labour productivity will have to be
dismissed outright—then there will be a surplus of products on the one
hand, and on the other unemployment and misery—a faithful picture of
present-day society. Or the surplus product will be used for the maintenance
of the workers in a new field of production, the production of luxury goods.
Here Sismondi undoubtedly proves himself superior: he suddenly
remembers the existence of the constant capital, and now it is he who
subjects the English classic to a frontal attack:
‘For setting up a new industry for manufacturing luxuries, new capital is
also needed; machines will have to be built, raw materials procured, and
distant commerce brought into activity; for the wealthy are rarely content
with enjoying what is immediately in front of them. Where, then, could we
find this new capital which may perhaps be much more considerable than
that required by agriculture?... Our luxury workers are still a long way from
eating our labourers’ grain, from wearing the clothes from our common
factories; they are not yet made into workers, they may not even have been
born yet, their trade does not exist, the materials on which they are to work
have not arrived from India. All those among whom the former should
distribute their bread, wait for it in vain.’[206]
Sismondi now takes constant capital into account, not only in the
production of luxuries, but also in agriculture, and further raises the
following objection against Ricardo: ‘We must abstract from time, if we
make the assumption that the cultivator, whom a mechanical discovery or
an invention of rural industry enables to treble the productive power of his
workers, will also find sufficient capital to treble his exploitation, his
agricultural implements, his equipment, his livestock, his granaries: to
treble the circulating capital which must serve him while waiting for his
harvest.’[207]
Page 206
In this way Sismondi breaks with the superstition of the classical school
that with capital expanding all additional capital would be exclusively spent
on wages, on the variable capital. He clearly dissents from Ricardo’s
doctrine—which did not, however, prevent his allowing all the errors
arising out of this doctrine three years later again to creep into the second
edition of his Nouveaux Principes. In opposition to Ricardo’s facile doctrine
of harmony, Sismondi underlines two decisive points: on the one hand, the
objective difficulties of the process of enlarged reproduction which works
by no means so smoothly in capitalist reality as it does in Ricardo’s absurd
hypothesis; on the other hand, the fact that all technical progress in social
labour productivity is always achieved under capitalism at the expense of
the working class, bought with their suffering. Sismondi shows himself
superior to Ricardo in yet a third point: he represents the broad horizon of
the dialectical approach as against Ricardo’s blunt narrow-mindedness with
its incapacity to conceive of any forms of society other than those of
bourgeois economics:
‘Our eyes,’ he exclaims, ‘are so accustomed to this new organisation of
society, this universal competition, degenerating into hostility between the
rich and the working class, that we no longer conceive of any mode of
existence other than that whose ruins surround us on all sides. They believe
to prove me absurd by confronting me with the vices of preceding systems.
Indeed, as regards the organisation of the lower classes, two or three
systems have succeeded one another; yet, since they are not to be regretted,
since, after first doing some good, they then imposed terrible disasters on
mankind, may we conclude from this that we have now entered the true
one? May we conclude that we shall not discover the besetting vice of the
system of wage labour as we have discovered that of slavery, of vassalage,
and of the guilds? A time will come, no doubt, when our descendants will
condemn us as barbarians because we have left the working classes without
security, just as we already condemn, as they also will, as barbarian the
nations who have reduced those same classes to slavery.’[208]
Sismondi’s statement, putting in a nutshell the vital differences between the
parts played by the proletariat in a modern society and in the society of
ancient Rome, shows his profound insight into historical connections. He
shows no less discernment, in his polemics against Ricardo, when analysing
the specific economic character of the slave-system and of feudal economy
that with capital expanding all additional capital would be exclusively spent
on wages, on the variable capital. He clearly dissents from Ricardo’s
doctrine—which did not, however, prevent his allowing all the errors
arising out of this doctrine three years later again to creep into the second
edition of his Nouveaux Principes. In opposition to Ricardo’s facile doctrine
of harmony, Sismondi underlines two decisive points: on the one hand, the
objective difficulties of the process of enlarged reproduction which works
by no means so smoothly in capitalist reality as it does in Ricardo’s absurd
hypothesis; on the other hand, the fact that all technical progress in social
labour productivity is always achieved under capitalism at the expense of
the working class, bought with their suffering. Sismondi shows himself
superior to Ricardo in yet a third point: he represents the broad horizon of
the dialectical approach as against Ricardo’s blunt narrow-mindedness with
its incapacity to conceive of any forms of society other than those of
bourgeois economics:
‘Our eyes,’ he exclaims, ‘are so accustomed to this new organisation of
society, this universal competition, degenerating into hostility between the
rich and the working class, that we no longer conceive of any mode of
existence other than that whose ruins surround us on all sides. They believe
to prove me absurd by confronting me with the vices of preceding systems.
Indeed, as regards the organisation of the lower classes, two or three
systems have succeeded one another; yet, since they are not to be regretted,
since, after first doing some good, they then imposed terrible disasters on
mankind, may we conclude from this that we have now entered the true
one? May we conclude that we shall not discover the besetting vice of the
system of wage labour as we have discovered that of slavery, of vassalage,
and of the guilds? A time will come, no doubt, when our descendants will
condemn us as barbarians because we have left the working classes without
security, just as we already condemn, as they also will, as barbarian the
nations who have reduced those same classes to slavery.’[208]
Sismondi’s statement, putting in a nutshell the vital differences between the
parts played by the proletariat in a modern society and in the society of
ancient Rome, shows his profound insight into historical connections. He
shows no less discernment, in his polemics against Ricardo, when analysing
the specific economic character of the slave-system and of feudal economy
Page 207
as well as their relative historical significance, and finally when
emphasising, as the dominant universal tendency of bourgeois economy,
‘that it severs completely all kind of property from every kind of labour’.
The second round, no more than the first, between Sismondi and the
classical school, brought little glory for Sismondi’s opponents.[209]
emphasising, as the dominant universal tendency of bourgeois economy,
‘that it severs completely all kind of property from every kind of labour’.
The second round, no more than the first, between Sismondi and the
classical school, brought little glory for Sismondi’s opponents.[209]
Page 208
CHAPTER XIII
Page 209
SAY v. SISMONDI
Sismondi’s essay against Ricardo in the Revue Encyclopédique of May
1824, was the final challenge for J. B. Say, at that time the acknowledged
‘prince of economic science’ (prince de la science économique), the so-
called representative, heir and populariser of the school of Adam Smith on
the Continent. Say, who had already advanced some arguments against
Sismondi in his letters to Malthus, countered the following July with an
essay on ‘The Balance Between Consumption and Production’ in the Revue
Encyclopédique, to which Sismondi in turn published a short reply. The
chronology of Sismondi’s polemical engagements was thus inverse to the
sequence of the opposing theories, for it had been Say who first
communicated his doctrine of a divinely established balance between
production and consumption to Ricardo who had in turn handed it down to
MacCulloch. In fact, as early as 1803, Say, in his Traité d’Économie
Politique, book i, chapter xii, had coined the following peremptory
statement: ‘Products are paid for with other products. It follows that if a
nation has too many goods of one kind, the means of selling them would be
to create goods of a different kind.’[210]
Here we meet again the all too familiar conjuring recipe which was
accepted alike by Ricardo’s school and by the ‘vulgar economists’ as the
corner-stone of the doctrine of harmony.[211]
Essentially, Sismondi’s principal work constitutes a sustained polemic
against this thesis. At this stage Say charges to the attack in the Revue
Encyclopédique with a complete volte-face, as follows:
‘Objection may be made that, because of man’s intelligence, because of the
advantage he can draw from the means provided by nature and artifice,
every human society can produce all the things fit to satisfy its needs and
increase its enjoyment in far larger quantities than it can itself consume. But
there I would ask how it is possible that we know of no nation that is
supplied with everything. Even in what rank as prospering nations seven-
eighths of the population are lacking in a multitude of things considered
necessities in ... I will not say a wealthy family, but in a modest
Sismondi’s essay against Ricardo in the Revue Encyclopédique of May
1824, was the final challenge for J. B. Say, at that time the acknowledged
‘prince of economic science’ (prince de la science économique), the so-
called representative, heir and populariser of the school of Adam Smith on
the Continent. Say, who had already advanced some arguments against
Sismondi in his letters to Malthus, countered the following July with an
essay on ‘The Balance Between Consumption and Production’ in the Revue
Encyclopédique, to which Sismondi in turn published a short reply. The
chronology of Sismondi’s polemical engagements was thus inverse to the
sequence of the opposing theories, for it had been Say who first
communicated his doctrine of a divinely established balance between
production and consumption to Ricardo who had in turn handed it down to
MacCulloch. In fact, as early as 1803, Say, in his Traité d’Économie
Politique, book i, chapter xii, had coined the following peremptory
statement: ‘Products are paid for with other products. It follows that if a
nation has too many goods of one kind, the means of selling them would be
to create goods of a different kind.’[210]
Here we meet again the all too familiar conjuring recipe which was
accepted alike by Ricardo’s school and by the ‘vulgar economists’ as the
corner-stone of the doctrine of harmony.[211]
Essentially, Sismondi’s principal work constitutes a sustained polemic
against this thesis. At this stage Say charges to the attack in the Revue
Encyclopédique with a complete volte-face, as follows:
‘Objection may be made that, because of man’s intelligence, because of the
advantage he can draw from the means provided by nature and artifice,
every human society can produce all the things fit to satisfy its needs and
increase its enjoyment in far larger quantities than it can itself consume. But
there I would ask how it is possible that we know of no nation that is
supplied with everything. Even in what rank as prospering nations seven-
eighths of the population are lacking in a multitude of things considered
necessities in ... I will not say a wealthy family, but in a modest
Page 210
establishment. The village I live in at present lies in one of the richest parts
of France; yet in 19 out of 20 houses I enter here, I see but the coarsest fare
and nothing that makes for the well-being of the people, none of the things
the English call comforts.’[212]
There is something to admire about the effrontery of the excellent Say. It
was he who had maintained that in a capitalist economy there could be no
difficulties, no surplus, no crises and no misery; since goods can be bought
one for the other, we need only go on producing more and more and
everything in the garden will be lovely. It was in Say’s hands that this
postulate had become a tenet of the doctrine of harmony, that doctrine so
typical of vulgar economics, which had evoked a sharp protest from
Sismondi who proved this view untenable. The latter had shown that goods
cannot be sold in any quantity you like, but that a limit is set to the
realisation of goods by the income of society in each case, by v + s;
inasmuch as the wages of the workers are depressed to a mere subsistence
level, and inasmuch as there is also a natural limit to the consumptive
capacity of the capitalist class, an expansion of production, Sismondi says,
must inevitably lead to slumps, crises and ever greater misery for the great
masses. Say’s come-back to this is masterly in its ingenuity: If you will
insist that over-production is possible, how can it happen that there are so
many people in our society who are naked, hungry and in want? Pray,
explain this contradiction if you can. Say, whose own position excels by
contriving blithely to shrug off the circulation of money altogether by
operating with a system of barter, now censures his critic for speaking of an
over-abundance of products in relation not only to purchasing power but to
the real needs of society, and that although Sismondi had left no doubt at all
about this very salient point of his deductions. ‘Even if there is a very great
number of badly fed, badly clothed and badly housed people in a society,
the society can only sell what it buys, and, as we have seen, it can only buy
with its income.’[213]
A little further on, Say concedes this point but alleges that his opponent has
made a new mistake: ‘It is not consumers, then, in which the nation is
lacking,’ he says, ‘but purchasing power. Sismondi believes that this will be
more extensive, when the products are rare, when consequently they are
dearer and their production procures ampler pay for the workers.’[214]
of France; yet in 19 out of 20 houses I enter here, I see but the coarsest fare
and nothing that makes for the well-being of the people, none of the things
the English call comforts.’[212]
There is something to admire about the effrontery of the excellent Say. It
was he who had maintained that in a capitalist economy there could be no
difficulties, no surplus, no crises and no misery; since goods can be bought
one for the other, we need only go on producing more and more and
everything in the garden will be lovely. It was in Say’s hands that this
postulate had become a tenet of the doctrine of harmony, that doctrine so
typical of vulgar economics, which had evoked a sharp protest from
Sismondi who proved this view untenable. The latter had shown that goods
cannot be sold in any quantity you like, but that a limit is set to the
realisation of goods by the income of society in each case, by v + s;
inasmuch as the wages of the workers are depressed to a mere subsistence
level, and inasmuch as there is also a natural limit to the consumptive
capacity of the capitalist class, an expansion of production, Sismondi says,
must inevitably lead to slumps, crises and ever greater misery for the great
masses. Say’s come-back to this is masterly in its ingenuity: If you will
insist that over-production is possible, how can it happen that there are so
many people in our society who are naked, hungry and in want? Pray,
explain this contradiction if you can. Say, whose own position excels by
contriving blithely to shrug off the circulation of money altogether by
operating with a system of barter, now censures his critic for speaking of an
over-abundance of products in relation not only to purchasing power but to
the real needs of society, and that although Sismondi had left no doubt at all
about this very salient point of his deductions. ‘Even if there is a very great
number of badly fed, badly clothed and badly housed people in a society,
the society can only sell what it buys, and, as we have seen, it can only buy
with its income.’[213]
A little further on, Say concedes this point but alleges that his opponent has
made a new mistake: ‘It is not consumers, then, in which the nation is
lacking,’ he says, ‘but purchasing power. Sismondi believes that this will be
more extensive, when the products are rare, when consequently they are
dearer and their production procures ampler pay for the workers.’[214]
Page 211
That is how Say attempts to degrade, in his own trite method of thought, or
better, method of canting, Sismondi’s theory which attacked the very
foundations of capitalist organisation and its mode of distribution. He
burlesques the Nouveaux Principes, turning them into a plea for ‘rare’
goods and high prices, and holds up to them the mirror of an artfully
flattered capitalist accumulation at its peak. If production becomes more
vigorous, he argues, labour grows in numbers and the volume of production
expands, the nations will be better and more universally provided for, and
he extols the conditions in countries where industrial development is at its
highest, as against the misery of the Middle Ages. Sismondi’s maxims he
declares subversive to capitalist society: ‘Why does he call for an inquiry
into the laws which might oblige the entrepreneur to guarantee a living for
the worker he employs? Such an inquiry would paralyse the spirit of
enterprise. Merely the fear that the authorities might interfere with private
contracts is a scourge and harmful to the wealth of a nation.’[215]
Not to be diverted from his purpose by this indiscriminate apologia of
Say’s, Sismondi once more turns the discussion on the fundamental issue:
‘Surely I have never denied that since the time of Louis XIV France has
been able to double her population and to quadruple her consumption, as he
contends. I have only claimed that the increase of products is a good if it is
desired, paid for and consumed; that, on the other hand, it is an evil if, there
being no demand, the only hope of the producer is to entice the consumers
of a rival industry’s products. I have tried to show that the natural course of
the nations is progressive increase of their property, an increase consequent
upon their demand for new products and their means to pay for them, but
that in consequence of our institutions, of our legislation having robbed the
working class of all property and every security, they have also been
spurred to a disorderly labour quite out of touch with the demand and with
purchasing power, which accordingly only aggravates poverty.’[216]
And he winds up the debate by inviting the preacher of harmony to reflect
upon the circumstance that, though a nation may be rich, public misery no
less than material wealth is constantly on the increase, the class which
produces everything being daily brought nearer to a position where it may
consume nothing. On this shrill discordant note of capitalist contradictions
closes the first clash about the problem of accumulation.
better, method of canting, Sismondi’s theory which attacked the very
foundations of capitalist organisation and its mode of distribution. He
burlesques the Nouveaux Principes, turning them into a plea for ‘rare’
goods and high prices, and holds up to them the mirror of an artfully
flattered capitalist accumulation at its peak. If production becomes more
vigorous, he argues, labour grows in numbers and the volume of production
expands, the nations will be better and more universally provided for, and
he extols the conditions in countries where industrial development is at its
highest, as against the misery of the Middle Ages. Sismondi’s maxims he
declares subversive to capitalist society: ‘Why does he call for an inquiry
into the laws which might oblige the entrepreneur to guarantee a living for
the worker he employs? Such an inquiry would paralyse the spirit of
enterprise. Merely the fear that the authorities might interfere with private
contracts is a scourge and harmful to the wealth of a nation.’[215]
Not to be diverted from his purpose by this indiscriminate apologia of
Say’s, Sismondi once more turns the discussion on the fundamental issue:
‘Surely I have never denied that since the time of Louis XIV France has
been able to double her population and to quadruple her consumption, as he
contends. I have only claimed that the increase of products is a good if it is
desired, paid for and consumed; that, on the other hand, it is an evil if, there
being no demand, the only hope of the producer is to entice the consumers
of a rival industry’s products. I have tried to show that the natural course of
the nations is progressive increase of their property, an increase consequent
upon their demand for new products and their means to pay for them, but
that in consequence of our institutions, of our legislation having robbed the
working class of all property and every security, they have also been
spurred to a disorderly labour quite out of touch with the demand and with
purchasing power, which accordingly only aggravates poverty.’[216]
And he winds up the debate by inviting the preacher of harmony to reflect
upon the circumstance that, though a nation may be rich, public misery no
less than material wealth is constantly on the increase, the class which
produces everything being daily brought nearer to a position where it may
consume nothing. On this shrill discordant note of capitalist contradictions
closes the first clash about the problem of accumulation.
Page 212
Summing up the general direction of this first battle of wits, we must note
two points:
(1) In spite of all the confusion in Sismondi’s analysis, his superiority to
both Ricardo and his followers and to the self-styled heir to the mantle of
Adam Smith is quite unmistakable. Sismondi, in taking things from the
angle of reproduction, looks for concepts of value (capital and income) and
for factual elements (producer and consumer goods) as best he can, in order
to grasp how they are interrelated within the total social process. In this he
is nearest to Adam Smith, with the difference only that the contradictions
there appearing as merely subjective and speculative, are deliberately
stressed as the keynote of Sismondi’s analysis where the problem of capital
accumulation is treated as the crucial point and principal difficulty.
Sismondi has therefore made obvious advances on Adam Smith, while
Ricardo and his followers as well as Say throughout the debate think solely
in terms of simple commodity production. They only see the formula C—M
—C, even reducing everything to barter, and believe that such barren
wisdom can cover all the problems specific to the process of reproduction
and accumulation. This is a regress even on Smith, and over such myopic
vision, Sismondi scores most decisively. He, the social critic, evinces much
more understanding for the categories of bourgeois economics than their
staunchest champions—just as, at a later date, the socialist Marx was to
grasp infinitely more keenly than all bourgeois economists together the
differentia specifica of the mechanism of capitalist economy. If Sismondi
exclaims in the face of Ricardo’s doctrine: ‘What, is wealth to be all, and
man a mere nothing?’[217] it is indicative not only of the vulnerable moral
strain in his petty-bourgeois approach compared to the stern, classical
impartiality of Ricardo, but also of a critical perception, sharpened by social
sensibilities for the living social connections of economy; an eye, that is, for
intrinsic contradictions and difficulties as against the rigid, hidebound and
abstract views of Ricardo and his school. The controversy had only shown
up the fact that Ricardo, just like the followers of Adam Smith, was not
even able to grasp, let alone solve the puzzle of accumulation put by
Sismondi.
(2) The clue to the problem, however, was already impossible of discovery,
because the whole argument had been side-tracked and concentrated upon
the problem of crises. It is only natural that the outbreak of the first crisis
two points:
(1) In spite of all the confusion in Sismondi’s analysis, his superiority to
both Ricardo and his followers and to the self-styled heir to the mantle of
Adam Smith is quite unmistakable. Sismondi, in taking things from the
angle of reproduction, looks for concepts of value (capital and income) and
for factual elements (producer and consumer goods) as best he can, in order
to grasp how they are interrelated within the total social process. In this he
is nearest to Adam Smith, with the difference only that the contradictions
there appearing as merely subjective and speculative, are deliberately
stressed as the keynote of Sismondi’s analysis where the problem of capital
accumulation is treated as the crucial point and principal difficulty.
Sismondi has therefore made obvious advances on Adam Smith, while
Ricardo and his followers as well as Say throughout the debate think solely
in terms of simple commodity production. They only see the formula C—M
—C, even reducing everything to barter, and believe that such barren
wisdom can cover all the problems specific to the process of reproduction
and accumulation. This is a regress even on Smith, and over such myopic
vision, Sismondi scores most decisively. He, the social critic, evinces much
more understanding for the categories of bourgeois economics than their
staunchest champions—just as, at a later date, the socialist Marx was to
grasp infinitely more keenly than all bourgeois economists together the
differentia specifica of the mechanism of capitalist economy. If Sismondi
exclaims in the face of Ricardo’s doctrine: ‘What, is wealth to be all, and
man a mere nothing?’[217] it is indicative not only of the vulnerable moral
strain in his petty-bourgeois approach compared to the stern, classical
impartiality of Ricardo, but also of a critical perception, sharpened by social
sensibilities for the living social connections of economy; an eye, that is, for
intrinsic contradictions and difficulties as against the rigid, hidebound and
abstract views of Ricardo and his school. The controversy had only shown
up the fact that Ricardo, just like the followers of Adam Smith, was not
even able to grasp, let alone solve the puzzle of accumulation put by
Sismondi.
(2) The clue to the problem, however, was already impossible of discovery,
because the whole argument had been side-tracked and concentrated upon
the problem of crises. It is only natural that the outbreak of the first crisis
Page 213
should dominate the discussion, but no less natural that this effectively
prevented either side from recognising that crises are far from constituting
the problem of accumulation, being no more than its characteristic
phenomenon: one element in the cyclical form of capitalist reproduction.
Consequently, the debate could only result in a twofold quid pro quo: one
party deducing from crises that accumulation is impossible, and the other
from barter that crises are impossible. Subsequent developments of
capitalism were to give the lie to both conclusions alike.
And yet, Sismondi’s criticism sounds the first alarm of economic theory at
the domination of capital, and for this reason its historical importance is
both great and lasting. It paves the way for the disintegration of a classical
economics unable to cope with the problem of its own making. But for all
Sismondi’s terror of the consequences attendant upon capitalism
triumphant, he was certainly no reactionary in the sense of yearning for pre-
capitalistic conditions, even if on occasion he delights in extolling the
patriarchal forms of production in agriculture and handicrafts in comparison
with the domination of capital. He repeatedly and most vigorously protests
against such an interpretation as e.g. in his polemic against Ricardo in the
Revue Encyclopédique:
‘I can already hear the outcry that I jib at improvements in agriculture and
craftsmanship and at every progress man could make; that I doubtless prefer
a state of barbarism to a state of civilisation, since the plough is a tool, the
spade an even older one, and that, according to my system, man ought no
doubt to work the soil with his bare hands.
‘I never said anything of the kind, and I crave indulgence to protest once for
all against all conclusions imputed to my system such as I myself have
never drawn. Neither those who attack me nor those who defend me have
really understood me, and more than once I have been put to shame by my
allies as much as by my opponents.’—‘I beg you to realise that it is not the
machine, new discoveries and inventions, not civilisation to which I object,
but the modern organisation of society, an organisation which despoils the
man who works of all property other than his arms, and denies him the least
security in a reckless over-bidding that makes for his harm and to which he
is bound to fall a prey.’[218]
prevented either side from recognising that crises are far from constituting
the problem of accumulation, being no more than its characteristic
phenomenon: one element in the cyclical form of capitalist reproduction.
Consequently, the debate could only result in a twofold quid pro quo: one
party deducing from crises that accumulation is impossible, and the other
from barter that crises are impossible. Subsequent developments of
capitalism were to give the lie to both conclusions alike.
And yet, Sismondi’s criticism sounds the first alarm of economic theory at
the domination of capital, and for this reason its historical importance is
both great and lasting. It paves the way for the disintegration of a classical
economics unable to cope with the problem of its own making. But for all
Sismondi’s terror of the consequences attendant upon capitalism
triumphant, he was certainly no reactionary in the sense of yearning for pre-
capitalistic conditions, even if on occasion he delights in extolling the
patriarchal forms of production in agriculture and handicrafts in comparison
with the domination of capital. He repeatedly and most vigorously protests
against such an interpretation as e.g. in his polemic against Ricardo in the
Revue Encyclopédique:
‘I can already hear the outcry that I jib at improvements in agriculture and
craftsmanship and at every progress man could make; that I doubtless prefer
a state of barbarism to a state of civilisation, since the plough is a tool, the
spade an even older one, and that, according to my system, man ought no
doubt to work the soil with his bare hands.
‘I never said anything of the kind, and I crave indulgence to protest once for
all against all conclusions imputed to my system such as I myself have
never drawn. Neither those who attack me nor those who defend me have
really understood me, and more than once I have been put to shame by my
allies as much as by my opponents.’—‘I beg you to realise that it is not the
machine, new discoveries and inventions, not civilisation to which I object,
but the modern organisation of society, an organisation which despoils the
man who works of all property other than his arms, and denies him the least
security in a reckless over-bidding that makes for his harm and to which he
is bound to fall a prey.’[218]
Page 214
There can be no question that the interests of the proletariat were at the core
of Sismondi’s criticism, and he is making no false claims when he
formulates his main tendency as follows:
‘I am only working for means to secure the fruits of labour to those who do
the work, to make the machine benefit the man who puts it in motion.’[219]
When pressed for a closer definition of the social organisation towards
which he aspires, it is true he hedges and confesses himself unable to do so:
‘But what remains to be done is of infinite difficulty, and I certainly do not
intend to deal with it to-day. I should like to convince the economists as
completely as I am convinced myself that their science is going off on a
wrong tack. But I cannot trust myself to be able to show them the true
course; it is a supreme effort—the most my mind will run to—to form a
conception even of the actual organisation of society. Yet who would have
the power to conceive of an organisation that does not even exist so far, to
see the future, since we are already hard put to it to see the present?’[220]
Surely it was no disgrace to admit oneself frankly powerless to envisage a
future beyond capitalism in the year 1820—at a time when capitalism had
only just begun to establish its domination over the big industries, and when
the idea of socialism was only possible in a most Utopian form. But, as
Sismondi could neither advance beyond capitalism nor go back to a
previous stage, the only course open to his criticism was a petty-bourgeois
compromise. Sceptical of the possibility of developing fully both capitalism
and the productive forces, he found himself under necessity to clamour for
some moderation of accumulation, for some slowing down of the
triumphant march of capitalism. That is the reactionary aspect of his
criticism.[221]
of Sismondi’s criticism, and he is making no false claims when he
formulates his main tendency as follows:
‘I am only working for means to secure the fruits of labour to those who do
the work, to make the machine benefit the man who puts it in motion.’[219]
When pressed for a closer definition of the social organisation towards
which he aspires, it is true he hedges and confesses himself unable to do so:
‘But what remains to be done is of infinite difficulty, and I certainly do not
intend to deal with it to-day. I should like to convince the economists as
completely as I am convinced myself that their science is going off on a
wrong tack. But I cannot trust myself to be able to show them the true
course; it is a supreme effort—the most my mind will run to—to form a
conception even of the actual organisation of society. Yet who would have
the power to conceive of an organisation that does not even exist so far, to
see the future, since we are already hard put to it to see the present?’[220]
Surely it was no disgrace to admit oneself frankly powerless to envisage a
future beyond capitalism in the year 1820—at a time when capitalism had
only just begun to establish its domination over the big industries, and when
the idea of socialism was only possible in a most Utopian form. But, as
Sismondi could neither advance beyond capitalism nor go back to a
previous stage, the only course open to his criticism was a petty-bourgeois
compromise. Sceptical of the possibility of developing fully both capitalism
and the productive forces, he found himself under necessity to clamour for
some moderation of accumulation, for some slowing down of the
triumphant march of capitalism. That is the reactionary aspect of his
criticism.[221]
Page 215
CHAPTER XIV
Page 216
MALTHUS
At the same time as Sismondi, Malthus also waged war against some of the
teachings of Ricardo. Sismondi, in the second edition of his work as well as
in his polemics, repeatedly referred to Malthus as an authority on his side.
Thus he formulated the common aims of his campaign against Ricardo in
the Revue Encyclopédique:
‘Mr. Malthus, on the other hand, has maintained in England, as I have tried
to do on the Continent, that consumption is not the necessary consequence
of production, that the needs and desires of man, though they are truly
without limits, are only satisfied by consumption in so far as means of
exchange go with them. We have affirmed that it is not enough to create
these means of exchange, to make them circulate among those who have
these desires and wants; that it can even happen frequently that the means
of exchange increase in society together with a decrease in the demand for
labour, or wages, so that the desires and wants of one part of the population
cannot be satisfied and consumption also decreases. Finally, we have
claimed that the unmistakable sign of prosperity in a society is not an
increasing production of wealth, but an increasing demand for labour, or the
offer of more and more wages in compensation for this labour. Messrs.
Ricardo and Say, though not denying that an increasing demand for labour
is a symptom of prosperity, maintained that it inevitably results from an
increase of production. As for Mr. Malthus and myself, we regard these two
increases as resulting from independent causes which may at times even be
in opposition. According to our view, if the demand for labour has not
preceded and determined production, the market will be flooded, and then
new production becomes a cause of ruin, not of enjoyment.’[222]
These remarks suggest far-reaching agreement, a brotherhood in arms of
Sismondi and Malthus, at least in their opposition against Ricardo and his
school. Marx considers the Principles of Political Economy, which Malthus
published in 1820, an outright plagiarism of the Nouveaux Principes which
had been published the year before. Yet Sismondi and Malthus are
At the same time as Sismondi, Malthus also waged war against some of the
teachings of Ricardo. Sismondi, in the second edition of his work as well as
in his polemics, repeatedly referred to Malthus as an authority on his side.
Thus he formulated the common aims of his campaign against Ricardo in
the Revue Encyclopédique:
‘Mr. Malthus, on the other hand, has maintained in England, as I have tried
to do on the Continent, that consumption is not the necessary consequence
of production, that the needs and desires of man, though they are truly
without limits, are only satisfied by consumption in so far as means of
exchange go with them. We have affirmed that it is not enough to create
these means of exchange, to make them circulate among those who have
these desires and wants; that it can even happen frequently that the means
of exchange increase in society together with a decrease in the demand for
labour, or wages, so that the desires and wants of one part of the population
cannot be satisfied and consumption also decreases. Finally, we have
claimed that the unmistakable sign of prosperity in a society is not an
increasing production of wealth, but an increasing demand for labour, or the
offer of more and more wages in compensation for this labour. Messrs.
Ricardo and Say, though not denying that an increasing demand for labour
is a symptom of prosperity, maintained that it inevitably results from an
increase of production. As for Mr. Malthus and myself, we regard these two
increases as resulting from independent causes which may at times even be
in opposition. According to our view, if the demand for labour has not
preceded and determined production, the market will be flooded, and then
new production becomes a cause of ruin, not of enjoyment.’[222]
These remarks suggest far-reaching agreement, a brotherhood in arms of
Sismondi and Malthus, at least in their opposition against Ricardo and his
school. Marx considers the Principles of Political Economy, which Malthus
published in 1820, an outright plagiarism of the Nouveaux Principes which
had been published the year before. Yet Sismondi and Malthus are
Page 217
frequently at odds regarding the problem with which we are here
concerned.
Sismondi is critical of capitalist production, he attacks it sharply, even
denounces it, while Malthus stands for the defence. This does not mean that
he denies its inherent contradictions, as Say or MacCulloch had done. On
the contrary he raises them quite unmercifully to the status of a natural law
and asserts their absolute sanctity. Sismondi’s guiding principle is the
interests of the workers. He aspires, though rather generally and vaguely,
towards a thoroughgoing reform of distribution in favour of the proletariat.
Malthus provides the ideology for those strata who are the parasites of
capitalist exploitation, who live on ground rent and draw upon the common
wealth, and advocates the allocation of the greatest possible portion of the
surplus value to these ‘unproductive consumers’. Sismondi’s general
approach is predominantly ethical, it is the approach of the social reformer.
Improving upon the classics, he stresses, in opposition to them, that
‘consumption is the only end of accumulation’, and pleads for restricted
accumulation. Malthus, on the contrary, bluntly declares that production has
no other purpose than accumulation and advocates unlimited accumulation
by the capitalists, to be supplemented and assured by the unlimited
consumption of their parasites. Finally, Sismondi starts off with a critical
analysis of the reproductive process, of the relation between capital and
income from the point of view of society; while Malthus, opposing Ricardo,
begins with an absurd theory of value from which he derives an equally
absurd theory of surplus value, attempting to explain capitalist profits as an
addition to the price over and above the value of commodities.[223]
Malthus opposes the postulate that supply and demand are identical with a
detailed critique in chapter vi of his Definitions in Political Economy.[224]
In his Elements of Political Economy, James Mill had declared:
‘What is it that is necessarily meant, when we say that the supply and the
demand are accommodated to one another? It is this: that goods which have
been produced by a certain quantity of labour, exchange for goods which
have been produced by an equal quantity of labour. Let this proposition be
duly attended to, and all the rest is clear.—Thus, if a pair of shoes is
produced with an equal quantity of labour as a hat, so long as a hat
exchanges for a pair of shoes, so long the supply and demand are
accommodated to one another. If it should so happen, that shoes fell in
concerned.
Sismondi is critical of capitalist production, he attacks it sharply, even
denounces it, while Malthus stands for the defence. This does not mean that
he denies its inherent contradictions, as Say or MacCulloch had done. On
the contrary he raises them quite unmercifully to the status of a natural law
and asserts their absolute sanctity. Sismondi’s guiding principle is the
interests of the workers. He aspires, though rather generally and vaguely,
towards a thoroughgoing reform of distribution in favour of the proletariat.
Malthus provides the ideology for those strata who are the parasites of
capitalist exploitation, who live on ground rent and draw upon the common
wealth, and advocates the allocation of the greatest possible portion of the
surplus value to these ‘unproductive consumers’. Sismondi’s general
approach is predominantly ethical, it is the approach of the social reformer.
Improving upon the classics, he stresses, in opposition to them, that
‘consumption is the only end of accumulation’, and pleads for restricted
accumulation. Malthus, on the contrary, bluntly declares that production has
no other purpose than accumulation and advocates unlimited accumulation
by the capitalists, to be supplemented and assured by the unlimited
consumption of their parasites. Finally, Sismondi starts off with a critical
analysis of the reproductive process, of the relation between capital and
income from the point of view of society; while Malthus, opposing Ricardo,
begins with an absurd theory of value from which he derives an equally
absurd theory of surplus value, attempting to explain capitalist profits as an
addition to the price over and above the value of commodities.[223]
Malthus opposes the postulate that supply and demand are identical with a
detailed critique in chapter vi of his Definitions in Political Economy.[224]
In his Elements of Political Economy, James Mill had declared:
‘What is it that is necessarily meant, when we say that the supply and the
demand are accommodated to one another? It is this: that goods which have
been produced by a certain quantity of labour, exchange for goods which
have been produced by an equal quantity of labour. Let this proposition be
duly attended to, and all the rest is clear.—Thus, if a pair of shoes is
produced with an equal quantity of labour as a hat, so long as a hat
exchanges for a pair of shoes, so long the supply and demand are
accommodated to one another. If it should so happen, that shoes fell in
Page 218
value, as compared with hats, which is the same thing as hats rising in value
compared with shoes, this would simply imply that more shoes had been
brought to market, as compared with hats. Shoes would then be in more
than the due abundance. Why? Because in them the produce of a certain
quantity of labour would not exchange for the produce of an equal quantity.
But for the very same reason hats would be in less than the due abundance,
because the produce of a certain quantity of labour in them would exchange
for the produce of more than an equal quantity in shoes.’[225]
Against such trite tautologies, Malthus marshals a twofold argument. He
first draws Mill’s attention to the fact that he is building without solid
foundations. In fact, he argues, even without an alteration in the ratio of
exchange between hats and shoes, there may yet be too great a quantity of
both in relation to the demand. This will result in both being sold at less
than the cost of production plus an appropriate profit.
‘But can it be said on this account’, he asks, ‘that the supply of hats is
suited to the demand for hats, or the supply of shoes suited to the demand
for shoes, when they are both so abundant that neither of them will
exchange for what will fulfil the conditions of their continued supply?’[226]
In other words, Malthus confronts Mill with the possibility of general over-
production: ‘... when they are compared with the costs of production ... it is
evident that ... they may all fall or rise at the same time’.[227]
Secondly, he protests against the way in which Mill, Ricardo and company
are wont to model their postulates on a system of barter: ‘The hop planter
who takes a hundred bags of hops to Weyhill fair, thinks little more about
the supply of hats and shoes than he does about the spots in the sun. What
does he think about, then? and what does he want to exchange his hops for?
Mr. Mill seems to be of opinion that it would show great ignorance of
political economy, to say that what he wants is money; yet, notwithstanding
the probable imputation of this great ignorance, I have no hesitation in
distinctly asserting, that it really is money which he wants....’[228]
For the rest, Malthus is content to describe the machinery by which an
excessive supply can depress prices below the cost of production and so
automatically bring about a restriction of production, and vice versa.
compared with shoes, this would simply imply that more shoes had been
brought to market, as compared with hats. Shoes would then be in more
than the due abundance. Why? Because in them the produce of a certain
quantity of labour would not exchange for the produce of an equal quantity.
But for the very same reason hats would be in less than the due abundance,
because the produce of a certain quantity of labour in them would exchange
for the produce of more than an equal quantity in shoes.’[225]
Against such trite tautologies, Malthus marshals a twofold argument. He
first draws Mill’s attention to the fact that he is building without solid
foundations. In fact, he argues, even without an alteration in the ratio of
exchange between hats and shoes, there may yet be too great a quantity of
both in relation to the demand. This will result in both being sold at less
than the cost of production plus an appropriate profit.
‘But can it be said on this account’, he asks, ‘that the supply of hats is
suited to the demand for hats, or the supply of shoes suited to the demand
for shoes, when they are both so abundant that neither of them will
exchange for what will fulfil the conditions of their continued supply?’[226]
In other words, Malthus confronts Mill with the possibility of general over-
production: ‘... when they are compared with the costs of production ... it is
evident that ... they may all fall or rise at the same time’.[227]
Secondly, he protests against the way in which Mill, Ricardo and company
are wont to model their postulates on a system of barter: ‘The hop planter
who takes a hundred bags of hops to Weyhill fair, thinks little more about
the supply of hats and shoes than he does about the spots in the sun. What
does he think about, then? and what does he want to exchange his hops for?
Mr. Mill seems to be of opinion that it would show great ignorance of
political economy, to say that what he wants is money; yet, notwithstanding
the probable imputation of this great ignorance, I have no hesitation in
distinctly asserting, that it really is money which he wants....’[228]
For the rest, Malthus is content to describe the machinery by which an
excessive supply can depress prices below the cost of production and so
automatically bring about a restriction of production, and vice versa.
Page 219
‘But this tendency, in the natural course of things, to cure a glut or a
scarcity, is no ... proof that such evils have never existed.’[229]
It is clear that in spite of his contrary views on the question of crises,
Malthus thinks along the same lines as Ricardo, Mill, Say, and MacCulloch.
For him, too, everything can be reduced to barter. The social reproductive
process with its large categories and interrelations which claimed the whole
of Sismondi’s attention, is here completely ignored.
In view of so many contradictions within the fundamental approach, the
criticism of Sismondi and Malthus have only a few points in common: (1)
Contrary to Say and the followers of Ricardo, they both deny the hypothesis
of a pre-established balance of consumption and production. (2) They both
maintain that not only partial but also universal crises are possible.
But here their agreement ends. If Sismondi seeks the cause of crises in the
low level of wages and the capitalists’ limited capacity for consumption,
Malthus, on the other hand, transforms the fact of low wages into a natural
law of population movements; for the capitalists’ limited capacity for
consumption, however, he finds a substitute in the consumption of the
parasites on surplus value such as the landed gentry and the clergy with
their unlimited capacity for wealth and luxury. ‘The church with a
capacious maw is blest.’
Both Malthus and Sismondi look for a category of consumers who buy
without selling, in order to redeem capitalist accumulation and save it from
a precarious position. But Sismondi needs them to get rid of the surplus
product of society over and above the consumption of the workers and
capitalists, that is to say, to get rid of the capitalised part of the surplus
value. Malthus wants them as ‘producers’ of profit in general. It remains
entirely his secret, of course, how the rentiers and the incumbents of the
state can assist the capitalists in appropriating their profits by buying
commodities at an increased price, since they themselves obtain their
purchasing power mainly from these capitalists. In view of these profound
contrasts, the alliance between Malthus and Sismondi does not go very
deep. And if Malthus, as Marx has it, distorts Sismondi’s Nouveaux
Principes into a Malthusian caricature, Sismondi in turn stresses only what
is common to them both and quotes Malthus in support, giving the latter’s
critique of Ricardo a somewhat Sismondian cast. On occasion, no doubt,
scarcity, is no ... proof that such evils have never existed.’[229]
It is clear that in spite of his contrary views on the question of crises,
Malthus thinks along the same lines as Ricardo, Mill, Say, and MacCulloch.
For him, too, everything can be reduced to barter. The social reproductive
process with its large categories and interrelations which claimed the whole
of Sismondi’s attention, is here completely ignored.
In view of so many contradictions within the fundamental approach, the
criticism of Sismondi and Malthus have only a few points in common: (1)
Contrary to Say and the followers of Ricardo, they both deny the hypothesis
of a pre-established balance of consumption and production. (2) They both
maintain that not only partial but also universal crises are possible.
But here their agreement ends. If Sismondi seeks the cause of crises in the
low level of wages and the capitalists’ limited capacity for consumption,
Malthus, on the other hand, transforms the fact of low wages into a natural
law of population movements; for the capitalists’ limited capacity for
consumption, however, he finds a substitute in the consumption of the
parasites on surplus value such as the landed gentry and the clergy with
their unlimited capacity for wealth and luxury. ‘The church with a
capacious maw is blest.’
Both Malthus and Sismondi look for a category of consumers who buy
without selling, in order to redeem capitalist accumulation and save it from
a precarious position. But Sismondi needs them to get rid of the surplus
product of society over and above the consumption of the workers and
capitalists, that is to say, to get rid of the capitalised part of the surplus
value. Malthus wants them as ‘producers’ of profit in general. It remains
entirely his secret, of course, how the rentiers and the incumbents of the
state can assist the capitalists in appropriating their profits by buying
commodities at an increased price, since they themselves obtain their
purchasing power mainly from these capitalists. In view of these profound
contrasts, the alliance between Malthus and Sismondi does not go very
deep. And if Malthus, as Marx has it, distorts Sismondi’s Nouveaux
Principes into a Malthusian caricature, Sismondi in turn stresses only what
is common to them both and quotes Malthus in support, giving the latter’s
critique of Ricardo a somewhat Sismondian cast. On occasion, no doubt,
Page 220
Sismondi actually succumbs to the influence of Malthus; for instance, he
takes over the latter’s theory of reckless state expenditure as an emergency
measure in aid of accumulation and so becomes involved in contradictions
with his own initial assumptions.
On the whole, Malthus neither rendered an original contribution to the
problem of reproduction, nor even grasped it fully. In his controversy with
the followers of Ricardo, he operated with the concepts of simple
commodity circulation, just as they did in their controversy with Sismondi.
His quarrel with that school turns on the ‘unproductive consumption’ by the
parasites of the surplus value; it is not a quarrel about the social foundations
of capitalist reproduction. Malthus’ edifice tumbles to the ground as soon as
the absurd mistakes in his theory of profits are uncovered. Sismondi’s
criticism remains valid, and his problems remain unsolved even if we
accept Ricardo’s theory of value with all its consequences.
takes over the latter’s theory of reckless state expenditure as an emergency
measure in aid of accumulation and so becomes involved in contradictions
with his own initial assumptions.
On the whole, Malthus neither rendered an original contribution to the
problem of reproduction, nor even grasped it fully. In his controversy with
the followers of Ricardo, he operated with the concepts of simple
commodity circulation, just as they did in their controversy with Sismondi.
His quarrel with that school turns on the ‘unproductive consumption’ by the
parasites of the surplus value; it is not a quarrel about the social foundations
of capitalist reproduction. Malthus’ edifice tumbles to the ground as soon as
the absurd mistakes in his theory of profits are uncovered. Sismondi’s
criticism remains valid, and his problems remain unsolved even if we
accept Ricardo’s theory of value with all its consequences.
Page 221
SECTION TWO
★
★
Page 222
HISTORICAL EXPOSITION OF THE
PROBLEM
★
SECOND ROUND
THE CONTROVERSY BETWEEN RODBERTUS AND von
KIRCHMANN
PROBLEM
★
SECOND ROUND
THE CONTROVERSY BETWEEN RODBERTUS AND von
KIRCHMANN
Page 223
CHAPTER XV
Page 224
v. KIRCHMANN’S THEORY OF
REPRODUCTION
The second theoretical polemics about the problem of accumulation was
also started by current events. If the first English crisis and its attendant
misery of the working class had stimulated Sismondi’s opposition against
the classical school, it was the revolutionary working-class movement
arisen since which, almost twenty-five years later, provided the incentive
for Rodbertus’ critique of capitalist production. The risings of the Lyons silk
weavers and the Chartist movement in England were vastly different from
the shadowy spectres raised by the first crisis, and the ears of the
bourgeoisie were made to ring with their criticism of the most wonderful of
all forms of society. The first socio-economic work of Rodbertus, probably
written for the Augsburger Allgemeine Zeitung in the late thirties but not
published by that paper, bears the significant title, The Demands of the
Working Classes,[230] and begins as follows:
‘What do the working classes want? Will the others be able to keep it from
them? Will what they want be the grave of modern civilisation? Thoughtful
people have long realised that a time must come when history would put
this question with great urgency. Now, the man in the street has learned it
too, from the Chartist meetings and the Birmingham scenes.’
During the forties, the leaven of revolutionary ideas was most vigorously at
work in France in the formation of the various secret societies and socialist
schools of the followers of Proudhon, Blanqui, Cabet, Louis Blanc, etc. The
February revolution and the June proclamation of the ‘right to work’ led to
a first head-on clash between the two worlds of capitalist society—an
epoch-making eruption of the contradictions latent in capitalism. As regards
the other, visible form of those contradictions—the crises—the available
data for observation at the time of the second controversy were far more
comprehensive than in the early twenties of the century. The dispute
between Rodbertus and v. Kirchmann took place under the immediate
impact of the crises in 1837, 1839, 1847, and even of the first world crisis
in 1857—Rodbertus writing his interesting pamphlet On Commercial
REPRODUCTION
The second theoretical polemics about the problem of accumulation was
also started by current events. If the first English crisis and its attendant
misery of the working class had stimulated Sismondi’s opposition against
the classical school, it was the revolutionary working-class movement
arisen since which, almost twenty-five years later, provided the incentive
for Rodbertus’ critique of capitalist production. The risings of the Lyons silk
weavers and the Chartist movement in England were vastly different from
the shadowy spectres raised by the first crisis, and the ears of the
bourgeoisie were made to ring with their criticism of the most wonderful of
all forms of society. The first socio-economic work of Rodbertus, probably
written for the Augsburger Allgemeine Zeitung in the late thirties but not
published by that paper, bears the significant title, The Demands of the
Working Classes,[230] and begins as follows:
‘What do the working classes want? Will the others be able to keep it from
them? Will what they want be the grave of modern civilisation? Thoughtful
people have long realised that a time must come when history would put
this question with great urgency. Now, the man in the street has learned it
too, from the Chartist meetings and the Birmingham scenes.’
During the forties, the leaven of revolutionary ideas was most vigorously at
work in France in the formation of the various secret societies and socialist
schools of the followers of Proudhon, Blanqui, Cabet, Louis Blanc, etc. The
February revolution and the June proclamation of the ‘right to work’ led to
a first head-on clash between the two worlds of capitalist society—an
epoch-making eruption of the contradictions latent in capitalism. As regards
the other, visible form of those contradictions—the crises—the available
data for observation at the time of the second controversy were far more
comprehensive than in the early twenties of the century. The dispute
between Rodbertus and v. Kirchmann took place under the immediate
impact of the crises in 1837, 1839, 1847, and even of the first world crisis
in 1857—Rodbertus writing his interesting pamphlet On Commercial
Page 225
Crises and the Mortgage Problem of the Landowners[231] in 1858. Thus the
inherent contradictions of capitalist society meeting his eyes were in
strident discord with the doctrine of harmony held by the English classics
and their vulgarisers both in England and on the Continent, quite unlike any
critique in the times when Sismondi had raised his voice in warning.
Incidentally, a quotation from Sismondi in Rodbertus’ first writing proves
that the former’s strictures immediately influenced Rodbertus. He was thus
familiar with contemporary French writings against the classical school,
though perhaps less so with the far more numerous English literature. There
is no more than this flimsy support for the myth of the German professors
about the so-called ‘priority’ of Rodbertus over Marx in the ‘foundation of
socialism’. Accordingly, Professor Diehl writes in his article on Rodbertus
in Handwörterbuch der Staatswissenschaften: ‘Rodbertus must be
considered the real founder of scientific socialism in Germany, since in his
writings between 1839 and 1842, even before Marx and Lassalle, he
provided a comprehensive socialist system, a critique of Adam Smith’s
doctrine, new theoretical foundations and proposals for social reform.’
This piece of god-fearing, pious righteousness comes from the second
edition of 1901, after all that had been written by Engels, Kautsky and
Mehring to destroy this learned legend, and in spite of it. Quite inevitably,
of course, and proof against any evidence to the contrary, however weighty,
it was only right in the eyes of all the learned German economists that the
palm of ‘priority’ should be wrested from Marx, the revolutionary anarchist,
by Rodbertus, the ‘socialist’ with monarchist, Prussian and nationalist
leanings, the man who believed in communism five hundred years from
now, but for the present supported a steady exploitation rate of 200 per cent.
However, we are interested in another aspect of Rodbertus’ analysis. The
same Professor Diehl continues his eulogy as follows: ‘Rodbertus was not
only a pioneer of socialism; political economy as a whole owes much
stimulation and furtherance to him; economic theory in particular is
indebted to him for the critique of classical economics, for the new theory
of the distribution of income, for the distinction between the logical and
historical categories of capital, and so on.’
Here we shall deal with these latter achievements of Rodbertus, especially
with the ‘and so on’.
inherent contradictions of capitalist society meeting his eyes were in
strident discord with the doctrine of harmony held by the English classics
and their vulgarisers both in England and on the Continent, quite unlike any
critique in the times when Sismondi had raised his voice in warning.
Incidentally, a quotation from Sismondi in Rodbertus’ first writing proves
that the former’s strictures immediately influenced Rodbertus. He was thus
familiar with contemporary French writings against the classical school,
though perhaps less so with the far more numerous English literature. There
is no more than this flimsy support for the myth of the German professors
about the so-called ‘priority’ of Rodbertus over Marx in the ‘foundation of
socialism’. Accordingly, Professor Diehl writes in his article on Rodbertus
in Handwörterbuch der Staatswissenschaften: ‘Rodbertus must be
considered the real founder of scientific socialism in Germany, since in his
writings between 1839 and 1842, even before Marx and Lassalle, he
provided a comprehensive socialist system, a critique of Adam Smith’s
doctrine, new theoretical foundations and proposals for social reform.’
This piece of god-fearing, pious righteousness comes from the second
edition of 1901, after all that had been written by Engels, Kautsky and
Mehring to destroy this learned legend, and in spite of it. Quite inevitably,
of course, and proof against any evidence to the contrary, however weighty,
it was only right in the eyes of all the learned German economists that the
palm of ‘priority’ should be wrested from Marx, the revolutionary anarchist,
by Rodbertus, the ‘socialist’ with monarchist, Prussian and nationalist
leanings, the man who believed in communism five hundred years from
now, but for the present supported a steady exploitation rate of 200 per cent.
However, we are interested in another aspect of Rodbertus’ analysis. The
same Professor Diehl continues his eulogy as follows: ‘Rodbertus was not
only a pioneer of socialism; political economy as a whole owes much
stimulation and furtherance to him; economic theory in particular is
indebted to him for the critique of classical economics, for the new theory
of the distribution of income, for the distinction between the logical and
historical categories of capital, and so on.’
Here we shall deal with these latter achievements of Rodbertus, especially
with the ‘and so on’.
Page 226
Rodbertus’ decisive treatise, Towards the Understanding of Our Politico-
Economic Conditions[232] of 1842, set the ball rolling. v. Kirchmann replied
in Demokratische Blätter with two essays—On the Social Aspects of
Ground Rent[233] and The Society of Barter[234] —and Rodbertus parried in
1850 with his Letters on Social Problems.[235] Thus the discussion entered
the same theoretical arena where Malthus-Sismondi and Say-Ricardo-
MacCulloch had fought out their differences thirty years earlier. In his
earliest writings, Rodbertus had already expressed the thought that the
wages of labour present an ever diminishing part of the national product in
modern society where the productivity of labour is increasing. He claimed
this to be an original idea, and from that moment until his death thirty years
later he did nothing but reiterate it and formulate it in various ways. This
‘declining wage rate’ is for him the root of all evils to be found in modern
society, in particular of pauperism and the crises, whose combination he
calls ‘the social problem of our times’.
v. Kirchmann does not agree with this explanation. He traces pauperism
back to the effects of a rising ground rent; crises, on the other hand, to a
lack of markets. About the latter especially he says: ‘The greatest part of
social ills is caused not by defects of production but by a lack of markets for
the products ... the more a country can produce, the more means it has for
satisfying every need, the more it is exposed to the danger of misery and
want.’—The labour-problem is here included as well, for ‘the notorious
right to work ultimately reduces to the question of markets’. ‘We see’, he
concludes, ‘that the social problem is almost identical with the problem of
markets. Even the ills of much-abused competition will vanish, once
markets are secure; its advantages alone will remain. There will remain a
spirit of rivalry to supply good and cheap commodities, but the life-and-
death struggle will disappear which is caused only by insufficient
markets.’[236]
The difference between the points of view of Rodbertus and v. Kirchmann
is evident. Rodbertus sees the root of the evil in a faulty distribution of the
national product, and v. Kirchmann in the limitations of the markets for
capitalist production. Notwithstanding all the confusion in his expositions,
especially in his idealist vision of a capitalist competition content with a
laudable rivalry for better and cheaper commodities, and also in his
conception of the ‘notorious right to work’ as a problem of markets, v.
Economic Conditions[232] of 1842, set the ball rolling. v. Kirchmann replied
in Demokratische Blätter with two essays—On the Social Aspects of
Ground Rent[233] and The Society of Barter[234] —and Rodbertus parried in
1850 with his Letters on Social Problems.[235] Thus the discussion entered
the same theoretical arena where Malthus-Sismondi and Say-Ricardo-
MacCulloch had fought out their differences thirty years earlier. In his
earliest writings, Rodbertus had already expressed the thought that the
wages of labour present an ever diminishing part of the national product in
modern society where the productivity of labour is increasing. He claimed
this to be an original idea, and from that moment until his death thirty years
later he did nothing but reiterate it and formulate it in various ways. This
‘declining wage rate’ is for him the root of all evils to be found in modern
society, in particular of pauperism and the crises, whose combination he
calls ‘the social problem of our times’.
v. Kirchmann does not agree with this explanation. He traces pauperism
back to the effects of a rising ground rent; crises, on the other hand, to a
lack of markets. About the latter especially he says: ‘The greatest part of
social ills is caused not by defects of production but by a lack of markets for
the products ... the more a country can produce, the more means it has for
satisfying every need, the more it is exposed to the danger of misery and
want.’—The labour-problem is here included as well, for ‘the notorious
right to work ultimately reduces to the question of markets’. ‘We see’, he
concludes, ‘that the social problem is almost identical with the problem of
markets. Even the ills of much-abused competition will vanish, once
markets are secure; its advantages alone will remain. There will remain a
spirit of rivalry to supply good and cheap commodities, but the life-and-
death struggle will disappear which is caused only by insufficient
markets.’[236]
The difference between the points of view of Rodbertus and v. Kirchmann
is evident. Rodbertus sees the root of the evil in a faulty distribution of the
national product, and v. Kirchmann in the limitations of the markets for
capitalist production. Notwithstanding all the confusion in his expositions,
especially in his idealist vision of a capitalist competition content with a
laudable rivalry for better and cheaper commodities, and also in his
conception of the ‘notorious right to work’ as a problem of markets, v.
Page 227
Kirchmann up to a point still shows more understanding for the sore spot of
capitalist production, i.e. the limitations of its market, than Rodbertus who
clings to distribution. Thus it is v. Kirchmann who now takes up the
problem which Sismondi had originally put on the agenda. Nevertheless, he
by no means agrees with Sismondi’s elucidation and solution of the
problem, siding rather with the opponents of the latter. Not only does he
accept Ricardo’s theory of ground rent, and Adam Smith’s dogma that ‘the
price of the commodity is composed of two parts only, of the interests on
capital and the wages of labour’ (v. Kirchmann transforms the surplus value
into ‘interest on capital’); he also subscribes to the thesis of Say and
Ricardo that products are only bought with other products and that
production creates its own demand, so that if one side appears to have
produced too much, it only means there was not enough production on the
other. v. Kirchmann, we see, faithfully follows the classics, if in a somewhat
‘German edition’. He begins by arguing, e.g., that Say’s law of a natural
balance between production and demand ‘still does not give a
comprehensive picture of reality’, and adds:
‘Commerce involves yet further hidden laws which prevent this postulated
order from obtaining in complete purity. They must be discovered if we are
to explain the present flooding of the market, and their discovery might
perhaps also show us the way to avoid this great evil. We believe that there
are three relations in the modern system of society which cause these
conflicts between Say’s indubitable law and reality.’
These relations are (1) ‘too inequitable a distribution of the products’—
here, as we see, v. Kirchmann somewhat approximates to Sismondi’s point
of view; (2) the difficulties which nature puts in the way of human labour
engaged in production; and (3) finally, the defects of commerce as a
mediator between production and consumption. Disregarding the last two
obstacles to Say’s law, we shall now consider v. Kirchmann’s reasoning of
his first point.
‘The first relation’, he explains, ‘can be put more briefly as too low a wage
of labour, which is thus the cause of a slump. Those who know that the
price of commodities is composed of two parts only, of the interest on
capital and the wage of labour, might consider this a startling statement; if
the wage of labour is low, prices are low as well, and if one is high, so is the
other.’
capitalist production, i.e. the limitations of its market, than Rodbertus who
clings to distribution. Thus it is v. Kirchmann who now takes up the
problem which Sismondi had originally put on the agenda. Nevertheless, he
by no means agrees with Sismondi’s elucidation and solution of the
problem, siding rather with the opponents of the latter. Not only does he
accept Ricardo’s theory of ground rent, and Adam Smith’s dogma that ‘the
price of the commodity is composed of two parts only, of the interests on
capital and the wages of labour’ (v. Kirchmann transforms the surplus value
into ‘interest on capital’); he also subscribes to the thesis of Say and
Ricardo that products are only bought with other products and that
production creates its own demand, so that if one side appears to have
produced too much, it only means there was not enough production on the
other. v. Kirchmann, we see, faithfully follows the classics, if in a somewhat
‘German edition’. He begins by arguing, e.g., that Say’s law of a natural
balance between production and demand ‘still does not give a
comprehensive picture of reality’, and adds:
‘Commerce involves yet further hidden laws which prevent this postulated
order from obtaining in complete purity. They must be discovered if we are
to explain the present flooding of the market, and their discovery might
perhaps also show us the way to avoid this great evil. We believe that there
are three relations in the modern system of society which cause these
conflicts between Say’s indubitable law and reality.’
These relations are (1) ‘too inequitable a distribution of the products’—
here, as we see, v. Kirchmann somewhat approximates to Sismondi’s point
of view; (2) the difficulties which nature puts in the way of human labour
engaged in production; and (3) finally, the defects of commerce as a
mediator between production and consumption. Disregarding the last two
obstacles to Say’s law, we shall now consider v. Kirchmann’s reasoning of
his first point.
‘The first relation’, he explains, ‘can be put more briefly as too low a wage
of labour, which is thus the cause of a slump. Those who know that the
price of commodities is composed of two parts only, of the interest on
capital and the wage of labour, might consider this a startling statement; if
the wage of labour is low, prices are low as well, and if one is high, so is the
other.’
Page 228
(We see v. Kirchmann accepts Smith’s dogma even in its most misleading
form: the price is not resolved into wage of labour and surplus value, but is
composed of them as a mere sum—a view in which Adam Smith strayed
furthest from his own theory of the value of labour.)
‘Wage and price thus are directly related, they balance each other. England
only abolished her corn laws, her tariffs on meat and other victuals, in order
to cause wages to fall and thus to enable her manufacturers to oust all other
competitors from the world markets by means of still cheaper commodities.
This, however, only holds good up to a point and does not affect the ratio in
which the product is distributed among the workers and the capitalists. Too
inequitable a distribution among these two is the primary and most
important cause why Say’s law is not fulfilled in real life, why the markets
are flooded although there is production in all branches.’
v. Kirchmann gives a detailed illustration of this statement. Using the
classical method, he takes us, of course, to an imaginary isolated society
which makes an unresisting, if thankless, object for the experiments of
political economy. v. Kirchmann suggests we should imagine a place (Ort)
which comprises 903 inhabitants, no more, no less, viz. three entrepreneurs
with 300 workers each. Ort is to be able to satisfy all needs by its own
production—in three establishments, that is to say, one for clothing, a
second for food, lighting, fuel and raw materials, and a third for housing,
furniture and tools. In each of these three departments, the ‘capital together
with the raw materials’ is to be provided by the entrepreneur, and the
remuneration of the workers is to be so arranged that the workers obtain as
their wage one half of the annual produce, the entrepreneur retaining the
other half ‘as interest on capital and profits of the enterprise’. Every
business is to produce just enough to satisfy all the needs of the 903
inhabitants. Ort accordingly has ‘all the conditions necessary for general
well-being’, and everybody can therefore tackle his work with courage and
vigour. After a few days, however, joy and delight turn into a universal
misery and gnashing of teeth: something has happened on v. Kirchmann’s
Island of the Blessed which was no more to be expected than for the skies
to fall: an industrial and commercial crisis according to all modern
specifications has broken out! Only the most essential clothing, food and
housing for the 900 workers has been produced, yet the warehouses of the
three entrepreneurs are full of clothes and raw materials, and their houses
form: the price is not resolved into wage of labour and surplus value, but is
composed of them as a mere sum—a view in which Adam Smith strayed
furthest from his own theory of the value of labour.)
‘Wage and price thus are directly related, they balance each other. England
only abolished her corn laws, her tariffs on meat and other victuals, in order
to cause wages to fall and thus to enable her manufacturers to oust all other
competitors from the world markets by means of still cheaper commodities.
This, however, only holds good up to a point and does not affect the ratio in
which the product is distributed among the workers and the capitalists. Too
inequitable a distribution among these two is the primary and most
important cause why Say’s law is not fulfilled in real life, why the markets
are flooded although there is production in all branches.’
v. Kirchmann gives a detailed illustration of this statement. Using the
classical method, he takes us, of course, to an imaginary isolated society
which makes an unresisting, if thankless, object for the experiments of
political economy. v. Kirchmann suggests we should imagine a place (Ort)
which comprises 903 inhabitants, no more, no less, viz. three entrepreneurs
with 300 workers each. Ort is to be able to satisfy all needs by its own
production—in three establishments, that is to say, one for clothing, a
second for food, lighting, fuel and raw materials, and a third for housing,
furniture and tools. In each of these three departments, the ‘capital together
with the raw materials’ is to be provided by the entrepreneur, and the
remuneration of the workers is to be so arranged that the workers obtain as
their wage one half of the annual produce, the entrepreneur retaining the
other half ‘as interest on capital and profits of the enterprise’. Every
business is to produce just enough to satisfy all the needs of the 903
inhabitants. Ort accordingly has ‘all the conditions necessary for general
well-being’, and everybody can therefore tackle his work with courage and
vigour. After a few days, however, joy and delight turn into a universal
misery and gnashing of teeth: something has happened on v. Kirchmann’s
Island of the Blessed which was no more to be expected than for the skies
to fall: an industrial and commercial crisis according to all modern
specifications has broken out! Only the most essential clothing, food and
housing for the 900 workers has been produced, yet the warehouses of the
three entrepreneurs are full of clothes and raw materials, and their houses
Page 229
stand empty: they complain of a lack of demand, while the workers in turn
complain that their wants are not fully satisfied. What has gone wrong?
Could it be that there is too much of one kind of produce and too little of
another, as Say and Ricardo would have it? Not at all, answers v.
Kirchmann. Everything available in Ort in well-balanced quantities, just
enough to satisfy all the wants of the community. What, then, has thrown a
spanner into the works, why the crisis? The obstruction caused by
distribution alone—but this must be savoured in v. Kirchmann’s own
words:
‘The obstacle, why nevertheless no smooth exchange takes place, lies solely
and exclusively in the distribution of these products. They are not
distributed equitably among all, but the entrepreneurs retain half of them for
themselves as interest and profit, and only give half to the workers. It is
clear that the worker in the clothing department can exchange, against half
of his product, only half of the food, lodging, etc., that has been produced,
and it is clear that the entrepreneur cannot get rid of the other half since no
worker has any more products to give in exchange. The entrepreneurs do
not know what to do with their stocks, the workers do not know what to do
for hunger and nakedness.’
Nor does the reader, we might add, know what to do with v. Kirchmann’s
constructions. His model is so childish that every advance leads deeper into
the maze.
First of all, there seems to be no reason whatever why, and to what purpose,
v. Kirchmann should devise this splitting-up of production into three parts.
If analogous examples by Ricardo and MacCulloch usually confront tenant
farmers and manufacturers, that is presumably only inspired by the
antiquated Physiocrat conception of social reproduction which Ricardo had
adopted, although his own theory of value as against the Physiocrats
deprived it of all meaning, and although Adam Smith had already made a
good start in considering the real material foundations of the social
reproductive process. Still, we have seen that the tradition of distinguishing
between agriculture and industry as the foundation of reproduction was kept
up in economic theory until Marx introduced his epoch-making distinction
of the two productive departments in society for producer and consumer
goods. v. Kirchmann’s three departments, however, have no real
significance at all. Obviously, no material consideration of reproduction can
complain that their wants are not fully satisfied. What has gone wrong?
Could it be that there is too much of one kind of produce and too little of
another, as Say and Ricardo would have it? Not at all, answers v.
Kirchmann. Everything available in Ort in well-balanced quantities, just
enough to satisfy all the wants of the community. What, then, has thrown a
spanner into the works, why the crisis? The obstruction caused by
distribution alone—but this must be savoured in v. Kirchmann’s own
words:
‘The obstacle, why nevertheless no smooth exchange takes place, lies solely
and exclusively in the distribution of these products. They are not
distributed equitably among all, but the entrepreneurs retain half of them for
themselves as interest and profit, and only give half to the workers. It is
clear that the worker in the clothing department can exchange, against half
of his product, only half of the food, lodging, etc., that has been produced,
and it is clear that the entrepreneur cannot get rid of the other half since no
worker has any more products to give in exchange. The entrepreneurs do
not know what to do with their stocks, the workers do not know what to do
for hunger and nakedness.’
Nor does the reader, we might add, know what to do with v. Kirchmann’s
constructions. His model is so childish that every advance leads deeper into
the maze.
First of all, there seems to be no reason whatever why, and to what purpose,
v. Kirchmann should devise this splitting-up of production into three parts.
If analogous examples by Ricardo and MacCulloch usually confront tenant
farmers and manufacturers, that is presumably only inspired by the
antiquated Physiocrat conception of social reproduction which Ricardo had
adopted, although his own theory of value as against the Physiocrats
deprived it of all meaning, and although Adam Smith had already made a
good start in considering the real material foundations of the social
reproductive process. Still, we have seen that the tradition of distinguishing
between agriculture and industry as the foundation of reproduction was kept
up in economic theory until Marx introduced his epoch-making distinction
of the two productive departments in society for producer and consumer
goods. v. Kirchmann’s three departments, however, have no real
significance at all. Obviously, no material consideration of reproduction can
Page 230
have been responsible for this supremely arbitrary division which jumbles
up tools and furniture, raw materials and food, but makes clothing a
department in its own right. One might as well postulate one department for
food, clothing and housing, another for medicines and a third for tooth
brushes. v. Kirchmann’s primary concern, no doubt, is with the social
division of labour; hence the assumption of as nearly equal quantities of
products as possible in the transactions of exchange. Yet this exchange, on
which the argument turns, plays no part at all in v. Kirchmann’s example
since it is not the value which is distributed but the quantities of products,
the bulk of use-values as such. In this intriguing Ort of v. Kirchmann’s
imagining, again, the products are distributed first, and only afterwards,
when the distribution is accomplished, is there to be universal exchange,
whereas on the solid ground of capitalist production it is, as we know, the
exchange which inaugurates the distribution of the product and serves as its
agent. Besides, the queerest things happen in v. Kirchmann’s distributive
system: ‘As we all know’, the prices of the products, i.e. the price of the
aggregate product of society, consist of v + s, of wage and capital interest
alone—so that the aggregate product must be distributed entirely among
workers and entrepreneurs; but then unhappily v. Kirchmann dimly
remembers the fact that production needs things like raw materials and
tools. So Ort is provided with raw materials furtively introduced among the
food, and with tools among the furniture. But now the question arises: who
is to get these indigestible items in the course of general distribution? the
workers as wages, or the capitalists as profits of enterprise? They could
hardly expect a warm welcome from either. And on such feeble premises
the star turn of the performance is to take place: the exchange between
workers and entrepreneurs. The fundamental transaction of exchange in
capitalist production, the exchange between workers and capitalists, is
transformed by v. Kirchmann from an exchange between living labour and
capital into an exchange of products. Not the first act, that of exchanging
labour power for variable capital, but the second, the realisation of the wage
received from the variable capital is put at the centre of the whole
machinery, the entire commodity exchange of capitalist society being in
turn reduced to this realisation of the labour-wage. And the crowning glory
is that this exchange between workers and entrepreneurs, the king-pin of all
economic life, dissolves into nothing on a closer scrutiny—it does not take
place at all. For as soon as all workers have received their natural wages in
up tools and furniture, raw materials and food, but makes clothing a
department in its own right. One might as well postulate one department for
food, clothing and housing, another for medicines and a third for tooth
brushes. v. Kirchmann’s primary concern, no doubt, is with the social
division of labour; hence the assumption of as nearly equal quantities of
products as possible in the transactions of exchange. Yet this exchange, on
which the argument turns, plays no part at all in v. Kirchmann’s example
since it is not the value which is distributed but the quantities of products,
the bulk of use-values as such. In this intriguing Ort of v. Kirchmann’s
imagining, again, the products are distributed first, and only afterwards,
when the distribution is accomplished, is there to be universal exchange,
whereas on the solid ground of capitalist production it is, as we know, the
exchange which inaugurates the distribution of the product and serves as its
agent. Besides, the queerest things happen in v. Kirchmann’s distributive
system: ‘As we all know’, the prices of the products, i.e. the price of the
aggregate product of society, consist of v + s, of wage and capital interest
alone—so that the aggregate product must be distributed entirely among
workers and entrepreneurs; but then unhappily v. Kirchmann dimly
remembers the fact that production needs things like raw materials and
tools. So Ort is provided with raw materials furtively introduced among the
food, and with tools among the furniture. But now the question arises: who
is to get these indigestible items in the course of general distribution? the
workers as wages, or the capitalists as profits of enterprise? They could
hardly expect a warm welcome from either. And on such feeble premises
the star turn of the performance is to take place: the exchange between
workers and entrepreneurs. The fundamental transaction of exchange in
capitalist production, the exchange between workers and capitalists, is
transformed by v. Kirchmann from an exchange between living labour and
capital into an exchange of products. Not the first act, that of exchanging
labour power for variable capital, but the second, the realisation of the wage
received from the variable capital is put at the centre of the whole
machinery, the entire commodity exchange of capitalist society being in
turn reduced to this realisation of the labour-wage. And the crowning glory
is that this exchange between workers and entrepreneurs, the king-pin of all
economic life, dissolves into nothing on a closer scrutiny—it does not take
place at all. For as soon as all workers have received their natural wages in
Page 231
the form of half their product, an exchange will be possible only among the
workers themselves; every worker will only keep one-third of his wage
consisting exclusively of either clothing, food or furniture, as the case may
be, and realise the remainder to equal parts in the two other product-groups.
The entrepreneurs no longer come into this at all; the three of them are left
high and dry with their surplus value: half the clothing, furniture and food
that has been produced by the society; and they have no idea what to do
with the stuff. In this calamity of v. Kirchmann’s creation, even the most
generous distribution of the product would be of no use. On the contrary, if
larger quantities of the social product were allotted to the workers, they
would have even less to do with the entrepreneurs in this transaction: all
that would happen is that the exchange of the workers among themselves
would increase in volume. The surplus product which the entrepreneurs
have on their hands would then contract, it is true, though not indeed
because the exchange of the surplus product would be facilitated, but
merely because there would be less surplus value altogether. Now as before,
an exchange of the social product between workers and entrepreneurs is out
of the question. One must confess that the puerile and absurd economics
here crammed into comparatively little space exceed the bounds even of
what might be put up with from a Prussian Public Prosecutor—such having
been v. Kirchmann’s profession, though he must be credited with having
incurred disciplinary censure on two occasions. Nevertheless, after these
unpromising preliminaries, v. Kirchmann goes right to the root of the
matter. He admits that his assuming the surplus product in a concrete use-
form is the reason why the surplus value cannot be usefully employed. As a
remedy he now allows the entrepreneurs to devote half of the social labour
appropriated as surplus value to the production not of common goods but of
luxuries. The ‘essence of luxury-goods being that they enable the consumer
to use up more capital and labour power than in the case of ordinary goods’,
the three entrepreneurs manage to consume by themselves in the form of
laces, fashionable carriages and the like, their entire half-share in all the
labour performed by the society. Now nothing unsaleable is left, and the
crisis is happily avoided; over-production is made impossible once and for
all, capitalists and workers alike are safe; the name of v. Kirchmann’s magic
cure which has brought all these benefits to pass, and which re-establishes
the balance between production and consumption, being: luxury. In other
words, the capitalists who do not know what to do with their surplus value
workers themselves; every worker will only keep one-third of his wage
consisting exclusively of either clothing, food or furniture, as the case may
be, and realise the remainder to equal parts in the two other product-groups.
The entrepreneurs no longer come into this at all; the three of them are left
high and dry with their surplus value: half the clothing, furniture and food
that has been produced by the society; and they have no idea what to do
with the stuff. In this calamity of v. Kirchmann’s creation, even the most
generous distribution of the product would be of no use. On the contrary, if
larger quantities of the social product were allotted to the workers, they
would have even less to do with the entrepreneurs in this transaction: all
that would happen is that the exchange of the workers among themselves
would increase in volume. The surplus product which the entrepreneurs
have on their hands would then contract, it is true, though not indeed
because the exchange of the surplus product would be facilitated, but
merely because there would be less surplus value altogether. Now as before,
an exchange of the social product between workers and entrepreneurs is out
of the question. One must confess that the puerile and absurd economics
here crammed into comparatively little space exceed the bounds even of
what might be put up with from a Prussian Public Prosecutor—such having
been v. Kirchmann’s profession, though he must be credited with having
incurred disciplinary censure on two occasions. Nevertheless, after these
unpromising preliminaries, v. Kirchmann goes right to the root of the
matter. He admits that his assuming the surplus product in a concrete use-
form is the reason why the surplus value cannot be usefully employed. As a
remedy he now allows the entrepreneurs to devote half of the social labour
appropriated as surplus value to the production not of common goods but of
luxuries. The ‘essence of luxury-goods being that they enable the consumer
to use up more capital and labour power than in the case of ordinary goods’,
the three entrepreneurs manage to consume by themselves in the form of
laces, fashionable carriages and the like, their entire half-share in all the
labour performed by the society. Now nothing unsaleable is left, and the
crisis is happily avoided; over-production is made impossible once and for
all, capitalists and workers alike are safe; the name of v. Kirchmann’s magic
cure which has brought all these benefits to pass, and which re-establishes
the balance between production and consumption, being: luxury. In other
words, the capitalists who do not know what to do with their surplus value
Page 232
which they cannot realise, are advised by the dear fellow—to eat it up! As it
happens, luxury is in fact an old familiar invention of capitalist society, and
still there are recurrent crises. Why is this? v. Kirchmann enlightens us:
‘The answer can only be that in real life sluggish markets are entirely due to
the fact that there are still not enough luxuries, or, in other words, that the
capitalists, i.e. those who can afford to consume, still consume too little.’
This misguided abstinence of the capitalists, however, results from a bad
habit which political economists have been ill-advised to encourage: the
desire to save for purposes of ‘productive consumption’. In other words:
crises are caused by accumulation. This is v. Kirchmann’s principal thesis.
He proves it again by means of a touchingly simple example: ‘Let us
assume conditions which economists praise as more favourable,’ he says,
‘where the entrepreneurs say: we do not want to spend our income to the
last penny in splendour and luxury, but will re-invest it productively. What
does this mean? Nothing but the setting-up of all sorts of productive
enterprises for delivering new goods of such a kind that their sale can yield
interest (v. Kirchmann means profits) on a capital saved and invested by the
three entrepreneurs from their unconsumed revenues. Accordingly, the three
entrepreneurs decide to consume only the produce of a hundred workers,
that is to say to restrict their luxury considerably, and to employ the labour
power of the remaining 350 workers together with the capital they use for
setting up new productive enterprises. The question now arises in what kind
of productive enterprises these funds are to be used.’
Since, according to v. Kirchmann’s assumption, constant capital is not
reproduced, and the entire social product consists entirely of consumer
goods, ‘the three entrepreneurs can only choose again between enterprises
for the manufacture of ordinary goods or for that of luxuries’.
In this way, however, the three entrepreneurs will be faced with the already
familiar dilemma: if they turn out ‘common goods’, there will be a crisis,
since the workers lack means to purchase these additional provisions,
having been bought off with half the value of their produce. If they go in for
luxuries, they will have to consume them alone. There is no other
possibility. The dilemma is not even affected by foreign trade which would
‘only increase the range of commodities on the home market’ or increase
productivity.
happens, luxury is in fact an old familiar invention of capitalist society, and
still there are recurrent crises. Why is this? v. Kirchmann enlightens us:
‘The answer can only be that in real life sluggish markets are entirely due to
the fact that there are still not enough luxuries, or, in other words, that the
capitalists, i.e. those who can afford to consume, still consume too little.’
This misguided abstinence of the capitalists, however, results from a bad
habit which political economists have been ill-advised to encourage: the
desire to save for purposes of ‘productive consumption’. In other words:
crises are caused by accumulation. This is v. Kirchmann’s principal thesis.
He proves it again by means of a touchingly simple example: ‘Let us
assume conditions which economists praise as more favourable,’ he says,
‘where the entrepreneurs say: we do not want to spend our income to the
last penny in splendour and luxury, but will re-invest it productively. What
does this mean? Nothing but the setting-up of all sorts of productive
enterprises for delivering new goods of such a kind that their sale can yield
interest (v. Kirchmann means profits) on a capital saved and invested by the
three entrepreneurs from their unconsumed revenues. Accordingly, the three
entrepreneurs decide to consume only the produce of a hundred workers,
that is to say to restrict their luxury considerably, and to employ the labour
power of the remaining 350 workers together with the capital they use for
setting up new productive enterprises. The question now arises in what kind
of productive enterprises these funds are to be used.’
Since, according to v. Kirchmann’s assumption, constant capital is not
reproduced, and the entire social product consists entirely of consumer
goods, ‘the three entrepreneurs can only choose again between enterprises
for the manufacture of ordinary goods or for that of luxuries’.
In this way, however, the three entrepreneurs will be faced with the already
familiar dilemma: if they turn out ‘common goods’, there will be a crisis,
since the workers lack means to purchase these additional provisions,
having been bought off with half the value of their produce. If they go in for
luxuries, they will have to consume them alone. There is no other
possibility. The dilemma is not even affected by foreign trade which would
‘only increase the range of commodities on the home market’ or increase
productivity.
Page 233
‘These foreign commodities are therefore either common goods—then the
capitalist will not, and the worker, lacking the means, cannot buy them, or
they are luxuries, in which case the worker, of course, is even less able to
buy them, and the capitalist will not want them either because of his efforts
to save.’
This argument, however primitive, yet shows quite nicely and clearly the
fundamental conception of v. Kirchmann and the nightmare of all economic
theory: in a society consisting exclusively of workers and capitalists,
accumulation will be impossible. v. Kirchmann is therefore frankly hostile
to accumulation, ‘saving’, ‘productive consumption’ of the surplus value,
and strongly attacks these errors advocated by classical economics. His
gospel is increasing luxury together with the productivity of labour as the
specific against crises. We see that v. Kirchmann, if he grotesquely aped
Ricardo and Say in his theoretical assumptions, is a caricature of Sismondi
in his final conclusions. Yet it is imperative to get v. Kirchmann’s approach
to the problem perfectly clear, if we are to understand the import of
Rodbertus’ criticism and the outcome of the whole controversy.
capitalist will not, and the worker, lacking the means, cannot buy them, or
they are luxuries, in which case the worker, of course, is even less able to
buy them, and the capitalist will not want them either because of his efforts
to save.’
This argument, however primitive, yet shows quite nicely and clearly the
fundamental conception of v. Kirchmann and the nightmare of all economic
theory: in a society consisting exclusively of workers and capitalists,
accumulation will be impossible. v. Kirchmann is therefore frankly hostile
to accumulation, ‘saving’, ‘productive consumption’ of the surplus value,
and strongly attacks these errors advocated by classical economics. His
gospel is increasing luxury together with the productivity of labour as the
specific against crises. We see that v. Kirchmann, if he grotesquely aped
Ricardo and Say in his theoretical assumptions, is a caricature of Sismondi
in his final conclusions. Yet it is imperative to get v. Kirchmann’s approach
to the problem perfectly clear, if we are to understand the import of
Rodbertus’ criticism and the outcome of the whole controversy.
Page 234
CHAPTER XVI
Page 235
RODBERTUS’ CRITICISM OF THE
CLASSICAL SCHOOL
Rodbertus digs deeper than v. Kirchmann. He looks for the roots of evil in
the very foundations of social organisation and declares bitter war on the
predominant Free Trade school—not against a system of unrestricted
commodity circulation or the freedom of trade which he fully accepts, but
against the Manchester doctrine of laissez-faire within the internal social
relations of economy. At that time, after the period of storm and stress of
classical economics, a system of unscrupulous apologetics was already in
full sway which found its most perfect expression in the ‘doctrine of
harmony’ of M. Frédéric Bastiat, the famous vulgarian and idol of all
Philistines, and quite soon the various Schultzes were to flourish as
commonplace, German imitations of the French prophet of harmony.
Rodbertus’ strictures are aimed at these unscrupulous ‘peddlers of free
trade’. In his first Letter on Social Problems[237] he exclaims:
‘Because of their paltry incomes, five-sixths of the population are not only
deprived of most of the benefits of civilisation, but are in constant danger of
the most terrible outbreaks of real distress to which they sometimes
succumb. Yet they are the creators of all the wealth of the society. Their
labours begin at dawn and end at dusk, continuing even after night has
fallen—but no exertion can change this fate; they cannot raise their income,
and only lose that little leisure which ought to remain nowadays for the
improvement of their minds. Hitherto it might have seemed as if all this
suffering were necessary to the progress of civilisation, but now that a
series of the most wonderful discoveries and inventions have increased
human labour power more than a hundredfold, new prospects of changing
these grim conditions are suddenly revealed. As a result, the wealth and
assets of a nation increase at a growing rate as compared with the
population. Could anything be more natural, I ask, or more justly
demanded, than that this increase should also somehow benefit the creators
of this old and new wealth? that their incomes should be raised or their
working-hours shortened, or that they might join in increasing numbers the
CLASSICAL SCHOOL
Rodbertus digs deeper than v. Kirchmann. He looks for the roots of evil in
the very foundations of social organisation and declares bitter war on the
predominant Free Trade school—not against a system of unrestricted
commodity circulation or the freedom of trade which he fully accepts, but
against the Manchester doctrine of laissez-faire within the internal social
relations of economy. At that time, after the period of storm and stress of
classical economics, a system of unscrupulous apologetics was already in
full sway which found its most perfect expression in the ‘doctrine of
harmony’ of M. Frédéric Bastiat, the famous vulgarian and idol of all
Philistines, and quite soon the various Schultzes were to flourish as
commonplace, German imitations of the French prophet of harmony.
Rodbertus’ strictures are aimed at these unscrupulous ‘peddlers of free
trade’. In his first Letter on Social Problems[237] he exclaims:
‘Because of their paltry incomes, five-sixths of the population are not only
deprived of most of the benefits of civilisation, but are in constant danger of
the most terrible outbreaks of real distress to which they sometimes
succumb. Yet they are the creators of all the wealth of the society. Their
labours begin at dawn and end at dusk, continuing even after night has
fallen—but no exertion can change this fate; they cannot raise their income,
and only lose that little leisure which ought to remain nowadays for the
improvement of their minds. Hitherto it might have seemed as if all this
suffering were necessary to the progress of civilisation, but now that a
series of the most wonderful discoveries and inventions have increased
human labour power more than a hundredfold, new prospects of changing
these grim conditions are suddenly revealed. As a result, the wealth and
assets of a nation increase at a growing rate as compared with the
population. Could anything be more natural, I ask, or more justly
demanded, than that this increase should also somehow benefit the creators
of this old and new wealth? that their incomes should be raised or their
working-hours shortened, or that they might join in increasing numbers the
Page 236
ranks of the lucky ones, privileged to reap the fruits of labour? Yet state
economy, or better, national economy has only achieved the opposite result.
Increasing poverty of these classes goes together with increasing wealth of
the nation, there is even need of special legislation, lest the working day
become longer, and finally, the working classes swell in number out of
proportion with the others. Even that is not enough! The hundredfold
increase of labour efficiency which was powerless to relieve five-sixths of
the population, even threatens periodically the remaining sixth of the nation
and thus society as a whole.’
‘What contradictions in the economic sphere in particular! And what
contradictions in the social sphere in general! The wealth of society is
growing, and this growth is accompanied by a growth of poverty.—The
creative efficiency of the means of production is increasing, and the
consequence is that they are scrapped. Social conditions demand that the
material position of the working classes should be raised to the level of their
political status, and economic conditions, by way of answer, depress them
further. Society needs the unrestricted growth of wealth, and contemporary
leaders of production must create restrictions, in order to discourage
poverty. In a single respect alone is there harmony: just as wrong as the
conditions is the authoritative section of the society with its inclination to
look for the root of the evil everywhere except in the right place. This
egotism, which only too often dons the scholar’s gown, also accuses the
vices of the workers of being the cause of poverty. The responsibility for the
crimes committed against them by all-powerful facts is ascribed to their
alleged discontent and shiftlessness, and where even such egotism cannot
close its eyes to their innocence, it makes an elaborate dogma of the
“necessity of poverty”. Unremittingly, it exhorts the workers only to work
and to pray, impresses upon them the duty of abstinence and economy, and
at best infringes upon their rights by the institution of compulsory saving,
adding to the misery of the workers. It does not see that a blind force of
commerce has transformed the prayer for work into the curse of enforced
unemployment, that ... abstinence is impossible or cruel, and that, lastly,
morals always remain ineffective if commended by those of whom the poet
says that they drink wine in secret but preach water in public.’[238]
Thirty years after Sismondi and Owen, twenty years after the indictment
made by the English socialists, the followers of Ricardo, and last but not
economy, or better, national economy has only achieved the opposite result.
Increasing poverty of these classes goes together with increasing wealth of
the nation, there is even need of special legislation, lest the working day
become longer, and finally, the working classes swell in number out of
proportion with the others. Even that is not enough! The hundredfold
increase of labour efficiency which was powerless to relieve five-sixths of
the population, even threatens periodically the remaining sixth of the nation
and thus society as a whole.’
‘What contradictions in the economic sphere in particular! And what
contradictions in the social sphere in general! The wealth of society is
growing, and this growth is accompanied by a growth of poverty.—The
creative efficiency of the means of production is increasing, and the
consequence is that they are scrapped. Social conditions demand that the
material position of the working classes should be raised to the level of their
political status, and economic conditions, by way of answer, depress them
further. Society needs the unrestricted growth of wealth, and contemporary
leaders of production must create restrictions, in order to discourage
poverty. In a single respect alone is there harmony: just as wrong as the
conditions is the authoritative section of the society with its inclination to
look for the root of the evil everywhere except in the right place. This
egotism, which only too often dons the scholar’s gown, also accuses the
vices of the workers of being the cause of poverty. The responsibility for the
crimes committed against them by all-powerful facts is ascribed to their
alleged discontent and shiftlessness, and where even such egotism cannot
close its eyes to their innocence, it makes an elaborate dogma of the
“necessity of poverty”. Unremittingly, it exhorts the workers only to work
and to pray, impresses upon them the duty of abstinence and economy, and
at best infringes upon their rights by the institution of compulsory saving,
adding to the misery of the workers. It does not see that a blind force of
commerce has transformed the prayer for work into the curse of enforced
unemployment, that ... abstinence is impossible or cruel, and that, lastly,
morals always remain ineffective if commended by those of whom the poet
says that they drink wine in secret but preach water in public.’[238]
Thirty years after Sismondi and Owen, twenty years after the indictment
made by the English socialists, the followers of Ricardo, and last but not
Page 237
least, after the publication of the Communist Manifesto, such bold words
alone cannot claim to break new ground. What matters above all now is the
theoretical foundation of this indictment. Rodbertus here proposed a
complete system which can be reduced to the following simple statements.
Owing to the laws of an economy left to its own devices, the high level of
labour productivity achieved by history, together with the institutions of
positive law, that is to say the right of private ownership, a whole series of
wrong and unethical phenomena had emerged:
(1) In the place of ‘normal’, ‘constituted’ value we have exchange value,
and accordingly coined money instead of a proper ‘paper’ or ‘labour’
currency which would genuinely correspond to the concept of money. The
first principle is that all economic goods are products of labour, or, as we
might put it, that labour alone is creative. This statement, however, does not
imply that the value of the product must always equal the cost of labour, or
that, in other words, value is even now measured in terms of labour. The
truth is rather ‘that this still has not become a fact, but is only an idea of
political economy’.[239]
‘If the value could be constituted in accordance with the labour expended
on the product, we might imagine a kind of money which would be, as it
were, a leaf torn from the public account-book, a receipt written on the most
rubbishy material, on rags, which everyone would receive for the value he
has produced, and which he would realise as a voucher for an equivalent
part of the national product subsequently under distribution.... If, however,
for some reason or another, it is impossible or not yet possible to establish
this value, money as such must still retain the value it is designed to
liquidate; made of an intrinsically valuable commodity like gold or silver, it
has to represent a pledge or pawn of the same value.’[240] ‘As soon as
capitalist commodity production has come into existence, everything is
turned upside down: there can no longer be a constituted value, since it can
only be exchange value’,[241] and, ‘since the value cannot be constituted,
money cannot be purely money, it cannot fully conform to its concept’.[242]
In an equitable exchange, the exchange value of the products would have to
equal the quantity of labour needed for producing them, and an exchange of
products would always mean an exchange of equal quantities of labour.
Even assuming, however, that everybody produced just those use-values
alone cannot claim to break new ground. What matters above all now is the
theoretical foundation of this indictment. Rodbertus here proposed a
complete system which can be reduced to the following simple statements.
Owing to the laws of an economy left to its own devices, the high level of
labour productivity achieved by history, together with the institutions of
positive law, that is to say the right of private ownership, a whole series of
wrong and unethical phenomena had emerged:
(1) In the place of ‘normal’, ‘constituted’ value we have exchange value,
and accordingly coined money instead of a proper ‘paper’ or ‘labour’
currency which would genuinely correspond to the concept of money. The
first principle is that all economic goods are products of labour, or, as we
might put it, that labour alone is creative. This statement, however, does not
imply that the value of the product must always equal the cost of labour, or
that, in other words, value is even now measured in terms of labour. The
truth is rather ‘that this still has not become a fact, but is only an idea of
political economy’.[239]
‘If the value could be constituted in accordance with the labour expended
on the product, we might imagine a kind of money which would be, as it
were, a leaf torn from the public account-book, a receipt written on the most
rubbishy material, on rags, which everyone would receive for the value he
has produced, and which he would realise as a voucher for an equivalent
part of the national product subsequently under distribution.... If, however,
for some reason or another, it is impossible or not yet possible to establish
this value, money as such must still retain the value it is designed to
liquidate; made of an intrinsically valuable commodity like gold or silver, it
has to represent a pledge or pawn of the same value.’[240] ‘As soon as
capitalist commodity production has come into existence, everything is
turned upside down: there can no longer be a constituted value, since it can
only be exchange value’,[241] and, ‘since the value cannot be constituted,
money cannot be purely money, it cannot fully conform to its concept’.[242]
In an equitable exchange, the exchange value of the products would have to
equal the quantity of labour needed for producing them, and an exchange of
products would always mean an exchange of equal quantities of labour.
Even assuming, however, that everybody produced just those use-values
Page 238
which another person requires, yet, ‘since we are here concerned with
human discernment and human volition, there must always be for a start a
correct calculation, adjustment and allocation of the labour quantities
contained in the products for exchange, there must be a law to which the
facts will conform’.[243]
It is well-known that Rodbertus, in his discovery of ‘constituted value’, laid
great stress on his priority to Proudhon which we shall gladly concede him.
Marx, in his Poverty of Philosophy, and Engels in his preface to it, have
comprehensively shown that this ‘concept’ is a mere phantom, still used in
theory but in practice buried already in England well before Rodbertus’
time, that it is but a Utopian distortion of Ricardo’s doctrine of value. We
therefore need not deal further with this ‘music of the future, performed on
a toy trumpet’.
(2) The ‘economy of exchange’ resulted in the ‘degradation’ of labour to a
commodity, the labour wage being determined as an item of expenditure
(Eichmann’s der Arbeit) instead of representing a fixed rate of the national
product. By a daring jump in history, Rodbertus derives his wages law
indirectly from slavery and regards the specific traits which a capitalist
production of commodities imposes on exploitation as no more than a lying
deception against which he fulminates from a moral point of view.
‘So long as the producers themselves remained the property of those who
were not producing, so long as slavery was in existence, it was the
advantage of the “masters” alone which unilaterally determined the volume
of this share (of the workers). With the producers attaining full liberty of
person, if nothing more as yet, both parties agree on the wage in advance.
The wage, in modern terminology, is the object of a “free contract”, that is
to say, an object of competition. Labour is therefore as a matter of course
subjected to the same laws of exchange as its products: labour itself
acquires exchange value; the size of the wage depends on the effects of
supply and demand.’
Rodbertus, after having thus turned everything upside down, after deriving
the exchange value of labour from competition, now immediately derives
its value from its exchange value.
‘Under the laws of exchange value, labour, like produced goods, comes to
have a kind of “cost value” which exercises some magnetic effects upon its
human discernment and human volition, there must always be for a start a
correct calculation, adjustment and allocation of the labour quantities
contained in the products for exchange, there must be a law to which the
facts will conform’.[243]
It is well-known that Rodbertus, in his discovery of ‘constituted value’, laid
great stress on his priority to Proudhon which we shall gladly concede him.
Marx, in his Poverty of Philosophy, and Engels in his preface to it, have
comprehensively shown that this ‘concept’ is a mere phantom, still used in
theory but in practice buried already in England well before Rodbertus’
time, that it is but a Utopian distortion of Ricardo’s doctrine of value. We
therefore need not deal further with this ‘music of the future, performed on
a toy trumpet’.
(2) The ‘economy of exchange’ resulted in the ‘degradation’ of labour to a
commodity, the labour wage being determined as an item of expenditure
(Eichmann’s der Arbeit) instead of representing a fixed rate of the national
product. By a daring jump in history, Rodbertus derives his wages law
indirectly from slavery and regards the specific traits which a capitalist
production of commodities imposes on exploitation as no more than a lying
deception against which he fulminates from a moral point of view.
‘So long as the producers themselves remained the property of those who
were not producing, so long as slavery was in existence, it was the
advantage of the “masters” alone which unilaterally determined the volume
of this share (of the workers). With the producers attaining full liberty of
person, if nothing more as yet, both parties agree on the wage in advance.
The wage, in modern terminology, is the object of a “free contract”, that is
to say, an object of competition. Labour is therefore as a matter of course
subjected to the same laws of exchange as its products: labour itself
acquires exchange value; the size of the wage depends on the effects of
supply and demand.’
Rodbertus, after having thus turned everything upside down, after deriving
the exchange value of labour from competition, now immediately derives
its value from its exchange value.
‘Under the laws of exchange value, labour, like produced goods, comes to
have a kind of “cost value” which exercises some magnetic effects upon its
Page 239
exchange value, the amount of the labour wage. It is that particular amount
of payment which is necessary for the “maintenance” of labour, in other
words, which enables labour to continue, if only in the persons of its
progeny—it is the so-called “minimum of subsistence”.’
For Rodbertus, however, this is not a statement of objective economic laws,
but merely an object for moral indignation. He calls the thesis of the
classical school, that labour is worth no more than the wages it can
command, a ‘cynical’ statement, and he is determined to expose the ‘string
of lies’ leading to this ‘crude and unethical’ conclusion.[244]
‘It was a degrading view to estimate the wages of labour in accordance with
the “necessary subsistence”, like so many machines to be kept in repair.
Now that labour, the fountainhead of all commodities, has itself become a
commodity of exchange, it is no less degrading to speak of its “natural
price”, of its “costs“, just as we speak of the natural price and costs of its
product, and to include this natural price, these costs, in the amount of
goods that is necessary to call forth a continuous flow of labour on the
market.’
This commodity character of labour power, however, and the corresponding
determination of its value, are nothing but a malicious misrepresentation of
the Free Trade school. Like the good Prussian he was, Rodbertus put
capitalist commodity production as a whole in the dock, as offending
against the obtaining constitutional law, instead of pointing out its inherent
contradiction, the conflict between determining the value of labour and
determining the value created by labour, as the English disciples of Ricardo
had done.
‘Stupid beyond words’, he exclaims, ‘is the dualist conception of those
economists who would have the workers, as far as their legal status is
concerned, join in deciding the fate of society, and would for all that, have
these same workers from an economic point of view, always treated as mere
commodities!’[245]
Now it only remains to find out why the workers put up with such stupid
and blatant injustice—an objection which Hermann for instance raised
against Ricardo’s theory of value. Rodbertus is ready with this answer:
of payment which is necessary for the “maintenance” of labour, in other
words, which enables labour to continue, if only in the persons of its
progeny—it is the so-called “minimum of subsistence”.’
For Rodbertus, however, this is not a statement of objective economic laws,
but merely an object for moral indignation. He calls the thesis of the
classical school, that labour is worth no more than the wages it can
command, a ‘cynical’ statement, and he is determined to expose the ‘string
of lies’ leading to this ‘crude and unethical’ conclusion.[244]
‘It was a degrading view to estimate the wages of labour in accordance with
the “necessary subsistence”, like so many machines to be kept in repair.
Now that labour, the fountainhead of all commodities, has itself become a
commodity of exchange, it is no less degrading to speak of its “natural
price”, of its “costs“, just as we speak of the natural price and costs of its
product, and to include this natural price, these costs, in the amount of
goods that is necessary to call forth a continuous flow of labour on the
market.’
This commodity character of labour power, however, and the corresponding
determination of its value, are nothing but a malicious misrepresentation of
the Free Trade school. Like the good Prussian he was, Rodbertus put
capitalist commodity production as a whole in the dock, as offending
against the obtaining constitutional law, instead of pointing out its inherent
contradiction, the conflict between determining the value of labour and
determining the value created by labour, as the English disciples of Ricardo
had done.
‘Stupid beyond words’, he exclaims, ‘is the dualist conception of those
economists who would have the workers, as far as their legal status is
concerned, join in deciding the fate of society, and would for all that, have
these same workers from an economic point of view, always treated as mere
commodities!’[245]
Now it only remains to find out why the workers put up with such stupid
and blatant injustice—an objection which Hermann for instance raised
against Ricardo’s theory of value. Rodbertus is ready with this answer:
Page 240
‘What were the workers to do after their emancipation other than to agree to
these regulations? Imagine their position: when the workers were freed,
they were naked or in rags, they had nothing but their labour power. The
abolition of slavery or serfdom, moreover, rescinded the master’s legal or
moral obligation to feed them and care for their needs. Yet these needs
remained, they still had to live. How, then, could their labour power provide
them with a living? Were they simply to grab some of the capital existing in
the society for their maintenance? The capital of society was already in the
hands of other people, and the organs of the “law” would not have tolerated
such a step. What, then, could the workers have done? Only these
alternatives were before them: either to overthrow the law of society or to
return, under roughly the same conditions as before, to their former masters,
the owners of the land and of capital, and to receive as wages what was
formerly doled out to them to keep them fed.’[246]
It was fortunate for mankind and the Prussian state that the workers were
‘wise’ enough not to overthrow civilisation and preferred to submit to the
‘base demands’ of their ‘former masters’. This, then, is the origin of the
capitalist wage system, of the wages law as ‘a kind of slavery’ resulting
from an abuse of power on the part of the capitalists, and from the
precarious position and the meek acquiescence on the part of the proletariat
—if we are to believe the highly original explanations of that very
Rodbertus whose theories Marx is reputed to have ‘plagiarised’. Let
Rodbertus claim ‘priority’ in this particular theory of value without
challenge, seeing that English socialists and other social critics had already
given far less crude and primitive analyses of the wage-system. The
singular point about it all is that Rodbertus’ display of moral indignation
about the origin and the economic laws of the wages system does not lead
up to the demand for doing away with this abominable injustice, the
‘dualism stupid beyond words’. Far from it! He frequently reassures his
fellow-men that he does not really mean anything very serious by roaring—
he is no lion fell, only one Snug the joiner. Indeed, an ethical theory of the
wages law is necessary only to achieve a further conclusion:
(3) Since the ‘laws of exchange value’ determine the wage, an advance in
labour productivity must bring about an ever declining share in the product
for the workers. Here we have arrived at the Archimedean fulcrum of
Rodbertus’ system. This ‘declining wage rate’ is his most important
these regulations? Imagine their position: when the workers were freed,
they were naked or in rags, they had nothing but their labour power. The
abolition of slavery or serfdom, moreover, rescinded the master’s legal or
moral obligation to feed them and care for their needs. Yet these needs
remained, they still had to live. How, then, could their labour power provide
them with a living? Were they simply to grab some of the capital existing in
the society for their maintenance? The capital of society was already in the
hands of other people, and the organs of the “law” would not have tolerated
such a step. What, then, could the workers have done? Only these
alternatives were before them: either to overthrow the law of society or to
return, under roughly the same conditions as before, to their former masters,
the owners of the land and of capital, and to receive as wages what was
formerly doled out to them to keep them fed.’[246]
It was fortunate for mankind and the Prussian state that the workers were
‘wise’ enough not to overthrow civilisation and preferred to submit to the
‘base demands’ of their ‘former masters’. This, then, is the origin of the
capitalist wage system, of the wages law as ‘a kind of slavery’ resulting
from an abuse of power on the part of the capitalists, and from the
precarious position and the meek acquiescence on the part of the proletariat
—if we are to believe the highly original explanations of that very
Rodbertus whose theories Marx is reputed to have ‘plagiarised’. Let
Rodbertus claim ‘priority’ in this particular theory of value without
challenge, seeing that English socialists and other social critics had already
given far less crude and primitive analyses of the wage-system. The
singular point about it all is that Rodbertus’ display of moral indignation
about the origin and the economic laws of the wages system does not lead
up to the demand for doing away with this abominable injustice, the
‘dualism stupid beyond words’. Far from it! He frequently reassures his
fellow-men that he does not really mean anything very serious by roaring—
he is no lion fell, only one Snug the joiner. Indeed, an ethical theory of the
wages law is necessary only to achieve a further conclusion:
(3) Since the ‘laws of exchange value’ determine the wage, an advance in
labour productivity must bring about an ever declining share in the product
for the workers. Here we have arrived at the Archimedean fulcrum of
Rodbertus’ system. This ‘declining wage rate’ is his most important
Page 241
‘original’ discovery on which he harps from his first writings on social
problems (probably in 1839) until his death, and which he ‘claims’ as his
very own. This conception, for all that, was but a simple corollary of
Ricardo’s theory of value and is contained implicit in the wages fund theory
which dominated bourgeois economics up to the publication of Marx’s
Capital. Rodbertus nevertheless believed that this ‘discovery’ made him a
kind of Galileo in economics, and he refers to his ‘declining wage rate’ as
explaining every evil and contradiction in capitalist economy. Above all, he
derives from the declining wage rate the phenomenon of pauperism which,
together with the crises, in his opinion constitutes the social question. It
would be as well to draw the attention of contemporaries, ‘out for Marx’s
blood’, to the fact that it was not Marx but Rodbertus, a man much nearer
their own heart, who set up a whole theory of progressive poverty in a very
crude form, and that he, unlike Marx, made it the very pivot, not just a
symptom, of the entire social problem. Compare for instance his argument
in his first Letter on Social Problems to v. Kirchmann on the absolute
impoverishment of the working class. The ‘declining wage rate’ must serve
in addition to explain the other fundamental phenomena of the social
problem—the crises. In this connection Rodbertus tackles the problem of
balancing consumption with production, touching upon the whole lot of
cognate controversial issues which had already been fought out between the
schools of Sismondi and Ricardo.
Rodbertus’ knowledge of crises was of course based upon far more material
evidence than that of Sismondi. In his first Letter on Social Problems he
already gives a detailed description of the four crises in 1818-19, 1825,
1837-9 and 1847. Since his observations covered a much longer period,
Rodbertus could by and large gain a much deeper insight into the essential
character of crises than his predecessors. As early as 1850 he formulated the
periodical character of the crises which recur at ever shorter intervals and at
the same time with ever increasing severity:
‘Time after time, these crises have become more terrible in proportion with
the increase in wealth, engulfing an ever greater number of victims. The
crisis of 1818-19, although even this caused panic in commerce and
inspired misgivings in economics, was of small importance compared to
that of 1825-6. The first crisis had made such inroads on the capital assets
of England that the most famous economists doubted whether complete
problems (probably in 1839) until his death, and which he ‘claims’ as his
very own. This conception, for all that, was but a simple corollary of
Ricardo’s theory of value and is contained implicit in the wages fund theory
which dominated bourgeois economics up to the publication of Marx’s
Capital. Rodbertus nevertheless believed that this ‘discovery’ made him a
kind of Galileo in economics, and he refers to his ‘declining wage rate’ as
explaining every evil and contradiction in capitalist economy. Above all, he
derives from the declining wage rate the phenomenon of pauperism which,
together with the crises, in his opinion constitutes the social question. It
would be as well to draw the attention of contemporaries, ‘out for Marx’s
blood’, to the fact that it was not Marx but Rodbertus, a man much nearer
their own heart, who set up a whole theory of progressive poverty in a very
crude form, and that he, unlike Marx, made it the very pivot, not just a
symptom, of the entire social problem. Compare for instance his argument
in his first Letter on Social Problems to v. Kirchmann on the absolute
impoverishment of the working class. The ‘declining wage rate’ must serve
in addition to explain the other fundamental phenomena of the social
problem—the crises. In this connection Rodbertus tackles the problem of
balancing consumption with production, touching upon the whole lot of
cognate controversial issues which had already been fought out between the
schools of Sismondi and Ricardo.
Rodbertus’ knowledge of crises was of course based upon far more material
evidence than that of Sismondi. In his first Letter on Social Problems he
already gives a detailed description of the four crises in 1818-19, 1825,
1837-9 and 1847. Since his observations covered a much longer period,
Rodbertus could by and large gain a much deeper insight into the essential
character of crises than his predecessors. As early as 1850 he formulated the
periodical character of the crises which recur at ever shorter intervals and at
the same time with ever increasing severity:
‘Time after time, these crises have become more terrible in proportion with
the increase in wealth, engulfing an ever greater number of victims. The
crisis of 1818-19, although even this caused panic in commerce and
inspired misgivings in economics, was of small importance compared to
that of 1825-6. The first crisis had made such inroads on the capital assets
of England that the most famous economists doubted whether complete
Page 242
recovery could ever be made. Yet it was eclipsed by the crisis of 1836-7.
The crises of 1839-40 and 1846-7 wrought even greater havoc than
previous ones.’—‘According to recent experiences, however, the crises
recur at ever shorter intervals. There was a lapse of 18 years between the
first and the third crisis, of 14 years between the second and the fourth, and
of only 12 years between the third and the fifth. Already the signs are
multiplying that a new disaster is imminent, though no doubt the events of
1848 put off the catastrophe.’[247]
Rodbertus remarks that an extraordinary boom in production and great
progress in industrial technique always are the heralds of a crisis. ‘Every
one of them [of the crises] followed upon a period of outstanding industrial
prosperity.’[248]
From the crises in history he demonstrates that ‘they occur only after a
considerable increase of productivity’.[249] Rodbertus opposes what he
terms the vulgar view which conceives of crises as mere disturbances in the
monetary and credit system, and he criticises the whole of Peel’s currency
legislation as an error of judgment, arguing the point in detail in his essay
On Commercial Crises and the Mortgage Problem. There he makes the
following comment among others: ‘We would therefore deceive ourselves if
we were to regard commercial crises merely as crises of the monetary,
banking, or credit system. This is only their outer semblance when they first
emerge.’[250]
Rodbertus also shows a remarkably acute grasp of the part played by
foreign trade in the problem of crises. Just like Sismondi, he states the
necessity of expansion for capitalist production, but he simultaneously
emphasises the fact that the periodical crises are bound to grow in volume.
‘Foreign trade’, he says, ‘is related to slumps only as charity is related to
poverty. They ultimately only enhance one another.’[251] And further: ‘The
only possible means of warding off further outbreaks of crises is the
application of the two-edged knife of expanding foreign markets. The
violent urge towards such expansion is largely no more but a morbid
irritation caused by a sickly organ. Since one factor on the home market,
productivity, is ever increasing, and the other factor, purchasing power,
remains constant for the overwhelming majority of the population,
commerce must endeavour to conjure up a similarly unlimited amount of
The crises of 1839-40 and 1846-7 wrought even greater havoc than
previous ones.’—‘According to recent experiences, however, the crises
recur at ever shorter intervals. There was a lapse of 18 years between the
first and the third crisis, of 14 years between the second and the fourth, and
of only 12 years between the third and the fifth. Already the signs are
multiplying that a new disaster is imminent, though no doubt the events of
1848 put off the catastrophe.’[247]
Rodbertus remarks that an extraordinary boom in production and great
progress in industrial technique always are the heralds of a crisis. ‘Every
one of them [of the crises] followed upon a period of outstanding industrial
prosperity.’[248]
From the crises in history he demonstrates that ‘they occur only after a
considerable increase of productivity’.[249] Rodbertus opposes what he
terms the vulgar view which conceives of crises as mere disturbances in the
monetary and credit system, and he criticises the whole of Peel’s currency
legislation as an error of judgment, arguing the point in detail in his essay
On Commercial Crises and the Mortgage Problem. There he makes the
following comment among others: ‘We would therefore deceive ourselves if
we were to regard commercial crises merely as crises of the monetary,
banking, or credit system. This is only their outer semblance when they first
emerge.’[250]
Rodbertus also shows a remarkably acute grasp of the part played by
foreign trade in the problem of crises. Just like Sismondi, he states the
necessity of expansion for capitalist production, but he simultaneously
emphasises the fact that the periodical crises are bound to grow in volume.
‘Foreign trade’, he says, ‘is related to slumps only as charity is related to
poverty. They ultimately only enhance one another.’[251] And further: ‘The
only possible means of warding off further outbreaks of crises is the
application of the two-edged knife of expanding foreign markets. The
violent urge towards such expansion is largely no more but a morbid
irritation caused by a sickly organ. Since one factor on the home market,
productivity, is ever increasing, and the other factor, purchasing power,
remains constant for the overwhelming majority of the population,
commerce must endeavour to conjure up a similarly unlimited amount of
Page 243
purchasing power on the foreign market.’[252] In this way, the irritation may
be soothed to some extent so that at least there will not be a new outbreak
of the calamity right away. Every foreign market opened defers the social
problem in a like manner. Colonisation of primitive countries would have
similar effects: Europe rears a market for herself in places where none had
been before. Yet such a medicine would essentially do no more than
appease the ill. As soon as the new markets are supplied, the problem will
revert to its former state—a conflict between the two factors: limited
purchasing power versus unlimited productivity. The new attack would be
warded off the small market only to re-appear, in even wider dimensions
and with even more violent incidents, on a larger one. And since the earth is
finite and the acquisition of new markets must some time come to an end,
the time will come when the question can no longer be simply adjourned.
Sooner or later, a definite solution will have to be found.’[253]
Rodbertus also recognises the anarchical character of capitalist private
enterprise to be conducive to crises, but only as one factor among many,
seeing it as the source of a particular type of crises, not as the real cause of
crises in general. About the crises at v. Kirchmann’s Ort, e.g., he says: ‘I
maintain that a slump of this kind does not occur in real life. The market of
to-day is large, there are countless wants and many branches of production,
productivity is considerable and the data of commerce are obscure and
misleading. The individual entrepreneur does not know how much others
are producing, and so it may easily happen that he over-estimates the
demand for a certain commodity with which he will then overstock the
market.’
Rodbertus says outright that the only remedy for these crises is the
‘complete reversal’ of contemporary property-relations or a planned
economy, concentrating all means of production ‘in the hands of a single
social authority’. To set troubled minds at rest, however, he is quick to add
that he reserves judgment as to whether there can actually be such a state of
affairs—‘yet this would be the only possible way to prevent slumps of this
kind’. Thus he expressly regards anarchy in the modern mode of production
as responsible for only a specific and partial manifestation of crises.
Rodbertus scornfully rejects Say-Ricardo’s axiom of a natural equilibrium
between consumption and production; just like Sismondi, he emphasises
that everything turns on the purchasing power of society, and also takes it to
be soothed to some extent so that at least there will not be a new outbreak
of the calamity right away. Every foreign market opened defers the social
problem in a like manner. Colonisation of primitive countries would have
similar effects: Europe rears a market for herself in places where none had
been before. Yet such a medicine would essentially do no more than
appease the ill. As soon as the new markets are supplied, the problem will
revert to its former state—a conflict between the two factors: limited
purchasing power versus unlimited productivity. The new attack would be
warded off the small market only to re-appear, in even wider dimensions
and with even more violent incidents, on a larger one. And since the earth is
finite and the acquisition of new markets must some time come to an end,
the time will come when the question can no longer be simply adjourned.
Sooner or later, a definite solution will have to be found.’[253]
Rodbertus also recognises the anarchical character of capitalist private
enterprise to be conducive to crises, but only as one factor among many,
seeing it as the source of a particular type of crises, not as the real cause of
crises in general. About the crises at v. Kirchmann’s Ort, e.g., he says: ‘I
maintain that a slump of this kind does not occur in real life. The market of
to-day is large, there are countless wants and many branches of production,
productivity is considerable and the data of commerce are obscure and
misleading. The individual entrepreneur does not know how much others
are producing, and so it may easily happen that he over-estimates the
demand for a certain commodity with which he will then overstock the
market.’
Rodbertus says outright that the only remedy for these crises is the
‘complete reversal’ of contemporary property-relations or a planned
economy, concentrating all means of production ‘in the hands of a single
social authority’. To set troubled minds at rest, however, he is quick to add
that he reserves judgment as to whether there can actually be such a state of
affairs—‘yet this would be the only possible way to prevent slumps of this
kind’. Thus he expressly regards anarchy in the modern mode of production
as responsible for only a specific and partial manifestation of crises.
Rodbertus scornfully rejects Say-Ricardo’s axiom of a natural equilibrium
between consumption and production; just like Sismondi, he emphasises
that everything turns on the purchasing power of society, and also takes it to
Page 244
be dependent upon the distribution of income. All the same, he does not
endorse Sismondi’s theory of crises and disagrees sharply with the
conclusions drawn from it. If Sismondi saw the source of all evil in the
unlimited expansion of production without regard to the limitations of
incomes, and advocated a restriction of production, Rodbertus, quite on the
contrary, champions the most powerful and unrestricted expansion of
production, of wealth and of the productive forces, believing this to be a
social necessity. Whoever rejects the wealth of society, rejects at the same
time its power, its progress, and, with its progress, its virtues. Whoever
stands in the way of growing wealth, stands in the way of all social progress
whatever. Every increase in knowledge, resolve and capacity is conceived
as bound up with an increase in wealth.[254] From this point of view,
Rodbertus is strongly in favour of issuing houses which he regards as the
indispensable foundations for a rapid and unrestricted expansion of
company promoting. Both his essay of 1859 on the mortgage problem and
the treatise on the Financial Crisis in Prussia[255] are devoted to this plea.
He even polemises outright against the Sismondian type of caveat, as usual
broaching the matter first from his peculiar Utopian ethics.
‘The entrepreneurs’, he holds forth, ‘are essentially civil servants of
economy. By the institution of property, they are once and for all entrusted
with the nation’s means of production. If they set them to work and strain
all their energies in the process, they do but their duty, since capital—let me
repeat—exists entirely for the sake of production.’ And a further, factual
argument: ‘Or would you have them (the entrepreneurs) turn acute attacks
of suffering into a chronic state by working persistently and from the first
with fewer forces than are given by the means of production; are they to
pay for a less severe form of the evil with its permanent duration? Even if
we were silly enough to give them this advice, they would not be able to
follow it. How could the entrepreneurs of the world recognise the limits
beyond which the market would cease to be healthy? They engage in
production without knowing the one of the other, they are producing in the
most distant corners of the earth for a market hundreds of miles away, they
produce with such vast forces that a month’s production may already
overstep the limit. How could production—so divided and yet so powerful
—conceivably estimate in good time what will be enough? Where, for
instance, are the organisations, the up-to-date statistical bureaux and the like
endorse Sismondi’s theory of crises and disagrees sharply with the
conclusions drawn from it. If Sismondi saw the source of all evil in the
unlimited expansion of production without regard to the limitations of
incomes, and advocated a restriction of production, Rodbertus, quite on the
contrary, champions the most powerful and unrestricted expansion of
production, of wealth and of the productive forces, believing this to be a
social necessity. Whoever rejects the wealth of society, rejects at the same
time its power, its progress, and, with its progress, its virtues. Whoever
stands in the way of growing wealth, stands in the way of all social progress
whatever. Every increase in knowledge, resolve and capacity is conceived
as bound up with an increase in wealth.[254] From this point of view,
Rodbertus is strongly in favour of issuing houses which he regards as the
indispensable foundations for a rapid and unrestricted expansion of
company promoting. Both his essay of 1859 on the mortgage problem and
the treatise on the Financial Crisis in Prussia[255] are devoted to this plea.
He even polemises outright against the Sismondian type of caveat, as usual
broaching the matter first from his peculiar Utopian ethics.
‘The entrepreneurs’, he holds forth, ‘are essentially civil servants of
economy. By the institution of property, they are once and for all entrusted
with the nation’s means of production. If they set them to work and strain
all their energies in the process, they do but their duty, since capital—let me
repeat—exists entirely for the sake of production.’ And a further, factual
argument: ‘Or would you have them (the entrepreneurs) turn acute attacks
of suffering into a chronic state by working persistently and from the first
with fewer forces than are given by the means of production; are they to
pay for a less severe form of the evil with its permanent duration? Even if
we were silly enough to give them this advice, they would not be able to
follow it. How could the entrepreneurs of the world recognise the limits
beyond which the market would cease to be healthy? They engage in
production without knowing the one of the other, they are producing in the
most distant corners of the earth for a market hundreds of miles away, they
produce with such vast forces that a month’s production may already
overstep the limit. How could production—so divided and yet so powerful
—conceivably estimate in good time what will be enough? Where, for
instance, are the organisations, the up-to-date statistical bureaux and the like
Page 245
to help them in this task? What is worse, the price alone, its rise and fall,
indicates the position of the market, and this is not like a barometer which
predicts the temperature of the market, but more like a thermometer which
only registers it. If the price falls, the limit has been passed already, and the
evil is with us.’[256]
These thrusts, obviously aimed at Sismondi, exhibit quite fundamental
differences between the two opponents. If Engels then says in his Anti-
Duehring that Sismondi first explained the crises as resulting from under-
consumption, and that Rodbertus borrowed this view from him, he is not
strictly accurate. All that Rodbertus and Sismondi have in common is their
opposition against the classical school and the general explanation of crises
as the result of the distribution of incomes. Even in this connection
Rodbertus mounts his own particular hobby horse: over-production is not
caused by the low level of working class incomes, nor yet, as Sismondi
maintains, by the capitalists’ limited capacity for consumption, but solely by
the fact that with a growing productivity of labour, the workers’ income, in
terms of value, represents an ever smaller share of the product. Rodbertus
takes pains to convince the opposition that it is not the small volume of the
workers’ share which causes the crises.
‘Just imagine’, he goes on to lecture v. Kirchmann, ‘these shares to be so
small as to ensure only a bare subsistence for those who are entitled to
them. As long as you establish them as representing a proportion of the
national product, you will have a constant “vessel for value” which can
absorb ever increasing contents, and an ever increasing prosperity of the
working classes as well.... And now imagine on the contrary as large a share
for the working classes as you please, and let it become an ever smaller
fraction of the national product that grows with increasing productivity.
Then, provided it is not reduced to the present pittance, this share will still
protect the workers from undue privations since the amount of products it
represents will still be considerably greater than it is to-day. Once this share
begins to decline, however, there will be spreading discontent, culminating
in a commercial crisis for which the capitalists are not to blame inasmuch as
they did no more than their duty in laying down the volume of production
according to the given magnitude of these shares.’
That is why the ‘declining wage rate’ is the real cause of crises. It can only
be counteracted by legal measures to ensure that the workers’ share
indicates the position of the market, and this is not like a barometer which
predicts the temperature of the market, but more like a thermometer which
only registers it. If the price falls, the limit has been passed already, and the
evil is with us.’[256]
These thrusts, obviously aimed at Sismondi, exhibit quite fundamental
differences between the two opponents. If Engels then says in his Anti-
Duehring that Sismondi first explained the crises as resulting from under-
consumption, and that Rodbertus borrowed this view from him, he is not
strictly accurate. All that Rodbertus and Sismondi have in common is their
opposition against the classical school and the general explanation of crises
as the result of the distribution of incomes. Even in this connection
Rodbertus mounts his own particular hobby horse: over-production is not
caused by the low level of working class incomes, nor yet, as Sismondi
maintains, by the capitalists’ limited capacity for consumption, but solely by
the fact that with a growing productivity of labour, the workers’ income, in
terms of value, represents an ever smaller share of the product. Rodbertus
takes pains to convince the opposition that it is not the small volume of the
workers’ share which causes the crises.
‘Just imagine’, he goes on to lecture v. Kirchmann, ‘these shares to be so
small as to ensure only a bare subsistence for those who are entitled to
them. As long as you establish them as representing a proportion of the
national product, you will have a constant “vessel for value” which can
absorb ever increasing contents, and an ever increasing prosperity of the
working classes as well.... And now imagine on the contrary as large a share
for the working classes as you please, and let it become an ever smaller
fraction of the national product that grows with increasing productivity.
Then, provided it is not reduced to the present pittance, this share will still
protect the workers from undue privations since the amount of products it
represents will still be considerably greater than it is to-day. Once this share
begins to decline, however, there will be spreading discontent, culminating
in a commercial crisis for which the capitalists are not to blame inasmuch as
they did no more than their duty in laying down the volume of production
according to the given magnitude of these shares.’
That is why the ‘declining wage rate’ is the real cause of crises. It can only
be counteracted by legal measures to ensure that the workers’ share
Page 246
represents a stable and unchanging rate of the national product. This
grotesque notion takes some understanding if we are to do justice to its
economic implications.
grotesque notion takes some understanding if we are to do justice to its
economic implications.
Page 247
CHAPTER XVII
Page 248
RODBERTUS’ ANALYSIS OF
REPRODUCTION
To begin with, what does it mean that a decrease in the workers’ share is
bound immediately to engender over-production and commercial crises?
Such a view can only make sense provided Rodbertus takes the ‘national
product’ to consist of two parts, vide the shares of the workers and of the
capitalists, in short of v + s, one share being exchangeable for the other. And
that is more or less what he actually seems to say on occasions, e.g. in his
first Letter on Social Problems:
‘The poverty of the working classes precludes their income from giving
scope to increasing production. The additional amount of products from the
entrepreneurs’ point of view lowers the value of the aggregate product so
far as to bar production on the former scale, leaving the workers at best to
their accustomed straits, though, if it could be made available to the
workers, it would not only improve their lot but would further act as a
counterweight by increasing the value of what is retained by the capitalists
(and so enable the latter to keep their enterprises at the same level).’[257]
The ‘counterweight’ which in the hand of the workers increases the ‘value’
of ‘what is retained’ by the entrepreneurs, can in this context only be the
demand. Once again, we have landed happily at the familiar Ort of v.
Kirchmann’s where workers and capitalists exchange their incomes for the
surplus product, and where the crises arise because variable capital is small
and the surplus value large. This peculiar notion has already been dealt with
above. There are other occasions, however, when Rodbertus advances a
somewhat different conception. The interpretation of his theory in the
fourth Letter on Social Problems is that the continual shifts in the relations
of demand, evident in the share of the working class and caused by the
share of the capitalist class, must result in a chronic disproportion between
production and consumption.
‘What if the entrepreneurs endeavour to keep always within the limits of
those shares, yet the shares themselves are all the time on the decline for the
REPRODUCTION
To begin with, what does it mean that a decrease in the workers’ share is
bound immediately to engender over-production and commercial crises?
Such a view can only make sense provided Rodbertus takes the ‘national
product’ to consist of two parts, vide the shares of the workers and of the
capitalists, in short of v + s, one share being exchangeable for the other. And
that is more or less what he actually seems to say on occasions, e.g. in his
first Letter on Social Problems:
‘The poverty of the working classes precludes their income from giving
scope to increasing production. The additional amount of products from the
entrepreneurs’ point of view lowers the value of the aggregate product so
far as to bar production on the former scale, leaving the workers at best to
their accustomed straits, though, if it could be made available to the
workers, it would not only improve their lot but would further act as a
counterweight by increasing the value of what is retained by the capitalists
(and so enable the latter to keep their enterprises at the same level).’[257]
The ‘counterweight’ which in the hand of the workers increases the ‘value’
of ‘what is retained’ by the entrepreneurs, can in this context only be the
demand. Once again, we have landed happily at the familiar Ort of v.
Kirchmann’s where workers and capitalists exchange their incomes for the
surplus product, and where the crises arise because variable capital is small
and the surplus value large. This peculiar notion has already been dealt with
above. There are other occasions, however, when Rodbertus advances a
somewhat different conception. The interpretation of his theory in the
fourth Letter on Social Problems is that the continual shifts in the relations
of demand, evident in the share of the working class and caused by the
share of the capitalist class, must result in a chronic disproportion between
production and consumption.
‘What if the entrepreneurs endeavour to keep always within the limits of
those shares, yet the shares themselves are all the time on the decline for the
Page 249
great majority of the society, the workers, decreasing gradually,
unnoticeably, but with relentless force?—What if the share of these classes
is continually decreasing to the same extent as their productivity is
increasing?’—‘Is it not really the fact that the capitalists of necessity
organise production in accordance with the present volume of shares in
order to make wealth universal, and that yet they always produce over and
above this volume (of previous shares), thereby perpetuating dissatisfaction
which culminates in this stagnation of trade?’[258]
On this showing, the explanation of crises should be as follows: the national
product consists of a number of ‘common goods’, as v. Kirchmann puts it,
for the workers, and of superior goods for the capitalists. The wages
represent the quantity of the former, and aggregate surplus value that of the
latter. If the capitalists organise their production on this footing, and if at the
same time there is progressive productivity, a lack of proportion will
immediately ensue. For the share of the workers to-day is no longer that of
yesterday, but less. If the demand for ‘common goods’ had involved, say,
six-sevenths of the national product yesterday, then to-day it involves only
five-sevenths, and the entrepreneurs, having provided for six-sevenths of
‘common goods’, will find to their painful surprise that they over-produced
by one-seventh. Now, wiser by this experience, they try to organise to-
morrow’s output of ‘common goods’ to a mere five-sevenths of the total
value of the national product, but they have a new disappointment coming
to them, since the share of the national product falling to wages to-morrow
is bound to be only four-sevenths, and so on.
In this ingenious theory there are quite a few points to make us wonder. If
our commercial crises are entirely due to the fact that the workers’ ‘wage
rate’, the variable capital, represents a constantly diminishing portion of the
total value of the national product, then this unfortunate law brings with it
the cure for the evil it has caused, since it must be an ever smaller part of
the aggregate product for which there is over-production. Although
Rodbertus delights in such terms as ‘an overwhelming majority’, ‘the large
popular masses’ of consumers, it is not the number of heads that make up
the demand, but the value they represent which is relevant. This value, if
Rodbertus is to be believed, forms a more and more trifling part of the
aggregate product. Crises are thus made to rest on an ever narrowing
economic basis, and all that remains to discover is how in spite of it all it
unnoticeably, but with relentless force?—What if the share of these classes
is continually decreasing to the same extent as their productivity is
increasing?’—‘Is it not really the fact that the capitalists of necessity
organise production in accordance with the present volume of shares in
order to make wealth universal, and that yet they always produce over and
above this volume (of previous shares), thereby perpetuating dissatisfaction
which culminates in this stagnation of trade?’[258]
On this showing, the explanation of crises should be as follows: the national
product consists of a number of ‘common goods’, as v. Kirchmann puts it,
for the workers, and of superior goods for the capitalists. The wages
represent the quantity of the former, and aggregate surplus value that of the
latter. If the capitalists organise their production on this footing, and if at the
same time there is progressive productivity, a lack of proportion will
immediately ensue. For the share of the workers to-day is no longer that of
yesterday, but less. If the demand for ‘common goods’ had involved, say,
six-sevenths of the national product yesterday, then to-day it involves only
five-sevenths, and the entrepreneurs, having provided for six-sevenths of
‘common goods’, will find to their painful surprise that they over-produced
by one-seventh. Now, wiser by this experience, they try to organise to-
morrow’s output of ‘common goods’ to a mere five-sevenths of the total
value of the national product, but they have a new disappointment coming
to them, since the share of the national product falling to wages to-morrow
is bound to be only four-sevenths, and so on.
In this ingenious theory there are quite a few points to make us wonder. If
our commercial crises are entirely due to the fact that the workers’ ‘wage
rate’, the variable capital, represents a constantly diminishing portion of the
total value of the national product, then this unfortunate law brings with it
the cure for the evil it has caused, since it must be an ever smaller part of
the aggregate product for which there is over-production. Although
Rodbertus delights in such terms as ‘an overwhelming majority’, ‘the large
popular masses’ of consumers, it is not the number of heads that make up
the demand, but the value they represent which is relevant. This value, if
Rodbertus is to be believed, forms a more and more trifling part of the
aggregate product. Crises are thus made to rest on an ever narrowing
economic basis, and all that remains to discover is how in spite of it all it
Page 250
can still happen that the crises are universal and increasingly severe besides,
as Rodbertus is fully aware. The purchasing power lost by the working
classes should be gained by the capitalist class; if v decreases, s must grow
larger to make up for it. On this crude scheme, the purchasing power of
society as a whole cannot change, as Rodbertus says in so many words: ‘I
know very well that what is taken from the workers’ share goes ultimately
to swell that of the “rentiers” (rent and surplus value are used as synonyms,
R.L.), and that purchasing power remains constant on the whole and in the
long run. But as far as the product on the market is concerned, the crisis
always sets in before this increase can make itself felt.’[259]
In short, the most it can amount to is that there is ‘too much’ of ‘common
goods’ and ‘too little’ of superior goods for the capitalists. Quite unawares,
and by devious ways, Rodbertus here falls in with the Say-Ricardian theory
he so ardently contested, the theory that over-production on one side always
corresponds to under-production on the other. Seeing that the ratio of the
two shares is persistently shifting to the advantage of the capitalists, our
commercial crises might be expected on the whole to take on increasingly
the character of periodical under- instead of over-production! Enough of
this exercise in logic. The upshot of it all is that Rodbertus conceives the
national product in respect of its value as made up of two parts only, of s
and v, thus wholly subscribing to the views and traditions of the classical
school he is fighting tooth and nail, and even adding his own flourish that
the capitalists consume the entire surplus value. That is why he repeatedly
says without mincing his words, as in the fourth Letter on Social Problems:
‘Accordingly, we must abstract from the reasons which cause the division
of rent in general into rent proper and capital rent, to find the basic principle
underlying the division of rent (surplus value) in general, the principle
underlying the division of the labour product into wage and rent.’[260] And,
in the third Letter: ‘Ground rent, capital profit and the wage of labour are,
let me repeat, revenue. By this means landlords, capitalists and workers
must live, must satisfy, that is to say, their immediate human necessities.
They must therefore draw their income in the form of goods suitable for this
purpose.’[261]
The misrepresentation of capitalist economy has never been formulated
more crudely, and there is no doubt that Rodbertus claims the palm of
as Rodbertus is fully aware. The purchasing power lost by the working
classes should be gained by the capitalist class; if v decreases, s must grow
larger to make up for it. On this crude scheme, the purchasing power of
society as a whole cannot change, as Rodbertus says in so many words: ‘I
know very well that what is taken from the workers’ share goes ultimately
to swell that of the “rentiers” (rent and surplus value are used as synonyms,
R.L.), and that purchasing power remains constant on the whole and in the
long run. But as far as the product on the market is concerned, the crisis
always sets in before this increase can make itself felt.’[259]
In short, the most it can amount to is that there is ‘too much’ of ‘common
goods’ and ‘too little’ of superior goods for the capitalists. Quite unawares,
and by devious ways, Rodbertus here falls in with the Say-Ricardian theory
he so ardently contested, the theory that over-production on one side always
corresponds to under-production on the other. Seeing that the ratio of the
two shares is persistently shifting to the advantage of the capitalists, our
commercial crises might be expected on the whole to take on increasingly
the character of periodical under- instead of over-production! Enough of
this exercise in logic. The upshot of it all is that Rodbertus conceives the
national product in respect of its value as made up of two parts only, of s
and v, thus wholly subscribing to the views and traditions of the classical
school he is fighting tooth and nail, and even adding his own flourish that
the capitalists consume the entire surplus value. That is why he repeatedly
says without mincing his words, as in the fourth Letter on Social Problems:
‘Accordingly, we must abstract from the reasons which cause the division
of rent in general into rent proper and capital rent, to find the basic principle
underlying the division of rent (surplus value) in general, the principle
underlying the division of the labour product into wage and rent.’[260] And,
in the third Letter: ‘Ground rent, capital profit and the wage of labour are,
let me repeat, revenue. By this means landlords, capitalists and workers
must live, must satisfy, that is to say, their immediate human necessities.
They must therefore draw their income in the form of goods suitable for this
purpose.’[261]
The misrepresentation of capitalist economy has never been formulated
more crudely, and there is no doubt that Rodbertus claims the palm of
Page 251
‘priority’—not so much over Marx as over all popular economists—with
full justification. To leave the reader in no doubt about the utter muddle he
has made, he goes on, in the same letter, to rank capitalist surplus value as
an economic category on the same level as the revenue of the ancient slave-
owner:
‘The first state (that of slavery) goes with the most primitive natural
economy: that portion of the labour product which is withheld from the
income of workers or slaves and forms the master’s or owner’s property,
will undividedly accrue to the one man who owns the land, the capital, the
worker and the labour product; there is not even a distinction of thought
between rent and capital profits.—The second state entails the most
complicated money economy: that portion of the labour product, withheld
from the income of the now emancipated workers, and accruing to the
respective owners of land, and capital, will be further divided among the
owners of the raw material and the manufactured product respectively; the
one rent of the former state will be split up into ground rent and capital
profits, and will have to be differentiated accordingly.’[262]
Rodbertus regards the splitting-up of the surplus value ‘withheld’ from the
workers’ ‘income’ as the most striking difference between exploitation by
slavery and modern capitalist exploitation. It is not the specific historical
form of sharing out newly created value among labour and capital, but the
distribution of the surplus value among the various people it benefits,
which, irrelevant to the productive process, is yet the decisive fact in the
capitalist mode of production. In all other respects, capitalist surplus value
remains just the same as the old ‘single rent’ of the slave-owner: a private
fund for the exploiter’s own consumption!
Yet Rodbertus again contradicts himself in other places, remembering all of
a sudden the constant capital and the necessity for its renewal in the
reproductive process. Thus, instead of bisecting the aggregate product into v
and s, he posits a triple division: c, v, and s. In his third Letter on Social
Problems he argues on the forms of reproduction in a slave-economy:
‘Since the master will see to it that part of the slave labour is employed in
maintaining or even improving the fields, herds, agricultural and
manufacturing tools, there will be “capital replacement”, to use a modern
term, in which part of the national economic product is immediately used
full justification. To leave the reader in no doubt about the utter muddle he
has made, he goes on, in the same letter, to rank capitalist surplus value as
an economic category on the same level as the revenue of the ancient slave-
owner:
‘The first state (that of slavery) goes with the most primitive natural
economy: that portion of the labour product which is withheld from the
income of workers or slaves and forms the master’s or owner’s property,
will undividedly accrue to the one man who owns the land, the capital, the
worker and the labour product; there is not even a distinction of thought
between rent and capital profits.—The second state entails the most
complicated money economy: that portion of the labour product, withheld
from the income of the now emancipated workers, and accruing to the
respective owners of land, and capital, will be further divided among the
owners of the raw material and the manufactured product respectively; the
one rent of the former state will be split up into ground rent and capital
profits, and will have to be differentiated accordingly.’[262]
Rodbertus regards the splitting-up of the surplus value ‘withheld’ from the
workers’ ‘income’ as the most striking difference between exploitation by
slavery and modern capitalist exploitation. It is not the specific historical
form of sharing out newly created value among labour and capital, but the
distribution of the surplus value among the various people it benefits,
which, irrelevant to the productive process, is yet the decisive fact in the
capitalist mode of production. In all other respects, capitalist surplus value
remains just the same as the old ‘single rent’ of the slave-owner: a private
fund for the exploiter’s own consumption!
Yet Rodbertus again contradicts himself in other places, remembering all of
a sudden the constant capital and the necessity for its renewal in the
reproductive process. Thus, instead of bisecting the aggregate product into v
and s, he posits a triple division: c, v, and s. In his third Letter on Social
Problems he argues on the forms of reproduction in a slave-economy:
‘Since the master will see to it that part of the slave labour is employed in
maintaining or even improving the fields, herds, agricultural and
manufacturing tools, there will be “capital replacement”, to use a modern
term, in which part of the national economic product is immediately used
Page 252
for the upkeep of the estate, without any mediation by exchange or even by
exchange value.’[263] And, passing on to capitalist reproduction, he
continues: ‘Now, in terms of value, one portion of the labour product, is
used or set aside for the maintenance of the estate, for “capital
replacement”, another, for the workers’ subsistence as their money wage;
and the owners of the land, of capital, and of the labour product retain the
last as their revenue or rent.’[264]
This, then, is an explicit expression of the triple division into constant
capital, variable capital, and surplus value. Again, in this third Letter, he
formulates the peculiarity of his ‘new’ theory with equal precision: ‘On this
theory, then, and under conditions of adequate labour productivity, the
portion of the product which remains for wages after the replacement of
capital, will be distributed among workers and owners as wages and rent,
on the basis of the ownership in land and capital.’[265]
It does seem now as if Rodbertus’ analysis of the value of the aggregate
product represents a distinct advance over the classical school. Even Adam
Smith’s ‘dogma’ is openly criticised a little further on, and it is really
surprising that Rodbertus’ learned admirers, Messrs. Wagner, Dietzel, Diehl
& Co. failed to claim their white-headed boy’s ‘priority’ over Marx on such
an important point of economic theory. As a matter of fact, in this respect
no less than in the general theory of value, Rodbertus’ priority is of a
somewhat dubious character. If he seems on occasion to gain true insight, it
immediately turns out to be a misunderstanding, or at best a wrong
approach. His criticism of Adam Smith’s dogma affords a supreme example
of his failure to cope with the triple division of the national product towards
which he had groped his way. He says literally:
‘You know that all economists since Adam Smith already divided the value
of the product into wage of labour, rent, and capital profit, that it is
therefore not a new idea to ground the incomes of the various classes, and
especially the various items of the rent, in a division of the product. But the
economists at once go off the track. All of them, not even excepting
Ricardo’s school, make the mistake, first, not to recognise that the
aggregate product, the finished good, the national product as a whole, is an
entity in which workers, landowners, and capitalists all share, but
conceiving the division of the unfinished product to be of one kind shared
exchange value.’[263] And, passing on to capitalist reproduction, he
continues: ‘Now, in terms of value, one portion of the labour product, is
used or set aside for the maintenance of the estate, for “capital
replacement”, another, for the workers’ subsistence as their money wage;
and the owners of the land, of capital, and of the labour product retain the
last as their revenue or rent.’[264]
This, then, is an explicit expression of the triple division into constant
capital, variable capital, and surplus value. Again, in this third Letter, he
formulates the peculiarity of his ‘new’ theory with equal precision: ‘On this
theory, then, and under conditions of adequate labour productivity, the
portion of the product which remains for wages after the replacement of
capital, will be distributed among workers and owners as wages and rent,
on the basis of the ownership in land and capital.’[265]
It does seem now as if Rodbertus’ analysis of the value of the aggregate
product represents a distinct advance over the classical school. Even Adam
Smith’s ‘dogma’ is openly criticised a little further on, and it is really
surprising that Rodbertus’ learned admirers, Messrs. Wagner, Dietzel, Diehl
& Co. failed to claim their white-headed boy’s ‘priority’ over Marx on such
an important point of economic theory. As a matter of fact, in this respect
no less than in the general theory of value, Rodbertus’ priority is of a
somewhat dubious character. If he seems on occasion to gain true insight, it
immediately turns out to be a misunderstanding, or at best a wrong
approach. His criticism of Adam Smith’s dogma affords a supreme example
of his failure to cope with the triple division of the national product towards
which he had groped his way. He says literally:
‘You know that all economists since Adam Smith already divided the value
of the product into wage of labour, rent, and capital profit, that it is
therefore not a new idea to ground the incomes of the various classes, and
especially the various items of the rent, in a division of the product. But the
economists at once go off the track. All of them, not even excepting
Ricardo’s school, make the mistake, first, not to recognise that the
aggregate product, the finished good, the national product as a whole, is an
entity in which workers, landowners, and capitalists all share, but
conceiving the division of the unfinished product to be of one kind shared
Page 253
among three partners, and that of the manufactured product as of another
kind again, shared between only two partners. For these theories both the
unfinished product and the manufactured product constitute as such
separate items of revenue. Secondly,—though both Sismondi and Ricardo
are free from this particular error—they regard the natural fact that labour
cannot produce goods without material help, i.e. without the land, as an
economic fact, and take the social fact for a primary datum that capital as
understood to-day is required by the division of labour. Thus they set up the
fiction of a fundamental economic relationship on which they base also for
the shares of the various owners, ground rent springing from the
contribution of the land lent by the owner to production, capital profits from
the contribution of capital employed by the capitalist to this end, and the
wages finally from labour’s contribution, seeing that there are separate
owners of land, capital, and labour in the society. Say’s school, elaborating
on this mistake with much ingenuity, even invented the concept of
productive service of land, capital, and labour in conformity with the shares
in the product of their respective owners, so as to explain these shares as the
result of productive service.—Thirdly, they are caught up in the ultimate
folly of deriving the wage of labour and the items of rent from the value of
the product, the value of the product in turn being derived from the wage of
labour and the items of rent, so that the one is made to depend on the other
and vice versa. This absurdity is quite unmistakable when some of these
authors attempt to expound “The Influence of Rent Upon Production
Prices” and “The Influence of Production Prices Upon Rent” in two
consecutive chapters.’[266]
Yet for all these excellent critical comments—the last, particularly acute,
actually does to some extent anticipate Marx’s criticism of this point in
Capital, volume ii—Rodbertus calmly falls in with the fundamental blunder
of the classical school and its vulgar followers: to ignore altogether that part
of the value of the aggregate product which is needed to replace the
constant capital of the society. This way it was easier for him to keep up the
singular fight against the ‘declining wage rate’.
Under capitalist forms of production, the value of the aggregate social
product is divided into three parts: one corresponding to the value of the
constant capital, the second to the wage total, i.e. the variable capital, and
the third to the aggregate surplus value of the capitalist class. In this
kind again, shared between only two partners. For these theories both the
unfinished product and the manufactured product constitute as such
separate items of revenue. Secondly,—though both Sismondi and Ricardo
are free from this particular error—they regard the natural fact that labour
cannot produce goods without material help, i.e. without the land, as an
economic fact, and take the social fact for a primary datum that capital as
understood to-day is required by the division of labour. Thus they set up the
fiction of a fundamental economic relationship on which they base also for
the shares of the various owners, ground rent springing from the
contribution of the land lent by the owner to production, capital profits from
the contribution of capital employed by the capitalist to this end, and the
wages finally from labour’s contribution, seeing that there are separate
owners of land, capital, and labour in the society. Say’s school, elaborating
on this mistake with much ingenuity, even invented the concept of
productive service of land, capital, and labour in conformity with the shares
in the product of their respective owners, so as to explain these shares as the
result of productive service.—Thirdly, they are caught up in the ultimate
folly of deriving the wage of labour and the items of rent from the value of
the product, the value of the product in turn being derived from the wage of
labour and the items of rent, so that the one is made to depend on the other
and vice versa. This absurdity is quite unmistakable when some of these
authors attempt to expound “The Influence of Rent Upon Production
Prices” and “The Influence of Production Prices Upon Rent” in two
consecutive chapters.’[266]
Yet for all these excellent critical comments—the last, particularly acute,
actually does to some extent anticipate Marx’s criticism of this point in
Capital, volume ii—Rodbertus calmly falls in with the fundamental blunder
of the classical school and its vulgar followers: to ignore altogether that part
of the value of the aggregate product which is needed to replace the
constant capital of the society. This way it was easier for him to keep up the
singular fight against the ‘declining wage rate’.
Under capitalist forms of production, the value of the aggregate social
product is divided into three parts: one corresponding to the value of the
constant capital, the second to the wage total, i.e. the variable capital, and
the third to the aggregate surplus value of the capitalist class. In this
Page 254
composition, the portion corresponding to the variable capital is relatively
on the decline, and this for two reasons. To begin with, the relation of c to
(v + s) within c + v + s changes all the time in the direction of a relative
increase of c and a relative decrease of v+s. This is the simple law for a
progressive efficiency of human labour, valid for all societies of economic
progress, independently of their historical forms, a formula which only
states that living labour is increasingly able to convert more means of
production into objects for use in an ever shorter time. And if (v + s)
decreases as a whole, so must v, as its part, decrease in relation to the total
value of the product. To kick against this, to try and stop the decrease,
would be tantamount to contending against the general effects of a growing
labour productivity. Further, there is within (v + s) as well a change in the
direction of a relative decrease in v and a relative increase in s, that is to say,
an ever smaller part of the newly created value is spent on wages and an
ever greater part is appropriated as surplus value. This is the specifically
capitalist formula of progressive labour productivity which, under capitalist
conditions of production, is no less valid than the general law. To use the
power of the state to prevent a decrease of v as against s would mean that
the fundamental commodity of labour power is debarred from this progress
which decreases production costs for all commodities; it would mean the
exemption of this one commodity from the economic effects of technical
progress. More than that: the ‘declining wage rate’ is only another
expression of the rising rate of surplus value which forms the most
powerful and effective means of checking a decline of the profit rate, and
which therefore represents the prime incentive for capitalist production in
general, and for technical progress within this system of production in
particular. Doing away with the ‘declining wage rate’ by way of legislation
would be as much as to do away with the raison d’être of capitalist society,
to deal a crippling blow to its entire system. Let us face the facts: the
individual capitalist, just like capitalist society as a whole, has no
glimmering that the value of the product is made up from the sum total of
labour necessary in the society, and this is actually beyond his grasp. Value,
as the capitalist understands it, is the derivative form, reversed by
competition as production costs. While in truth the value of the product is
broken down into the values of its component fragments c, v and s, the
capitalist mind conceives of it as the summation of c, v and s. These, in
addition, also appear to him from a distorted perspective and in a secondary
on the decline, and this for two reasons. To begin with, the relation of c to
(v + s) within c + v + s changes all the time in the direction of a relative
increase of c and a relative decrease of v+s. This is the simple law for a
progressive efficiency of human labour, valid for all societies of economic
progress, independently of their historical forms, a formula which only
states that living labour is increasingly able to convert more means of
production into objects for use in an ever shorter time. And if (v + s)
decreases as a whole, so must v, as its part, decrease in relation to the total
value of the product. To kick against this, to try and stop the decrease,
would be tantamount to contending against the general effects of a growing
labour productivity. Further, there is within (v + s) as well a change in the
direction of a relative decrease in v and a relative increase in s, that is to say,
an ever smaller part of the newly created value is spent on wages and an
ever greater part is appropriated as surplus value. This is the specifically
capitalist formula of progressive labour productivity which, under capitalist
conditions of production, is no less valid than the general law. To use the
power of the state to prevent a decrease of v as against s would mean that
the fundamental commodity of labour power is debarred from this progress
which decreases production costs for all commodities; it would mean the
exemption of this one commodity from the economic effects of technical
progress. More than that: the ‘declining wage rate’ is only another
expression of the rising rate of surplus value which forms the most
powerful and effective means of checking a decline of the profit rate, and
which therefore represents the prime incentive for capitalist production in
general, and for technical progress within this system of production in
particular. Doing away with the ‘declining wage rate’ by way of legislation
would be as much as to do away with the raison d’être of capitalist society,
to deal a crippling blow to its entire system. Let us face the facts: the
individual capitalist, just like capitalist society as a whole, has no
glimmering that the value of the product is made up from the sum total of
labour necessary in the society, and this is actually beyond his grasp. Value,
as the capitalist understands it, is the derivative form, reversed by
competition as production costs. While in truth the value of the product is
broken down into the values of its component fragments c, v and s, the
capitalist mind conceives of it as the summation of c, v and s. These, in
addition, also appear to him from a distorted perspective and in a secondary
Page 255
form, as (1) the wear and tear of his fixed capital, (2) his advances on
circulating capital, including workers’ wages, and (3) the current profits, i.e.
the average rate of profit on his entire capital. How, then, is the capitalist to
be compelled by a law, say of the kind envisaged by Rodbertus, to maintain
a ‘fixed wage rate’ in the face of the aggregate value of the product? It
would be quite as brilliant to stipulate by law for exactly one-third, no
more, no less, of the total price of the product to be payable for the raw
materials employed in the manufacture of any commodity. Obviously,
Rodbertus’ supreme notion, of which he was so proud, on which he built as
if it were a new Archimedean discovery, which was to be the specific for all
the ills of capitalist production, is arrant nonsense from all aspects of the
capitalist mode of production. It could only result from the muddle in the
theory of value which is brought to a head in Rodbertus’ inimitable phrase:
that ‘now, in a capitalist society, the product must have value-in-exchange
just as it had to have value-in-use in ancient economy’.[267] People in
ancient society had to eat bread and meat in order to live, but we of to-day
are already satisfied with knowing the price of bread and of meat. The most
obvious inference from Rodbertus’ monomania about a ‘fixed wage rate’ is
that he is quite incapable of understanding capitalist accumulation.
Previous quotations have already shown that Rodbertus thinks solely of
simple commodity production, quite in keeping with his mistaken doctrine
that the purpose of capitalist production is the manufacture of consumer
goods for the satisfaction of ‘human wants’. For he always talks of ‘capital
replacements’, of the need to enable the capitalists to ‘continue their
enterprise on the previous scale’. His principal argument, however, is
directly opposed to the accumulation of capital. To fix the rate of the
surplus value, to prevent its growth, is tantamount to paralysing the
accumulation of capital. Both Sismondi and v. Kirchmann had recognised
the problem of balancing production and consumption to be indeed a
problem of accumulation, that is to say of enlarged capitalist reproduction.
Both traced the disturbances in the equilibrium of reproduction to
accumulative tendencies denying the possibility of accumulation, with the
only difference that the one recommended a damper on the productive
forces as a remedy, while the other favoured their increasing employment to
produce luxuries, the entire surplus value to be consumed. In this field, too,
Rodbertus follows his own solitary path. The others might try with more or
less success to comprehend the fact of capitalist accumulation, but
circulating capital, including workers’ wages, and (3) the current profits, i.e.
the average rate of profit on his entire capital. How, then, is the capitalist to
be compelled by a law, say of the kind envisaged by Rodbertus, to maintain
a ‘fixed wage rate’ in the face of the aggregate value of the product? It
would be quite as brilliant to stipulate by law for exactly one-third, no
more, no less, of the total price of the product to be payable for the raw
materials employed in the manufacture of any commodity. Obviously,
Rodbertus’ supreme notion, of which he was so proud, on which he built as
if it were a new Archimedean discovery, which was to be the specific for all
the ills of capitalist production, is arrant nonsense from all aspects of the
capitalist mode of production. It could only result from the muddle in the
theory of value which is brought to a head in Rodbertus’ inimitable phrase:
that ‘now, in a capitalist society, the product must have value-in-exchange
just as it had to have value-in-use in ancient economy’.[267] People in
ancient society had to eat bread and meat in order to live, but we of to-day
are already satisfied with knowing the price of bread and of meat. The most
obvious inference from Rodbertus’ monomania about a ‘fixed wage rate’ is
that he is quite incapable of understanding capitalist accumulation.
Previous quotations have already shown that Rodbertus thinks solely of
simple commodity production, quite in keeping with his mistaken doctrine
that the purpose of capitalist production is the manufacture of consumer
goods for the satisfaction of ‘human wants’. For he always talks of ‘capital
replacements’, of the need to enable the capitalists to ‘continue their
enterprise on the previous scale’. His principal argument, however, is
directly opposed to the accumulation of capital. To fix the rate of the
surplus value, to prevent its growth, is tantamount to paralysing the
accumulation of capital. Both Sismondi and v. Kirchmann had recognised
the problem of balancing production and consumption to be indeed a
problem of accumulation, that is to say of enlarged capitalist reproduction.
Both traced the disturbances in the equilibrium of reproduction to
accumulative tendencies denying the possibility of accumulation, with the
only difference that the one recommended a damper on the productive
forces as a remedy, while the other favoured their increasing employment to
produce luxuries, the entire surplus value to be consumed. In this field, too,
Rodbertus follows his own solitary path. The others might try with more or
less success to comprehend the fact of capitalist accumulation, but
Page 256
Rodbertus prefers to fight the very concept. ‘Economists since Adam Smith
have one after the other echoed the principle, setting it up as a universal and
absolute truth, that capital could only come about by saving and
accumulating.’[268]
Rodbertus is up in arms against this ‘deluded judgment’. Over sixty pages
of print he sets out in detail that (a) it is not saving which is the source of
capital but labour, that (b) the economists’ ‘delusion’ about ‘saving’ hails
from the extravagant view that capital is itself productive, and that (c) this
delusion is ultimately due to another: the error that capital is—capital.
v. Kirchmann for his part understood quite well what is at the bottom of
capitalist ‘savings’. He had the pretty argument: ‘Everyone knows that the
accumulation of capital is not a mere hoarding of reserves, an amassing of
metal and monies to remain idle in the owners’ vaults. Those who want to
save do it for the sake of re-employing their savings either personally or
through the agency of others as capital, in order to yield them revenue. That
is only possible if these capitals are used in new enterprises which can
produce so as to provide the required interest. One may build a ship,
another a barn, a third may reclaim a desolate swamp, a fourth may order a
new spinning frame, while a fifth, in order to enlarge his shoe-making
business, would buy more leather and employ more hands—and so on.
Only if the capital that has been saved is employed in this way, can it yield
interest (meaning profit), and the latter is the ultimate object of all
saving.’[269]
That is how v. Kirchmann described somewhat clumsily, but on the whole
correctly, what is in fact the capitalisation of surplus value, the process of
capitalist accumulation, which constitutes the whole significance of saving,
advocated by classical economists ‘since Adam Smith’ with unerring
instinct. Declaring war on saving and accumulation was quite in keeping
with v. Kirchmann’s premises, considering that he, like Sismondi, saw the
immediate cause of the crises in accumulation. Here, too, Rodbertus is more
‘thorough’. Having learned from Ricardo’s theory of value that labour is the
source of all value, and consequently of capital, too, he is completely
blinded by this elementary piece of knowledge to the entire complexity of
capitalist production and capital movements. Since capital is generated by
labour, both the accumulation of capital, i.e. ‘saving’, and the capitalisation
of the surplus value are nothing but eyewash.
have one after the other echoed the principle, setting it up as a universal and
absolute truth, that capital could only come about by saving and
accumulating.’[268]
Rodbertus is up in arms against this ‘deluded judgment’. Over sixty pages
of print he sets out in detail that (a) it is not saving which is the source of
capital but labour, that (b) the economists’ ‘delusion’ about ‘saving’ hails
from the extravagant view that capital is itself productive, and that (c) this
delusion is ultimately due to another: the error that capital is—capital.
v. Kirchmann for his part understood quite well what is at the bottom of
capitalist ‘savings’. He had the pretty argument: ‘Everyone knows that the
accumulation of capital is not a mere hoarding of reserves, an amassing of
metal and monies to remain idle in the owners’ vaults. Those who want to
save do it for the sake of re-employing their savings either personally or
through the agency of others as capital, in order to yield them revenue. That
is only possible if these capitals are used in new enterprises which can
produce so as to provide the required interest. One may build a ship,
another a barn, a third may reclaim a desolate swamp, a fourth may order a
new spinning frame, while a fifth, in order to enlarge his shoe-making
business, would buy more leather and employ more hands—and so on.
Only if the capital that has been saved is employed in this way, can it yield
interest (meaning profit), and the latter is the ultimate object of all
saving.’[269]
That is how v. Kirchmann described somewhat clumsily, but on the whole
correctly, what is in fact the capitalisation of surplus value, the process of
capitalist accumulation, which constitutes the whole significance of saving,
advocated by classical economists ‘since Adam Smith’ with unerring
instinct. Declaring war on saving and accumulation was quite in keeping
with v. Kirchmann’s premises, considering that he, like Sismondi, saw the
immediate cause of the crises in accumulation. Here, too, Rodbertus is more
‘thorough’. Having learned from Ricardo’s theory of value that labour is the
source of all value, and consequently of capital, too, he is completely
blinded by this elementary piece of knowledge to the entire complexity of
capitalist production and capital movements. Since capital is generated by
labour, both the accumulation of capital, i.e. ‘saving’, and the capitalisation
of the surplus value are nothing but eyewash.
Page 257
In order to untangle this intricate network of errors by ‘economists since
Adam Smith’, he takes, as we might expect, the example of the ‘isolated
husbandman’ and proves all that he needs by a long-drawn vivisection of
the unhappy creature. Here already he discovers ‘capital’, that is to say, of
course, that famous ‘original stick’ with which ‘economists since Adam
Smith’ have hooked the fruits of a theory of capital from the tree of
knowledge. ‘Would saving be able to produce this stick?’ is his query. And
since every normal person will understand that ‘saving’ cannot produce any
stick, that Robinson [Crusoe] must have made it of wood, we have already
proved that the ‘savings’ theory is quite mistaken. Presently, the ‘isolated
husbandman’ hooks a fruit from the tree with the stick, and this fruit is his
‘income’.
‘If capital were the source of income, already this most elementary and
primitive event would have to give evidence of this relation. Would it be
true to say, then, without doing violence to facts and concepts, that the stick
is a source of income or of part of the income consisting in the fruit brought
down? can we trace income, wholly or in part, back to the stick as its cause,
may we consider it, wholly or in parts, as a product of the stick?’[270]
Surely not. And since the fruit is the product, not of the stick which brought
it down, but of the tree which grew it, Rodbertus has already proved that all
‘economists since Adam Smith’ are grossly mistaken if they maintain that
income derives from capital. After a clear exposition of all fundamental
concepts of economics on the example of Robinson [Crusoe]’s ‘economy’,
Rodbertus transfers the knowledge thus acquired first to a fictitious society
‘without ownership in capital or land’, that is to say to a society with a
communist mode of possession, and then to a society ‘with ownership in
capital and land’, that is to say contemporary society, and, lo and behold—
all the laws of Robinson [Crusoe]’s economy apply point for point to these
two forms of society as well. Rodbertus contrives here a theory of capital
and income which is the very crown of his Utopian imagination. Since he
has discovered that Robinson [Crusoe]’s ‘capital’ is the means of production
pure and simple, he identifies capital with the means of production in
capitalist economy as well. Thus reducing capital, with a wave of his hand,
to constant capital, he protests in the name of justice and morality against
the fact that the wages, the workers’ means of subsistence, are also
considered capital. He contends furiously against the concept of variable
Adam Smith’, he takes, as we might expect, the example of the ‘isolated
husbandman’ and proves all that he needs by a long-drawn vivisection of
the unhappy creature. Here already he discovers ‘capital’, that is to say, of
course, that famous ‘original stick’ with which ‘economists since Adam
Smith’ have hooked the fruits of a theory of capital from the tree of
knowledge. ‘Would saving be able to produce this stick?’ is his query. And
since every normal person will understand that ‘saving’ cannot produce any
stick, that Robinson [Crusoe] must have made it of wood, we have already
proved that the ‘savings’ theory is quite mistaken. Presently, the ‘isolated
husbandman’ hooks a fruit from the tree with the stick, and this fruit is his
‘income’.
‘If capital were the source of income, already this most elementary and
primitive event would have to give evidence of this relation. Would it be
true to say, then, without doing violence to facts and concepts, that the stick
is a source of income or of part of the income consisting in the fruit brought
down? can we trace income, wholly or in part, back to the stick as its cause,
may we consider it, wholly or in parts, as a product of the stick?’[270]
Surely not. And since the fruit is the product, not of the stick which brought
it down, but of the tree which grew it, Rodbertus has already proved that all
‘economists since Adam Smith’ are grossly mistaken if they maintain that
income derives from capital. After a clear exposition of all fundamental
concepts of economics on the example of Robinson [Crusoe]’s ‘economy’,
Rodbertus transfers the knowledge thus acquired first to a fictitious society
‘without ownership in capital or land’, that is to say to a society with a
communist mode of possession, and then to a society ‘with ownership in
capital and land’, that is to say contemporary society, and, lo and behold—
all the laws of Robinson [Crusoe]’s economy apply point for point to these
two forms of society as well. Rodbertus contrives here a theory of capital
and income which is the very crown of his Utopian imagination. Since he
has discovered that Robinson [Crusoe]’s ‘capital’ is the means of production
pure and simple, he identifies capital with the means of production in
capitalist economy as well. Thus reducing capital, with a wave of his hand,
to constant capital, he protests in the name of justice and morality against
the fact that the wages, the workers’ means of subsistence, are also
considered capital. He contends furiously against the concept of variable
Page 258
capital, seeing in it the cause of every disaster. ‘If only’, he grieves,
‘economists would pay attention to what I say, if only they would examine
without prejudice whether they are right or I. This is the focal point of all
errors about capital in the ruling system, this is the ultimate source of
injustice against the working classes, in theory and practice alike.’[271]
For ‘justice’ demands that the goods constituting the ‘real wages’ of the
workers be counted, not as part of capital, but as belonging to the category
of income. Though Rodbertus knows very well that the capitalist must
regard the wages he has ‘advanced’ as part of his capital, just like the other
part laid out on immediate means of production, yet in his opinion this
applies only to individual capitals. As soon as it is a question of the social
aggregate product, of reproduction as a whole, he declares the capitalist
categories of production an illusion, a malicious lie and a ‘wrong’. ‘Capital
per se (properly so-called), the items which make up capital, capital from
the nation’s point of view, is something quite different from private capital,
capital assets, capital property, all that “capital” in the modern use of the
term usually stands for.’[272]
An individual capitalist produces by capitalist methods, but society as a
whole must produce like Robinson [Crusoe], as a collective owner
employing communist methods.
‘It makes no difference from this general and national point of view that
greater or smaller parts of the aggregate national product are now owned in
all the various phases of production by private persons who must not be
numbered among the producers proper, and that the latter always
manufacture this national aggregate product as servants—without sharing in
the ownership of their own product—of these few owners.’
Certain peculiarities of the relations within the society as a whole no doubt
result from this, namely (1) the institution of ‘exchange’ as an intermediary,
and (2) the inequality in the distribution of the product.
‘Yet all these consequences do not affect the movements of national
production and the shaping of the national product which are always the
same, now as ever (under the rule of communism), no more than they alter
in any respect, as far as the national point of view is concerned, the contrast
between capital and income so far established.’
‘economists would pay attention to what I say, if only they would examine
without prejudice whether they are right or I. This is the focal point of all
errors about capital in the ruling system, this is the ultimate source of
injustice against the working classes, in theory and practice alike.’[271]
For ‘justice’ demands that the goods constituting the ‘real wages’ of the
workers be counted, not as part of capital, but as belonging to the category
of income. Though Rodbertus knows very well that the capitalist must
regard the wages he has ‘advanced’ as part of his capital, just like the other
part laid out on immediate means of production, yet in his opinion this
applies only to individual capitals. As soon as it is a question of the social
aggregate product, of reproduction as a whole, he declares the capitalist
categories of production an illusion, a malicious lie and a ‘wrong’. ‘Capital
per se (properly so-called), the items which make up capital, capital from
the nation’s point of view, is something quite different from private capital,
capital assets, capital property, all that “capital” in the modern use of the
term usually stands for.’[272]
An individual capitalist produces by capitalist methods, but society as a
whole must produce like Robinson [Crusoe], as a collective owner
employing communist methods.
‘It makes no difference from this general and national point of view that
greater or smaller parts of the aggregate national product are now owned in
all the various phases of production by private persons who must not be
numbered among the producers proper, and that the latter always
manufacture this national aggregate product as servants—without sharing in
the ownership of their own product—of these few owners.’
Certain peculiarities of the relations within the society as a whole no doubt
result from this, namely (1) the institution of ‘exchange’ as an intermediary,
and (2) the inequality in the distribution of the product.
‘Yet all these consequences do not affect the movements of national
production and the shaping of the national product which are always the
same, now as ever (under the rule of communism), no more than they alter
in any respect, as far as the national point of view is concerned, the contrast
between capital and income so far established.’
Page 259
Sismondi had laboured in the sweat of his brow, as had Smith and many
others, to disentangle the concepts of capital and income from the
contradictions of capitalist production. Rodbertus has a simpler method and
abstracts from the specific forms determined by capitalist production for
society as a whole; he simply calls the means of production ‘capital’ and the
article of consumption ‘revenue’ and leaves it at that.
‘The essential influence of ownership in land and capital applies only to
individuals having traffic with one another. If the nation is taken as a unit,
the effects of such ownership upon the individuals completely
disappear.’[273]
We see that as soon as Rodbertus comes up against the real problem, the
capitalist aggregate product and its movements, he exhibits the Utopian’s
characteristic obtuseness in respect of the historical peculiarities of
production. Marx’s comment on Proudhon, that ‘speaking of society as a
whole, he pretends that this society is no longer capitalist’ therefore fits him
like a glove. The case of Rodbertus again exemplifies how every economist
before Marx had been at a loss when it came to harmonising the concrete
aspects of the labour process with the perspective of capitalist production
which regards everything in terms of value, to mediating between the forms
of movement performed by individual capitals and the movement of social
capital. Such efforts as a rule vacillate from one extreme to another: the
shallow approach of Say and MacCulloch, recognising only the conceptions
of individual capital, and the Utopian approach of Proudhon and Rodbertus
who recognise only those of the process of labour. That is the context in
which Marx’s penetration appears in its true light. His diagram of simple
reproduction illuminates the entire problem by gathering up all these
perspectives in their harmony and their contradictions, and so resolves the
hopeless obscurities of innumerable tomes into two rows of figures of
striking simplicity.
On the strength of such views on capital and income as these, capitalist
appropriation is clearly quite impossible to understand. Indeed, Rodbertus
simply brands it as ‘robbery’ and indicts it before the forum of the rights of
property it so blatantly violates.
‘This personal freedom of the workers which ought legally to involve
ownership in the value of the labour product, leads in practice to their
others, to disentangle the concepts of capital and income from the
contradictions of capitalist production. Rodbertus has a simpler method and
abstracts from the specific forms determined by capitalist production for
society as a whole; he simply calls the means of production ‘capital’ and the
article of consumption ‘revenue’ and leaves it at that.
‘The essential influence of ownership in land and capital applies only to
individuals having traffic with one another. If the nation is taken as a unit,
the effects of such ownership upon the individuals completely
disappear.’[273]
We see that as soon as Rodbertus comes up against the real problem, the
capitalist aggregate product and its movements, he exhibits the Utopian’s
characteristic obtuseness in respect of the historical peculiarities of
production. Marx’s comment on Proudhon, that ‘speaking of society as a
whole, he pretends that this society is no longer capitalist’ therefore fits him
like a glove. The case of Rodbertus again exemplifies how every economist
before Marx had been at a loss when it came to harmonising the concrete
aspects of the labour process with the perspective of capitalist production
which regards everything in terms of value, to mediating between the forms
of movement performed by individual capitals and the movement of social
capital. Such efforts as a rule vacillate from one extreme to another: the
shallow approach of Say and MacCulloch, recognising only the conceptions
of individual capital, and the Utopian approach of Proudhon and Rodbertus
who recognise only those of the process of labour. That is the context in
which Marx’s penetration appears in its true light. His diagram of simple
reproduction illuminates the entire problem by gathering up all these
perspectives in their harmony and their contradictions, and so resolves the
hopeless obscurities of innumerable tomes into two rows of figures of
striking simplicity.
On the strength of such views on capital and income as these, capitalist
appropriation is clearly quite impossible to understand. Indeed, Rodbertus
simply brands it as ‘robbery’ and indicts it before the forum of the rights of
property it so blatantly violates.
‘This personal freedom of the workers which ought legally to involve
ownership in the value of the labour product, leads in practice to their
Page 260
renunciation of the proprietary claims extorted under pressure of ownership
in land and capital; but the owners do not admit to this great and universal
wrong, almost as though they were instinctively afraid that history might
follow its own stern and inexorable logic.’[274]
Rodbertus’ ‘theory in all its details is therefore conclusive proof that those
who praise present-day relations of ownership without being able at the
same time to ground ownership in anything but labour, completely
contradict their own principle. It proves that the property relations of to-day
are in fact founded on a universal violation of this principle, that the great
individual fortunes being amassed in society nowadays are the result of
cumulative robbery mounting up in society with every new-born worker
since time immemorial.’[275]
Since surplus value is thus branded as ‘robbery’, an increasing rate of
surplus value must appear ‘as a strange error of present-day economic
organisation’. Brissot’s crude paradox with its revolutionary ring
—‘property is theft’—had been the starting point for Proudhon’s first
pamphlet, but Rodbertus’ thesis is quite another matter, arguing that capital
is theft perpetrated on property. It need only be set side by side with Marx’s
chapter on the transformation of the laws of ownership into the laws of
capitalist appropriation—this triumph of historical dialectics in vol. i of
Marx’s Capital—in order to show up Rodbertus’ ‘priority’. By ranting
against capitalist appropriation under the aspect of the ‘right of property’,
Rodbertus closed his mind to capital as the source of surplus value just as
effectively as he had previously been prevented by his tirades against
‘saving’ from seeing the surplus value as a source of capital. He is thus in
an even worse position than v. Kirchmann, lacking all qualifications for
understanding capitalist accumulation.
What it amounts to is that Rodbertus wants unrestricted expansion of
production without saving, that is to say without capitalist accumulation!
He wants an unlimited growth of the productive forces, and at the same
time a rate of surplus value stabilised by an act of law. In short, he shows
himself quite unable to grasp the real foundations of capitalist production he
wishes to reform, and to understand the most important results of the
classical economics he criticises so adversely.
in land and capital; but the owners do not admit to this great and universal
wrong, almost as though they were instinctively afraid that history might
follow its own stern and inexorable logic.’[274]
Rodbertus’ ‘theory in all its details is therefore conclusive proof that those
who praise present-day relations of ownership without being able at the
same time to ground ownership in anything but labour, completely
contradict their own principle. It proves that the property relations of to-day
are in fact founded on a universal violation of this principle, that the great
individual fortunes being amassed in society nowadays are the result of
cumulative robbery mounting up in society with every new-born worker
since time immemorial.’[275]
Since surplus value is thus branded as ‘robbery’, an increasing rate of
surplus value must appear ‘as a strange error of present-day economic
organisation’. Brissot’s crude paradox with its revolutionary ring
—‘property is theft’—had been the starting point for Proudhon’s first
pamphlet, but Rodbertus’ thesis is quite another matter, arguing that capital
is theft perpetrated on property. It need only be set side by side with Marx’s
chapter on the transformation of the laws of ownership into the laws of
capitalist appropriation—this triumph of historical dialectics in vol. i of
Marx’s Capital—in order to show up Rodbertus’ ‘priority’. By ranting
against capitalist appropriation under the aspect of the ‘right of property’,
Rodbertus closed his mind to capital as the source of surplus value just as
effectively as he had previously been prevented by his tirades against
‘saving’ from seeing the surplus value as a source of capital. He is thus in
an even worse position than v. Kirchmann, lacking all qualifications for
understanding capitalist accumulation.
What it amounts to is that Rodbertus wants unrestricted expansion of
production without saving, that is to say without capitalist accumulation!
He wants an unlimited growth of the productive forces, and at the same
time a rate of surplus value stabilised by an act of law. In short, he shows
himself quite unable to grasp the real foundations of capitalist production he
wishes to reform, and to understand the most important results of the
classical economics he criticises so adversely.
Page 261
It is no more than to be expected, therefore, that Prof. Diehl should declare
Rodbertus a pioneer of economic theory on the strength of his ‘new theory
of income’ and of the distinction between the logical and the historical
categories of capital (capital properly so-called in contrast to individual
capital), that Prof. Adolf Wagner should call him the ‘Ricardo of economic
socialism’, proving himself ignorant at once of Ricardo, Rodbertus and
socialism alike. Lexis even judges that Rodbertus is at least the equal of ‘his
British rival’ in power of abstract thinking, and by far his superior in
‘virtuosity to lay bare the phenomena in their ultimate connections’, in
‘imaginative vitality’, and above all in his ‘ethical approach to economic
life’. Rodbertus’ real achievements in economic theory however, other than
his critique of Ricardo’s ground rent, his at times quite clear-cut distinction
between surplus value and profit, his treatment of the surplus value as a
whole in deliberate contrast with its partial manifestations, his critique of
Smith’s dogma concerning the analysis of commodities in terms of value,
his precise formulation of the periodical character of the crises and his
analysis of their manifestations—all these attempts to carry the
investigation beyond Smith, Ricardo and Say, promising as such, though
doomed to failure because of the confused basic concepts, are rather above
the heads of Rodbertus’ official admirers. As Franz Mehring already
pointed out, it was Rodbertus’ strange fortune to be lauded to heaven for his
alleged prowess in economics by the same people who called him to task
for his real merits in politics. This contrast between economic and political
achievements, however, does not concern us here: in the realm of economic
theory, his admirers built him a grand memorial on the barren field he had
dug with the hopeless zeal of the visionary, while the modest beds where he
had sown a few fertile seeds, were allowed to be smothered with weeds and
forgotten.[276]
It cannot be said that the problem of accumulation had on the whole been
much advanced beyond the first controversy by this Prusso-Pomeranian
treatment. If in the interim the economic theory of harmony had dropped
from the level of Ricardo to that of a Bastiat-Schultze, social criticism had
correspondingly declined from Sismondi to Rodbertus. Sismondi’s critique
of 1819 had been an historical event, but Rodbertus’ ideas of reform, even
on their first appearance, were a miserable regression—still more so on
their subsequent reiteration.
Rodbertus a pioneer of economic theory on the strength of his ‘new theory
of income’ and of the distinction between the logical and the historical
categories of capital (capital properly so-called in contrast to individual
capital), that Prof. Adolf Wagner should call him the ‘Ricardo of economic
socialism’, proving himself ignorant at once of Ricardo, Rodbertus and
socialism alike. Lexis even judges that Rodbertus is at least the equal of ‘his
British rival’ in power of abstract thinking, and by far his superior in
‘virtuosity to lay bare the phenomena in their ultimate connections’, in
‘imaginative vitality’, and above all in his ‘ethical approach to economic
life’. Rodbertus’ real achievements in economic theory however, other than
his critique of Ricardo’s ground rent, his at times quite clear-cut distinction
between surplus value and profit, his treatment of the surplus value as a
whole in deliberate contrast with its partial manifestations, his critique of
Smith’s dogma concerning the analysis of commodities in terms of value,
his precise formulation of the periodical character of the crises and his
analysis of their manifestations—all these attempts to carry the
investigation beyond Smith, Ricardo and Say, promising as such, though
doomed to failure because of the confused basic concepts, are rather above
the heads of Rodbertus’ official admirers. As Franz Mehring already
pointed out, it was Rodbertus’ strange fortune to be lauded to heaven for his
alleged prowess in economics by the same people who called him to task
for his real merits in politics. This contrast between economic and political
achievements, however, does not concern us here: in the realm of economic
theory, his admirers built him a grand memorial on the barren field he had
dug with the hopeless zeal of the visionary, while the modest beds where he
had sown a few fertile seeds, were allowed to be smothered with weeds and
forgotten.[276]
It cannot be said that the problem of accumulation had on the whole been
much advanced beyond the first controversy by this Prusso-Pomeranian
treatment. If in the interim the economic theory of harmony had dropped
from the level of Ricardo to that of a Bastiat-Schultze, social criticism had
correspondingly declined from Sismondi to Rodbertus. Sismondi’s critique
of 1819 had been an historical event, but Rodbertus’ ideas of reform, even
on their first appearance, were a miserable regression—still more so on
their subsequent reiteration.
Page 262
In the controversy between Sismondi on the one hand and Say and Ricardo
on the other, one party proved that accumulation was impossible because of
the crises, and therefore warned against full development of the productive
forces. The other party proved that crises were impossible and advocated an
unlimited development of accumulation. Though all argued from wrong
premises, each was logically consistent.
v. Kirchmann and Rodbertus both started, were bound to start, from the fact
of crises. Here the problem of enlarged reproduction of aggregate capital,
the problem of accumulation, was completely identified with the problem of
crises and side-tracked in an attempt to find a remedy for the crises,
although the historical experience of fifty years had shown all too clearly
that crises, as witnessed by their periodical recurrence, are a necessary
phase in capitalist reproduction. One side now sees the remedy in the
complete consumption of the surplus value by the capitalist, that is to say in
refraining from accumulation, the other in stabilisation of the rate of surplus
value by legislative measures which comes to the same thing, i.e.
renouncing accumulation altogether. This special fad of Rodbertus’ sprang
from his fervent and explicit belief in an unlimited capitalist expansion of
the productive forces and of wealth, without accumulation of capital. At a
time when capitalist production was developed to a degree which was soon
to enable Marx to make his fundamental analysis, the last attempt of
bourgeois economics to cope with the problem of reproduction degenerated
into absurd and puerile Utopianism.
on the other, one party proved that accumulation was impossible because of
the crises, and therefore warned against full development of the productive
forces. The other party proved that crises were impossible and advocated an
unlimited development of accumulation. Though all argued from wrong
premises, each was logically consistent.
v. Kirchmann and Rodbertus both started, were bound to start, from the fact
of crises. Here the problem of enlarged reproduction of aggregate capital,
the problem of accumulation, was completely identified with the problem of
crises and side-tracked in an attempt to find a remedy for the crises,
although the historical experience of fifty years had shown all too clearly
that crises, as witnessed by their periodical recurrence, are a necessary
phase in capitalist reproduction. One side now sees the remedy in the
complete consumption of the surplus value by the capitalist, that is to say in
refraining from accumulation, the other in stabilisation of the rate of surplus
value by legislative measures which comes to the same thing, i.e.
renouncing accumulation altogether. This special fad of Rodbertus’ sprang
from his fervent and explicit belief in an unlimited capitalist expansion of
the productive forces and of wealth, without accumulation of capital. At a
time when capitalist production was developed to a degree which was soon
to enable Marx to make his fundamental analysis, the last attempt of
bourgeois economics to cope with the problem of reproduction degenerated
into absurd and puerile Utopianism.
Page 263
SECTION TWO
★
★
Page 264
HISTORICAL EXPOSITION OF THE
PROBLEM
★
THIRD ROUND
STRUVE-BULGAKOV-TUGAN BARANOVSKI v.
VORONTSOV-NIKOLAYON
PROBLEM
★
THIRD ROUND
STRUVE-BULGAKOV-TUGAN BARANOVSKI v.
VORONTSOV-NIKOLAYON
Page 265
CHAPTER XVIII
Page 266
A NEW VERSION OF THE PROBLEM
The third controversy about capitalist accumulation takes place in an
historical setting quite different from that of the two earlier ones. The time
now is the period from the beginning of the eighties to the middle of the
nineties, the scene Russia. In Western Europe, capitalism had already
attained maturity. The rose-coloured classical view of Smith and Ricardo in
a budding bourgeois economy had long since vanished ... the self-interested
optimism of the vulgarian Manchester doctrine of harmony had been
silenced by the devastating impact of the world collapse in the seventies,
and under the heavy blows of a violent class struggle that blazed up in all
capitalist countries after the sixties. Even that harmony patched up with
social reformism which had its hey-day after the early eighties, especially in
Germany, soon ended in a hangover. The trial of twelve years’ special
legislation against the Social Democratic Party had brought about bitter
disillusionment, and ultimately destroyed all the veils of harmony, revealing
the cruel capitalist contradictions in their naked reality. Since then,
optimism had only been possible in the camp of the rising working class
and its theorists. This was admittedly not optimism about a natural, or
artificially established equilibrium of capitalist economy, or about the
eternal duration of capitalism, but rather the conviction that capitalism, by
mightily furthering the development of the productive forces, and in virtue
of its inherent contradictions, would provide an excellent soil for the
historical progress of society towards new economic and social forms. The
negative, depressing tendency of the first stage of capitalism, at one time
realised by Sismondi alone and still observed by Rodbertus as late as the
forties and fifties, is compensated by a tendency towards elation: the
hopeful and victorious striving of the workers for ascendancy in their trade-
union movement and by political action.
Such was the setting in Western Europe. In the Russia of that time,
however, the picture was different indeed. Here, the seventies and eighties
represent in every respect a period of transition, a period of internal crises
with all its agonies. Big industry only now staged its real entry, fostered by
the period of high protective tariffs. In particular, the introduction of a tariff
The third controversy about capitalist accumulation takes place in an
historical setting quite different from that of the two earlier ones. The time
now is the period from the beginning of the eighties to the middle of the
nineties, the scene Russia. In Western Europe, capitalism had already
attained maturity. The rose-coloured classical view of Smith and Ricardo in
a budding bourgeois economy had long since vanished ... the self-interested
optimism of the vulgarian Manchester doctrine of harmony had been
silenced by the devastating impact of the world collapse in the seventies,
and under the heavy blows of a violent class struggle that blazed up in all
capitalist countries after the sixties. Even that harmony patched up with
social reformism which had its hey-day after the early eighties, especially in
Germany, soon ended in a hangover. The trial of twelve years’ special
legislation against the Social Democratic Party had brought about bitter
disillusionment, and ultimately destroyed all the veils of harmony, revealing
the cruel capitalist contradictions in their naked reality. Since then,
optimism had only been possible in the camp of the rising working class
and its theorists. This was admittedly not optimism about a natural, or
artificially established equilibrium of capitalist economy, or about the
eternal duration of capitalism, but rather the conviction that capitalism, by
mightily furthering the development of the productive forces, and in virtue
of its inherent contradictions, would provide an excellent soil for the
historical progress of society towards new economic and social forms. The
negative, depressing tendency of the first stage of capitalism, at one time
realised by Sismondi alone and still observed by Rodbertus as late as the
forties and fifties, is compensated by a tendency towards elation: the
hopeful and victorious striving of the workers for ascendancy in their trade-
union movement and by political action.
Such was the setting in Western Europe. In the Russia of that time,
however, the picture was different indeed. Here, the seventies and eighties
represent in every respect a period of transition, a period of internal crises
with all its agonies. Big industry only now staged its real entry, fostered by
the period of high protective tariffs. In particular, the introduction of a tariff
Page 267
on gold at the Western frontier in 1877 was a special landmark in the
absolutist government’s new policy of forcing the growth of capitalism.
‘Primitive accumulation’ of capital flourished splendidly in Russia,
encouraged by all kinds of state subsidies, guarantees, premiums and
government orders. It earned profits which would already seem legendary
to the West. Yet the picture of internal conditions in contemporary Russia
was anything but attractive and auspicious. On the plains, the decline and
disintegration of rural economy under the pressure of exploitation by the
Exchequer and the monetary system caused terrible conditions, periodical
famines and peasant risings. In the towns, again, the factory proletariat had
not yet been consolidated, either socially or mentally, into a modern
working class. For the greater part, it was still closely connected with
agriculture, and remained semi-rural, particularly in the large industrial
parts of Moscow-Vladimir, the most important centre of the Russian textile
industry. Accordingly, primitive forms of exploitation were countered by
primitive measures of defence. Not until the early eighties did the
spontaneous factory revolts in the Moscow district with their smashing up
of machines provide the impetus for the first rudiments of factory
legislation in the Czarist Empire.
If the economic aspect of Russian public life showed at every step the harsh
discords of a period of transition, there was a corresponding crisis in
intellectual life. ‘Populism’, the indigenous brand of Russian socialism,
theoretically grounded in the peculiarities of the Russian agrarian
constitution, was politically finished with the failure of the terrorist party of
‘Narodnaya Volya’, its extreme revolutionary exponent. The first writings
of George Plekhanov, on the other hand, which were to pave the way in
Russia for Marxist trains of thought, had only been published in 1883 and
1885, and for about a decade they seemed to have little influence. During
the eighties and up to the nineties the mental life of the Russian, and in
particular of the socialist intelligentsia with their tendency towards
opposition, was dominated by a peculiar mixture of ‘indigenous’ ‘populist’
remnants and random elements of theoretical Marxism. The most
remarkable feature of this mixture was scepticism as to the possibility of
capitalist development in Russia.
At an early date, the Russian intelligentsia had been preoccupied with the
question whether Russia should follow the example of Western Europe and
absolutist government’s new policy of forcing the growth of capitalism.
‘Primitive accumulation’ of capital flourished splendidly in Russia,
encouraged by all kinds of state subsidies, guarantees, premiums and
government orders. It earned profits which would already seem legendary
to the West. Yet the picture of internal conditions in contemporary Russia
was anything but attractive and auspicious. On the plains, the decline and
disintegration of rural economy under the pressure of exploitation by the
Exchequer and the monetary system caused terrible conditions, periodical
famines and peasant risings. In the towns, again, the factory proletariat had
not yet been consolidated, either socially or mentally, into a modern
working class. For the greater part, it was still closely connected with
agriculture, and remained semi-rural, particularly in the large industrial
parts of Moscow-Vladimir, the most important centre of the Russian textile
industry. Accordingly, primitive forms of exploitation were countered by
primitive measures of defence. Not until the early eighties did the
spontaneous factory revolts in the Moscow district with their smashing up
of machines provide the impetus for the first rudiments of factory
legislation in the Czarist Empire.
If the economic aspect of Russian public life showed at every step the harsh
discords of a period of transition, there was a corresponding crisis in
intellectual life. ‘Populism’, the indigenous brand of Russian socialism,
theoretically grounded in the peculiarities of the Russian agrarian
constitution, was politically finished with the failure of the terrorist party of
‘Narodnaya Volya’, its extreme revolutionary exponent. The first writings
of George Plekhanov, on the other hand, which were to pave the way in
Russia for Marxist trains of thought, had only been published in 1883 and
1885, and for about a decade they seemed to have little influence. During
the eighties and up to the nineties the mental life of the Russian, and in
particular of the socialist intelligentsia with their tendency towards
opposition, was dominated by a peculiar mixture of ‘indigenous’ ‘populist’
remnants and random elements of theoretical Marxism. The most
remarkable feature of this mixture was scepticism as to the possibility of
capitalist development in Russia.
At an early date, the Russian intelligentsia had been preoccupied with the
question whether Russia should follow the example of Western Europe and
Page 268
embark on capitalist development. At first, they noticed only the bleak
aspects of capitalism in the West, its disintegrating effects upon the
traditional patriarchal forms of production and upon the prosperity and
assured livelihood for the broad masses of the population. As against that,
the Russian rural communal ownership in land, the famous obshchina,
seemed to offer a short-cut to the blessed land of socialism, a lead direct to
a higher social development of Russia, without the capitalist phase and its
attendant misery as experienced in Western Europe. Would it be right to
fling away this fortunate and exceptional position, this unique historical
opportunity, and forcibly transplant capitalist production to Russia with the
help of the state? Would it be right to destroy the system of rural holdings
and production, and open the doors wide to proletarisation, to misery and
insecurity of existence for the toiling masses?
The Russian intelligentsia was preoccupied with this fundamental problem
ever since the Agrarian Reform, and even earlier, since Hertzen, and
especially since Chernishevski. This was the wholly unique world view of
‘populism’ in a nutshell. An enormous literature was created in Russia by
this intellectual tendency ranging from the avowedly reactionary doctrines
of the Slavophiles to the revolutionary theory of the terrorist party. On the
one hand, it encouraged the collection of vast material by separate inquiries
into the economic forms of Russian life, into ‘national production’ and its
singular aspects, into agriculture as practised by the peasant communes,
into the domestic industries of the peasants, the artel, and also into the
mental life of the peasants, the sects and similar phenomena. On the other
hand, a peculiar type of belles lettres sprang up as the artistic reflection of
the contradictory social conditions, the struggle between old and new ways
which beset the mind at every step with difficult problems. Finally, in the
seventies and eighties, a peculiarly stuffy philosophy of history sprang up
from the same root and found its champions in Peter Lavrov, Nicolai
Mikhailovski, Professor Kareyev and V. Vorontsov. It was the ‘subjective
method in sociology’ which declared ‘critical thought’ to be the decisive
factor in social development, or which, more precisely, sought to make a
down-at-heel intelligentsia the agent of historical progress.
Here we are interested only in one aspect of this wide field with its many
ramifications, viz: the struggle of opinions regarding the chances of
capitalist development, and even then only in so far as these were based
aspects of capitalism in the West, its disintegrating effects upon the
traditional patriarchal forms of production and upon the prosperity and
assured livelihood for the broad masses of the population. As against that,
the Russian rural communal ownership in land, the famous obshchina,
seemed to offer a short-cut to the blessed land of socialism, a lead direct to
a higher social development of Russia, without the capitalist phase and its
attendant misery as experienced in Western Europe. Would it be right to
fling away this fortunate and exceptional position, this unique historical
opportunity, and forcibly transplant capitalist production to Russia with the
help of the state? Would it be right to destroy the system of rural holdings
and production, and open the doors wide to proletarisation, to misery and
insecurity of existence for the toiling masses?
The Russian intelligentsia was preoccupied with this fundamental problem
ever since the Agrarian Reform, and even earlier, since Hertzen, and
especially since Chernishevski. This was the wholly unique world view of
‘populism’ in a nutshell. An enormous literature was created in Russia by
this intellectual tendency ranging from the avowedly reactionary doctrines
of the Slavophiles to the revolutionary theory of the terrorist party. On the
one hand, it encouraged the collection of vast material by separate inquiries
into the economic forms of Russian life, into ‘national production’ and its
singular aspects, into agriculture as practised by the peasant communes,
into the domestic industries of the peasants, the artel, and also into the
mental life of the peasants, the sects and similar phenomena. On the other
hand, a peculiar type of belles lettres sprang up as the artistic reflection of
the contradictory social conditions, the struggle between old and new ways
which beset the mind at every step with difficult problems. Finally, in the
seventies and eighties, a peculiarly stuffy philosophy of history sprang up
from the same root and found its champions in Peter Lavrov, Nicolai
Mikhailovski, Professor Kareyev and V. Vorontsov. It was the ‘subjective
method in sociology’ which declared ‘critical thought’ to be the decisive
factor in social development, or which, more precisely, sought to make a
down-at-heel intelligentsia the agent of historical progress.
Here we are interested only in one aspect of this wide field with its many
ramifications, viz: the struggle of opinions regarding the chances of
capitalist development, and even then only in so far as these were based
Page 269
upon general reflections on the social conditions of the capitalist mode of
production, since these latter were also to play a big part in the Russian
controversial literature of the eighties and nineties.
The point at issue was to begin with Russian capitalism and its prospects,
but this, of course, led further afield to the whole problem of capitalist
development. The example and the experiences of the West were adduced
as vital evidence in this debate.
One fact was of decisive importance for the theoretical content of the
discussion that followed: not only was Marx’s analysis of capitalist
production as laid down in the first volume of Capital already common
property of educated Russia, but the second volume, too, with its analysis of
the reproduction of capital as a whole had already been published in 1885.
This gave a fundamentally new twist to the discussion. No more did the
problem of crises obscure the real crux of the problem: for the first time, the
argument centred purely in the reproduction of capital as a whole, in
accumulation. Nor was the analysis bogged any longer by an aimless
fumbling for the concepts of income and of individual and aggregate
capital. Marx’s diagram of social reproduction had provided a firm
foothold. Finally, the issue was no longer between laissez-faire and social
reform, but between two varieties of socialism. The petty-bourgeois and
somewhat muddled ‘populist’ brand of Russian socialists stood for
scepticism regarding the possibility of capitalist development, much in the
spirit of Sismondi and, in part, of Rodbertus, though they themselves
frequently cited Marx as their authority. Optimism, on the other hand, was
represented by the Marxist school in Russia. Thus the setting of the stage
had been shifted completely.
One of the two champions of the ‘populist’ movement, Vorontsov, known in
Russia mainly under the nom de plume V. V., (his initials), was an odd
customer. His economics were completely muddled, and as an expert on
theory he cannot be taken seriously at all. The other, Nikolayon
(Danielson), however, was a man of wide education, and thoroughly
conversant with Marxism. He had edited the Russian translation of the first
volume of Capital and was a personal friend of Marx and Engels, with both
of whom he kept up a lively correspondence (published in the Russian
language in 1908). Nevertheless it was Vorontsov who influenced public
opinion among the Russian intelligentsia in the eighties, and Marxists in
production, since these latter were also to play a big part in the Russian
controversial literature of the eighties and nineties.
The point at issue was to begin with Russian capitalism and its prospects,
but this, of course, led further afield to the whole problem of capitalist
development. The example and the experiences of the West were adduced
as vital evidence in this debate.
One fact was of decisive importance for the theoretical content of the
discussion that followed: not only was Marx’s analysis of capitalist
production as laid down in the first volume of Capital already common
property of educated Russia, but the second volume, too, with its analysis of
the reproduction of capital as a whole had already been published in 1885.
This gave a fundamentally new twist to the discussion. No more did the
problem of crises obscure the real crux of the problem: for the first time, the
argument centred purely in the reproduction of capital as a whole, in
accumulation. Nor was the analysis bogged any longer by an aimless
fumbling for the concepts of income and of individual and aggregate
capital. Marx’s diagram of social reproduction had provided a firm
foothold. Finally, the issue was no longer between laissez-faire and social
reform, but between two varieties of socialism. The petty-bourgeois and
somewhat muddled ‘populist’ brand of Russian socialists stood for
scepticism regarding the possibility of capitalist development, much in the
spirit of Sismondi and, in part, of Rodbertus, though they themselves
frequently cited Marx as their authority. Optimism, on the other hand, was
represented by the Marxist school in Russia. Thus the setting of the stage
had been shifted completely.
One of the two champions of the ‘populist’ movement, Vorontsov, known in
Russia mainly under the nom de plume V. V., (his initials), was an odd
customer. His economics were completely muddled, and as an expert on
theory he cannot be taken seriously at all. The other, Nikolayon
(Danielson), however, was a man of wide education, and thoroughly
conversant with Marxism. He had edited the Russian translation of the first
volume of Capital and was a personal friend of Marx and Engels, with both
of whom he kept up a lively correspondence (published in the Russian
language in 1908). Nevertheless it was Vorontsov who influenced public
opinion among the Russian intelligentsia in the eighties, and Marxists in
Page 270
Russia had to fight him above all. As for our problem: the general prospects
of capitalist development, a new generation of Russian Marxists, who had
learned from the historical experience and knowledge of Western Europe,
joined forces with George Plekhanov in opposition to the above-mentioned
two representatives of scepticism in the nineties. They were amongst others
Professor Kablukov, Professor Manuilov, Professor Issayev, Professor
Skvortsov, Vladimir Ilyin, Peter v. Struve, Bulgakov, and Professor Tugan
Baranovski. In the further course of our investigation we shall, however,
confine ourselves to the last three of these, since every one of them
furnished a more or less finished critique of this theory on the point with
which we are here concerned. This battle of wits, brilliant in parts, which
kept the socialist intelligentsia spellbound in the nineties and was only
brought to an end by the walkover of the Marxist school, officially
inaugurated the infiltration into Russian thought of Marxism as an
economico-historical theory. ‘Legalist’ Marxism at that time publicly took
possession of the Universities, the Reviews and the economic book market
in Russia—with all the disadvantages of such a position. Ten years later,
when the revolutionary risings of the proletariat demonstrated in the streets
the darker side of this optimism about capitalist development, none of this
Pleïad of Marxist optimists, with but a single exception, was to be found in
the camp of the proletariat.
of capitalist development, a new generation of Russian Marxists, who had
learned from the historical experience and knowledge of Western Europe,
joined forces with George Plekhanov in opposition to the above-mentioned
two representatives of scepticism in the nineties. They were amongst others
Professor Kablukov, Professor Manuilov, Professor Issayev, Professor
Skvortsov, Vladimir Ilyin, Peter v. Struve, Bulgakov, and Professor Tugan
Baranovski. In the further course of our investigation we shall, however,
confine ourselves to the last three of these, since every one of them
furnished a more or less finished critique of this theory on the point with
which we are here concerned. This battle of wits, brilliant in parts, which
kept the socialist intelligentsia spellbound in the nineties and was only
brought to an end by the walkover of the Marxist school, officially
inaugurated the infiltration into Russian thought of Marxism as an
economico-historical theory. ‘Legalist’ Marxism at that time publicly took
possession of the Universities, the Reviews and the economic book market
in Russia—with all the disadvantages of such a position. Ten years later,
when the revolutionary risings of the proletariat demonstrated in the streets
the darker side of this optimism about capitalist development, none of this
Pleïad of Marxist optimists, with but a single exception, was to be found in
the camp of the proletariat.
Page 271
CHAPTER XIX
Page 272
VORONTSOV AND HIS ‘SURPLUS’
The representatives of Russian ‘populism’ were convinced that capitalism
had no future in Russia, and this conviction brought them to the problem of
capitalist reproduction. V. V. laid down his theories on this point in a series
of articles in the review Patriotic Memoirs and in other periodicals which
were collected and published in 1882 under the title The Destiny of
Capitalism in Russia. He further dealt with the problem in ‘The Commodity
Surplus in the Supply of the Market’,[277] ’Militarism and Capitalism’,[278]
Our Trends,[279] and finally in Outlines of Economic Theory.[280] It is not
easy to determine Vorontsov’s attitude towards capitalist development in
Russia. He sided neither with the purely slavophil theory which deduced the
perversity and perniciousness of capitalism for Russia from the
‘peculiarities’ of the Russian economic structure and a specifically Russian
‘national character’, nor with the Marxists who saw in capitalist
development an unavoidable historical stage which is needed to clear the
way towards social progress for Russian society, too. Vorontsov for his part
simply asserts that denunciation and acclamation of capitalism are equally
futile because, having no roots in Russia, capitalism is just impossible there
and can have no future. The essential conditions of capitalist development
are lacking in Russia, and love’s labour’s lost if the state tries to promote it
artificially—one might as well spare these efforts together with the heavy
sacrifices they entail. But if we look into the matter more closely,
Vorontsov’s thesis is not nearly so uncompromising. For if we pay attention
to the fact that capitalism does not mean only the accumulation of capital
wealth but also that the small producer is reduced to the proletarian level,
that the labourer’s livelihood is not assured and that there are periodical
crises, then Vorontsov would by no means deny that all these phenomena
exist in Russia. On the contrary, he explicitly says in his preface to The
Destiny of Capitalism in Russia: ‘Whilst I dispute the possibility of
capitalism as a form of production in Russia, I do not intend to commit
myself in any way as to its future as a form or degree of exploiting the
national resources.’
The representatives of Russian ‘populism’ were convinced that capitalism
had no future in Russia, and this conviction brought them to the problem of
capitalist reproduction. V. V. laid down his theories on this point in a series
of articles in the review Patriotic Memoirs and in other periodicals which
were collected and published in 1882 under the title The Destiny of
Capitalism in Russia. He further dealt with the problem in ‘The Commodity
Surplus in the Supply of the Market’,[277] ’Militarism and Capitalism’,[278]
Our Trends,[279] and finally in Outlines of Economic Theory.[280] It is not
easy to determine Vorontsov’s attitude towards capitalist development in
Russia. He sided neither with the purely slavophil theory which deduced the
perversity and perniciousness of capitalism for Russia from the
‘peculiarities’ of the Russian economic structure and a specifically Russian
‘national character’, nor with the Marxists who saw in capitalist
development an unavoidable historical stage which is needed to clear the
way towards social progress for Russian society, too. Vorontsov for his part
simply asserts that denunciation and acclamation of capitalism are equally
futile because, having no roots in Russia, capitalism is just impossible there
and can have no future. The essential conditions of capitalist development
are lacking in Russia, and love’s labour’s lost if the state tries to promote it
artificially—one might as well spare these efforts together with the heavy
sacrifices they entail. But if we look into the matter more closely,
Vorontsov’s thesis is not nearly so uncompromising. For if we pay attention
to the fact that capitalism does not mean only the accumulation of capital
wealth but also that the small producer is reduced to the proletarian level,
that the labourer’s livelihood is not assured and that there are periodical
crises, then Vorontsov would by no means deny that all these phenomena
exist in Russia. On the contrary, he explicitly says in his preface to The
Destiny of Capitalism in Russia: ‘Whilst I dispute the possibility of
capitalism as a form of production in Russia, I do not intend to commit
myself in any way as to its future as a form or degree of exploiting the
national resources.’
Page 273
Vorontsov consequently is of the opinion that capitalism in Russia merely
cannot attain the same degree of maturity as in the West, whereas the
severance of the immediate producer from the means of production might
well be expected under Russian conditions. Vorontsov goes even further: he
does not dispute at all that a development of the capitalist mode of
production is quite possible in various branches of production, and even
allows for capitalist exports from Russia to foreign markets. Indeed he says
in his essay on ‘The Commodity Surplus in the Supply of the Market’ that
‘in several branches of industry, capitalist production develops very
quickly’[281] [in the Russian meaning of the term, of course—R. L.].
‘It is most probable that Russia, just like any other country, enjoys certain
natural advantages which enable her to act as a supplier of certain kinds of
commodities on foreign markets. It is extremely possible that capital can
profit by this fact and lay hands upon the branches of production concerned
—that is to say the (inter)national division of labour will make it easy for
our capitalists to gain a foothold in certain branches. This, however, is not
the point. We do not speak of a merely incidental participation of capital in
the industrial organisation of the country, but ask whether it is likely that the
entire production of Russia can be put on a capitalist basis.’[282]
Put in this form, Vorontsov’s scepticism looks quite different from what
might have been expected at first. He doubts whether the capitalist mode of
production could ever gain possession of the entire production in Russia;
but then, capitalism has not so far accomplished this feat in any country of
the world, not even in England. Such a brand of scepticism as to the future
of capitalism appears at a glance quite international in outlook. And indeed,
Vorontsov’s theory here amounts to a quite general reflection on the nature
and the essential conditions of capitalism; it is based upon a general
theoretical approach to the reproductive process of social capital as a whole.
Vorontsov gives the following very clear formulation of the specific
relations between the capitalist mode of production and the problem of
markets:
‘The (inter)national division of labour, the distribution of all branches of
industry among the countries taking part in international commerce, is quite
independent of capitalism.
cannot attain the same degree of maturity as in the West, whereas the
severance of the immediate producer from the means of production might
well be expected under Russian conditions. Vorontsov goes even further: he
does not dispute at all that a development of the capitalist mode of
production is quite possible in various branches of production, and even
allows for capitalist exports from Russia to foreign markets. Indeed he says
in his essay on ‘The Commodity Surplus in the Supply of the Market’ that
‘in several branches of industry, capitalist production develops very
quickly’[281] [in the Russian meaning of the term, of course—R. L.].
‘It is most probable that Russia, just like any other country, enjoys certain
natural advantages which enable her to act as a supplier of certain kinds of
commodities on foreign markets. It is extremely possible that capital can
profit by this fact and lay hands upon the branches of production concerned
—that is to say the (inter)national division of labour will make it easy for
our capitalists to gain a foothold in certain branches. This, however, is not
the point. We do not speak of a merely incidental participation of capital in
the industrial organisation of the country, but ask whether it is likely that the
entire production of Russia can be put on a capitalist basis.’[282]
Put in this form, Vorontsov’s scepticism looks quite different from what
might have been expected at first. He doubts whether the capitalist mode of
production could ever gain possession of the entire production in Russia;
but then, capitalism has not so far accomplished this feat in any country of
the world, not even in England. Such a brand of scepticism as to the future
of capitalism appears at a glance quite international in outlook. And indeed,
Vorontsov’s theory here amounts to a quite general reflection on the nature
and the essential conditions of capitalism; it is based upon a general
theoretical approach to the reproductive process of social capital as a whole.
Vorontsov gives the following very clear formulation of the specific
relations between the capitalist mode of production and the problem of
markets:
‘The (inter)national division of labour, the distribution of all branches of
industry among the countries taking part in international commerce, is quite
independent of capitalism.
Page 274
‘The market which thus comes into being, the demand for the products of
different countries resulting from such a division of labour among the
nations, has intrinsically nothing in common with the market required by
the capitalist mode of production.... The products of capitalist industry
come on the market for another purpose; the question whether all the needs
of the country are satisfied is irrelevant to them, and the entrepreneur does
not necessarily receive in their stead another material product which may be
consumed. Their main purpose is to realise the surplus value they contain.
What, then, is this surplus value that it should interest the capitalist for its
own sake? From our point of view, it is the surplus of production over
consumption inside the country. Every worker produces more than he
himself can consume, and all these surplus items accumulate in a few
hands; their owners themselves consume them, exchanging them for the
purpose against the most variegated kinds of necessities and luxuries. Yet
eat, drink and dance as much as they like—they will not be able to squander
the whole of the surplus value: a considerable remnant will be left over, of
which they have to dispose somehow even though they cannot exchange it
for other products. They must convert it into money, since it would
otherwise just go bad. Since there is no one inside the country on whom the
capitalists could foist this remnant, it must be exported abroad, and that is
why foreign markets are indispensable to countries embarking on the
capitalist venture.’[283]
The above is a literal translation, showing all the peculiarities of
Vorontsov’s diction, so that the reader may have a taste of this brilliant
Russian theorist with whom one can spend moments of sheer delight.
Later, in 1895, Vorontsov summarised the same views in his book Outlines
of Economic Theory now claiming our attention. Here he takes a stand
against the views of Say and Ricardo, and in particular also against John
Stuart Mill who denied the possibility of general over-production. In the
course of his argument he discovers something no one had known before:
he has laid bare the source of all errors the classical school made about the
problem of crises. This mistake lies in a fallacious theory of the costs of
production to which bourgeois economists are addicted. No doubt, from the
aspect of the costs of production (which according to Vorontsov’s equally
unheard-of assumption do not comprise profits), both profit and crises are
different countries resulting from such a division of labour among the
nations, has intrinsically nothing in common with the market required by
the capitalist mode of production.... The products of capitalist industry
come on the market for another purpose; the question whether all the needs
of the country are satisfied is irrelevant to them, and the entrepreneur does
not necessarily receive in their stead another material product which may be
consumed. Their main purpose is to realise the surplus value they contain.
What, then, is this surplus value that it should interest the capitalist for its
own sake? From our point of view, it is the surplus of production over
consumption inside the country. Every worker produces more than he
himself can consume, and all these surplus items accumulate in a few
hands; their owners themselves consume them, exchanging them for the
purpose against the most variegated kinds of necessities and luxuries. Yet
eat, drink and dance as much as they like—they will not be able to squander
the whole of the surplus value: a considerable remnant will be left over, of
which they have to dispose somehow even though they cannot exchange it
for other products. They must convert it into money, since it would
otherwise just go bad. Since there is no one inside the country on whom the
capitalists could foist this remnant, it must be exported abroad, and that is
why foreign markets are indispensable to countries embarking on the
capitalist venture.’[283]
The above is a literal translation, showing all the peculiarities of
Vorontsov’s diction, so that the reader may have a taste of this brilliant
Russian theorist with whom one can spend moments of sheer delight.
Later, in 1895, Vorontsov summarised the same views in his book Outlines
of Economic Theory now claiming our attention. Here he takes a stand
against the views of Say and Ricardo, and in particular also against John
Stuart Mill who denied the possibility of general over-production. In the
course of his argument he discovers something no one had known before:
he has laid bare the source of all errors the classical school made about the
problem of crises. This mistake lies in a fallacious theory of the costs of
production to which bourgeois economists are addicted. No doubt, from the
aspect of the costs of production (which according to Vorontsov’s equally
unheard-of assumption do not comprise profits), both profit and crises are
Page 275
unthinkable and inexplicable. But we can only appreciate this original
thought to the full in the author’s own words:
‘According to the doctrine of bourgeois economists, the value of a product
is determined by the labour employed in its manufacture. Yet bourgeois
economists, once they have given this determination of value, immediately
forget it and base their subsequent explanation of the exchange phenomena
upon a different theory which substitutes “costs of production” for labour.
Thus two products are mutually exchanged in such quantities that the costs
of production are equal on both sides. Such a view of the process of
exchange indeed leaves no room for a commodity surplus inside the
country. Any product of a worker’s annual labour must, from this point of
view, represent a certain quantity of material of which it is made, of tools
which have been used in its manufacture, and of the products which served
to maintain the workers during the period of production. It [presumably the
product—R. L.] appears on the market in order to change its use-form, to
reconvert itself into objects, into products for the workers and the value
necessary for renewing the tools. As soon as it is split up into its component
parts, the process of reassembling, the productive process, will begin, in the
course of which all the values listed above will be consumed. In their stead,
a new product will come into being which is the connecting link between
past and future consumption.’
From this perfectly unique attempt to demonstrate social reproduction as a
continuous process in the light of the costs of production, the following
conclusion is promptly drawn: Considering thus the aggregate bulk of a
country’s products, we shall find no commodity surplus at all over and
above the demand of society; an unmarketable surplus is therefore
impossible from the point of view of a bourgeois economic theory of
value.’
Yet, after having eliminated capitalist profit from the costs of production by
an extremely autocratic manhandling of the bourgeois theory of value,
Vorontsov immediately presents this deficiency as a great discovery: ‘The
above analysis, however, reveals yet another feature in the theory of value
prevalent of late: it becomes evident that this theory leaves no room for
capitalist profits.’
thought to the full in the author’s own words:
‘According to the doctrine of bourgeois economists, the value of a product
is determined by the labour employed in its manufacture. Yet bourgeois
economists, once they have given this determination of value, immediately
forget it and base their subsequent explanation of the exchange phenomena
upon a different theory which substitutes “costs of production” for labour.
Thus two products are mutually exchanged in such quantities that the costs
of production are equal on both sides. Such a view of the process of
exchange indeed leaves no room for a commodity surplus inside the
country. Any product of a worker’s annual labour must, from this point of
view, represent a certain quantity of material of which it is made, of tools
which have been used in its manufacture, and of the products which served
to maintain the workers during the period of production. It [presumably the
product—R. L.] appears on the market in order to change its use-form, to
reconvert itself into objects, into products for the workers and the value
necessary for renewing the tools. As soon as it is split up into its component
parts, the process of reassembling, the productive process, will begin, in the
course of which all the values listed above will be consumed. In their stead,
a new product will come into being which is the connecting link between
past and future consumption.’
From this perfectly unique attempt to demonstrate social reproduction as a
continuous process in the light of the costs of production, the following
conclusion is promptly drawn: Considering thus the aggregate bulk of a
country’s products, we shall find no commodity surplus at all over and
above the demand of society; an unmarketable surplus is therefore
impossible from the point of view of a bourgeois economic theory of
value.’
Yet, after having eliminated capitalist profit from the costs of production by
an extremely autocratic manhandling of the bourgeois theory of value,
Vorontsov immediately presents this deficiency as a great discovery: ‘The
above analysis, however, reveals yet another feature in the theory of value
prevalent of late: it becomes evident that this theory leaves no room for
capitalist profits.’
Page 276
The argument that follows is striking in its brevity and simplicity: ‘Indeed,
if I exchange my own product, representing a cost of production of 5
roubles, for another product of equal value, I receive only so much as will
be sufficient to cover my expense, but for my abstinence [literally so—R.
L.] I shall get nothing.’
And now Vorontsov really comes to grips with the root of the problem:
‘Thus it is proved on a strictly logical development of the ideas held by
bourgeois economists that the destiny of the commodity surplus on the
market and that of capitalist profit is identical. This circumstance justifies
the conclusion that both phenomena are interdependent, that the existence
of one is a condition of the other, and indeed, so long as there is no profit,
there is no commodity surplus.... It is different if the profit comes into being
inside the country. Such profit is not originally related to production; it is a
phenomenon which is connected with the latter not by technical and natural
conditions but by an extraneous social form. Production requires for its
continuation ... only material, tools, and means of subsistence for the
workers, therefore as such it consumes only the corresponding part of the
products: other consumers must be found for the surplus which makes up
the profit, and for which there is no room in the permanent structure of
industrial life, in production—consumers, namely, who are not organically
connected with production, who are fortuitous to a certain extent. The
necessary number of such consumers may or may not be forthcoming, and
in the latter case there will be a commodity surplus on the market.’[284]
Well content with the ‘simple’ enlightenment, by which he has turned the
surplus product into an invention of capital and the capitalist into a
‘fortuitous’ consumer who is ‘not organically connected with capitalist
production’, Vorontsov now turns to the crises. On the basis of Marx’s
‘logical’ theory of the value of labour which he claims to ‘employ’ in his
later works, he expounds them as an immediate result of the surplus value,
as follows:
‘If the working part of the population consumes what enters into the costs
of production in form of the wages for labour, the capitalists themselves
must destroy [literally so—R. L.] the surplus value, excepting that part of it
which the market requires for expansion. If the capitalists are in a position
to do so and act accordingly, there can be no commodity surplus; if not,
if I exchange my own product, representing a cost of production of 5
roubles, for another product of equal value, I receive only so much as will
be sufficient to cover my expense, but for my abstinence [literally so—R.
L.] I shall get nothing.’
And now Vorontsov really comes to grips with the root of the problem:
‘Thus it is proved on a strictly logical development of the ideas held by
bourgeois economists that the destiny of the commodity surplus on the
market and that of capitalist profit is identical. This circumstance justifies
the conclusion that both phenomena are interdependent, that the existence
of one is a condition of the other, and indeed, so long as there is no profit,
there is no commodity surplus.... It is different if the profit comes into being
inside the country. Such profit is not originally related to production; it is a
phenomenon which is connected with the latter not by technical and natural
conditions but by an extraneous social form. Production requires for its
continuation ... only material, tools, and means of subsistence for the
workers, therefore as such it consumes only the corresponding part of the
products: other consumers must be found for the surplus which makes up
the profit, and for which there is no room in the permanent structure of
industrial life, in production—consumers, namely, who are not organically
connected with production, who are fortuitous to a certain extent. The
necessary number of such consumers may or may not be forthcoming, and
in the latter case there will be a commodity surplus on the market.’[284]
Well content with the ‘simple’ enlightenment, by which he has turned the
surplus product into an invention of capital and the capitalist into a
‘fortuitous’ consumer who is ‘not organically connected with capitalist
production’, Vorontsov now turns to the crises. On the basis of Marx’s
‘logical’ theory of the value of labour which he claims to ‘employ’ in his
later works, he expounds them as an immediate result of the surplus value,
as follows:
‘If the working part of the population consumes what enters into the costs
of production in form of the wages for labour, the capitalists themselves
must destroy [literally so—R. L.] the surplus value, excepting that part of it
which the market requires for expansion. If the capitalists are in a position
to do so and act accordingly, there can be no commodity surplus; if not,
Page 277
over-production, industrial crises, displacement of the workers from the
factories and other evils will result.’
According to Vorontsov, however, it is ‘the inadequate elasticity of the
human organism which cannot enlarge its capacity to consume as rapidly as
the surplus value is increasing’, which is in the end responsible for these
evils. He repeatedly expresses this ingenious thought as follows: ‘The
Achilles heel of capitalist industrial organisation thus lies in the incapacity
of the entrepreneurs to consume the whole of their income.’
Having thus ‘employed’ Marx’s ‘logical’ version of Ricardo’s theory of
value, Vorontsov arrives at Sismondi’s theory of crises which he adopts in
as crude and simplified a form as possible. He believes, of course, that he is
adopting the views of Rodbertus in reproducing those of Sismondi. ‘The
inductive method of research’, he declares triumphantly, ‘has resulted in the
very same theory of crises and of pauperism which had been objectively
stated by Rodbertus.’[285]
It is not quite clear what Vorontsov means by an ‘inductive method of
research’ which he contrasts with the objective method—since all things are
possible to Vorontsov, he may conceivably mean Marx’s theory. Yet
Rodbertus, too, was not to emerge unimproved from the hands of the
original Russian thinker. Vorontsov corrects Rodbertus’ theory merely in so
far as he eliminates the stabilisation of the wage rate in accordance with the
value of the aggregate product which, to Rodbertus, had been the pivot of
his whole system. According to Vorontsov, this measure against crises is a
mere palliative, since ‘the immediate cause of the above phenomena (over-
production, unemployment, etc.) is not that the working classes receive too
small a share of the national income, but that the capitalist class cannot
possibly consume all the products which every year fall to their share.’[286]
Yet, as soon as he has refuted Rodbertus’ reform of the distribution of
incomes, Vorontsov, with that ‘strictly logical’ consistency so peculiar to
him, ultimately arrives at the following forecast for the future destiny of
capitalism: ‘If industrial organisation which prevails in W. Europe is to
prosper and flourish further still, it can only do so provided that some
means will be found to destroy [verbatim—R. L.] that portion of the
national income which falls to the capitalists’ share over and above their
capacity to consume. The simplest solution of this problem will be an
factories and other evils will result.’
According to Vorontsov, however, it is ‘the inadequate elasticity of the
human organism which cannot enlarge its capacity to consume as rapidly as
the surplus value is increasing’, which is in the end responsible for these
evils. He repeatedly expresses this ingenious thought as follows: ‘The
Achilles heel of capitalist industrial organisation thus lies in the incapacity
of the entrepreneurs to consume the whole of their income.’
Having thus ‘employed’ Marx’s ‘logical’ version of Ricardo’s theory of
value, Vorontsov arrives at Sismondi’s theory of crises which he adopts in
as crude and simplified a form as possible. He believes, of course, that he is
adopting the views of Rodbertus in reproducing those of Sismondi. ‘The
inductive method of research’, he declares triumphantly, ‘has resulted in the
very same theory of crises and of pauperism which had been objectively
stated by Rodbertus.’[285]
It is not quite clear what Vorontsov means by an ‘inductive method of
research’ which he contrasts with the objective method—since all things are
possible to Vorontsov, he may conceivably mean Marx’s theory. Yet
Rodbertus, too, was not to emerge unimproved from the hands of the
original Russian thinker. Vorontsov corrects Rodbertus’ theory merely in so
far as he eliminates the stabilisation of the wage rate in accordance with the
value of the aggregate product which, to Rodbertus, had been the pivot of
his whole system. According to Vorontsov, this measure against crises is a
mere palliative, since ‘the immediate cause of the above phenomena (over-
production, unemployment, etc.) is not that the working classes receive too
small a share of the national income, but that the capitalist class cannot
possibly consume all the products which every year fall to their share.’[286]
Yet, as soon as he has refuted Rodbertus’ reform of the distribution of
incomes, Vorontsov, with that ‘strictly logical’ consistency so peculiar to
him, ultimately arrives at the following forecast for the future destiny of
capitalism: ‘If industrial organisation which prevails in W. Europe is to
prosper and flourish further still, it can only do so provided that some
means will be found to destroy [verbatim—R. L.] that portion of the
national income which falls to the capitalists’ share over and above their
capacity to consume. The simplest solution of this problem will be an
Page 278
appropriate change in the distribution of the aggregate income among those
who take part in production. If the entrepreneurs would retain for
themselves only so much of all increase of the national income as they need
to satisfy all their whims and fancies, leaving the remainder to the working
class, the mass of the people, then the régime of capitalism would be
assured for a long time to come.’[287]
The hash of Ricardo, Marx, Sismondi and Rodbertus thus is topped with the
discovery that capitalist production could be radically cured of over-
production, that it could ‘prosper and flourish’ in all eternity, if the
capitalists would refrain from capitalising their surplus value and would
make a free gift to the working class of the corresponding part of the
surplus value. Meanwhile the capitalists, until they have become sensible
enough to accept Vorontsov’s good advice, employ other means for the
annual destruction of a part of their surplus value. Modern militarism,
amongst others, is one of these appropriate measures—and this precisely to
the extent to which the bills of militarism are footed by the capitalists’
income—for Vorontsov can be counted upon to turn things upside down—
and not by the working masses. A primary remedy for capitalism, however,
is foreign trade which again is a sore spot in Russian capitalism. As the last
to arrive at the table of the world market, Russian capitalism fares worst in
the competition with older capitalist countries and thus lacks both prospects
as to foreign markets and the most vital conditions of existence. Russia
remains the ‘country of peasants’, a country of ‘populist’ production.
‘If all this is correct,’ Vorontsov concludes his essay on ‘The Commodity
Surplus in the Supply of the Market’, ‘then capitalism can play only a
limited part in Russia. It must resign from the direction of agriculture, and
its development in the industrial sphere must not inflict too many injuries
upon the domestic industries which under our economic conditions are
indispensable to the welfare of the majority of the population. If the reader
would comment that capitalism might not accept such a compromise, our
answer will be: so much the worse for capitalism.’
Thus Vorontsov ultimately washes his hands of the whole thing, declining
for his part all responsibility for the further fortunes of economic
development in Russia.
who take part in production. If the entrepreneurs would retain for
themselves only so much of all increase of the national income as they need
to satisfy all their whims and fancies, leaving the remainder to the working
class, the mass of the people, then the régime of capitalism would be
assured for a long time to come.’[287]
The hash of Ricardo, Marx, Sismondi and Rodbertus thus is topped with the
discovery that capitalist production could be radically cured of over-
production, that it could ‘prosper and flourish’ in all eternity, if the
capitalists would refrain from capitalising their surplus value and would
make a free gift to the working class of the corresponding part of the
surplus value. Meanwhile the capitalists, until they have become sensible
enough to accept Vorontsov’s good advice, employ other means for the
annual destruction of a part of their surplus value. Modern militarism,
amongst others, is one of these appropriate measures—and this precisely to
the extent to which the bills of militarism are footed by the capitalists’
income—for Vorontsov can be counted upon to turn things upside down—
and not by the working masses. A primary remedy for capitalism, however,
is foreign trade which again is a sore spot in Russian capitalism. As the last
to arrive at the table of the world market, Russian capitalism fares worst in
the competition with older capitalist countries and thus lacks both prospects
as to foreign markets and the most vital conditions of existence. Russia
remains the ‘country of peasants’, a country of ‘populist’ production.
‘If all this is correct,’ Vorontsov concludes his essay on ‘The Commodity
Surplus in the Supply of the Market’, ‘then capitalism can play only a
limited part in Russia. It must resign from the direction of agriculture, and
its development in the industrial sphere must not inflict too many injuries
upon the domestic industries which under our economic conditions are
indispensable to the welfare of the majority of the population. If the reader
would comment that capitalism might not accept such a compromise, our
answer will be: so much the worse for capitalism.’
Thus Vorontsov ultimately washes his hands of the whole thing, declining
for his part all responsibility for the further fortunes of economic
development in Russia.
Page 279
Page 280
CHAPTER XX
Page 281
NIKOLAYON
The second theorist of populist criticism, Nikolayon, brings quite a different
economic training and knowledge to his work. One of the best-informed
experts on Russian economic relations, he had already in 1880 attracted
attention by his treatise on the capitalisation of agricultural incomes, which
was published in the review Slovo. Thirteen years later, spurred on by the
great Russian famine of 1891, he pursued his inquiries further in a book
entitled Outlines of Our Social Economy Since the Reform. Here he gives a
detailed exposition, fully documented by facts and figures, of how
capitalism developed in Russia, and on this evidence proceeds to show that
this development is the source of all evil, and so of the famine, also, so far
as the Russian people are concerned. His views about the destiny of
capitalism in Russia are grounded in a definite theory about the conditions
of the development of capitalist production in general, and it is this with
which we must now deal.
Since the market is of decisive importance for the capitalist mode of
economy, every capitalist nation tries to make sure of as large a market as
possible. In the first place, of course, it relies on its home market. But at a
certain level of development, the home market is no longer sufficient for a
capitalist nation, and this for the following reasons: all that social labour
newly produces in one year can be divided into two parts—the share
received by the workers in the form of wages, and that which is
appropriated by the capitalists. Of the first part, only so many means of
subsistence as correspond, in value, to the sum total of the wages paid
within the country can be withdrawn from circulation. Yet capitalist
economy decidedly tends to depress this part more and more. Its methods
are a longer working day, stepping up the intensity of labour, and increasing
output by technical improvements which enable the substitution of female
and juvenile for male labour and in some cases displace adult labour
altogether. Even if the wages of the workers still employed are rising, such
increase can never equal the savings of the capitalists resulting from these
changes. The result of all this is that the working class must play an ever
smaller part as buyers on the home market. At the same time, there is a
The second theorist of populist criticism, Nikolayon, brings quite a different
economic training and knowledge to his work. One of the best-informed
experts on Russian economic relations, he had already in 1880 attracted
attention by his treatise on the capitalisation of agricultural incomes, which
was published in the review Slovo. Thirteen years later, spurred on by the
great Russian famine of 1891, he pursued his inquiries further in a book
entitled Outlines of Our Social Economy Since the Reform. Here he gives a
detailed exposition, fully documented by facts and figures, of how
capitalism developed in Russia, and on this evidence proceeds to show that
this development is the source of all evil, and so of the famine, also, so far
as the Russian people are concerned. His views about the destiny of
capitalism in Russia are grounded in a definite theory about the conditions
of the development of capitalist production in general, and it is this with
which we must now deal.
Since the market is of decisive importance for the capitalist mode of
economy, every capitalist nation tries to make sure of as large a market as
possible. In the first place, of course, it relies on its home market. But at a
certain level of development, the home market is no longer sufficient for a
capitalist nation, and this for the following reasons: all that social labour
newly produces in one year can be divided into two parts—the share
received by the workers in the form of wages, and that which is
appropriated by the capitalists. Of the first part, only so many means of
subsistence as correspond, in value, to the sum total of the wages paid
within the country can be withdrawn from circulation. Yet capitalist
economy decidedly tends to depress this part more and more. Its methods
are a longer working day, stepping up the intensity of labour, and increasing
output by technical improvements which enable the substitution of female
and juvenile for male labour and in some cases displace adult labour
altogether. Even if the wages of the workers still employed are rising, such
increase can never equal the savings of the capitalists resulting from these
changes. The result of all this is that the working class must play an ever
smaller part as buyers on the home market. At the same time, there is a
Page 282
further change: capitalist production gradually takes over even the trades
which provided additional employment to an agricultural people; thus it
deprives the peasants of their resources by degrees, so that the rural
population can afford to buy fewer and fewer industrial products. This is a
further reason for the continual contraction of the home market. As for the
capitalist class, we see that this latter is also unable to realise the entire
newly created product, though for the opposite reason. However large the
requirements of this class, the capitalists will not be able to consume the
entire surplus product in person. First, because part of it is needed to
enlarge production, for technical improvements which, to the individual
entrepreneur, will be a necessary condition of existence in a competitive
society. Secondly, because an expanding capitalist production implies an
expansion in those branches of industry which produce means of production
(e.g. the mining industry, the machine industry and so forth) and whose
products from the very beginning take a use-form that is incapable of
personal consumption and can only function as capital. Thirdly and lastly,
the higher labour productivity and capital savings that can be achieved by
mass production of cheap commodities increasingly impel society towards
mass production of commodities which cannot all be consumed by a mere
handful of capitalists.
Although one capitalist can realise his surplus value in the surplus product
of another capitalist and vice versa, this is only true for products of a certain
branch, for consumer goods. However, the incentive of capitalist production
is not the satisfaction of personal wants, and this is further shown by the
progressive decline in the production of consumer as compared to that of
producer goods.
‘Thus we see that the aggregate product of a capitalist nation must greatly
exceed the requirements of the whole industrial population employed, in the
same way as each individual factory produces vastly in excess of the
requirements of both its workers and the entrepreneur, and this is entirely
due to the fact that the nation is a capitalist nation, because the distribution
of resources within the society does not aim to satisfy the real wants of the
population but only the effective demand. Just as an individual factory-
owner could not maintain himself as a capitalist even for a day if his market
were confined to the requirements of his workers and his own, so the home
market of a developed capitalist nation must also be insufficient.’
which provided additional employment to an agricultural people; thus it
deprives the peasants of their resources by degrees, so that the rural
population can afford to buy fewer and fewer industrial products. This is a
further reason for the continual contraction of the home market. As for the
capitalist class, we see that this latter is also unable to realise the entire
newly created product, though for the opposite reason. However large the
requirements of this class, the capitalists will not be able to consume the
entire surplus product in person. First, because part of it is needed to
enlarge production, for technical improvements which, to the individual
entrepreneur, will be a necessary condition of existence in a competitive
society. Secondly, because an expanding capitalist production implies an
expansion in those branches of industry which produce means of production
(e.g. the mining industry, the machine industry and so forth) and whose
products from the very beginning take a use-form that is incapable of
personal consumption and can only function as capital. Thirdly and lastly,
the higher labour productivity and capital savings that can be achieved by
mass production of cheap commodities increasingly impel society towards
mass production of commodities which cannot all be consumed by a mere
handful of capitalists.
Although one capitalist can realise his surplus value in the surplus product
of another capitalist and vice versa, this is only true for products of a certain
branch, for consumer goods. However, the incentive of capitalist production
is not the satisfaction of personal wants, and this is further shown by the
progressive decline in the production of consumer as compared to that of
producer goods.
‘Thus we see that the aggregate product of a capitalist nation must greatly
exceed the requirements of the whole industrial population employed, in the
same way as each individual factory produces vastly in excess of the
requirements of both its workers and the entrepreneur, and this is entirely
due to the fact that the nation is a capitalist nation, because the distribution
of resources within the society does not aim to satisfy the real wants of the
population but only the effective demand. Just as an individual factory-
owner could not maintain himself as a capitalist even for a day if his market
were confined to the requirements of his workers and his own, so the home
market of a developed capitalist nation must also be insufficient.’
Page 283
At a certain level, capitalist development thus has the tendency to impede
its own progress. These obstacles are ultimately due to the fact that
progressive labour productivity, involving the severance of the immediate
producer from the means of production, does not benefit society as a whole,
but only the individual entrepreneur; and the mass of labour power and
men-hours which has been ‘set free’ by this process becomes redundant and
thus is not only lost to society but will become a burden to it. The real
wants of the masses can only be satisfied more fully in so far as there can
be an ascendancy of a ‘populist’ mode of production based upon the union
between the producer and his means of production. It is the aim of
capitalism, however, to gain possession of just these spheres of production,
and to destroy in the process the main factor which makes for its own
prosperity. The periodical famines in India, for instance, recurring at
intervals of ten or eleven years, were thus among the causes of periodical
industrial crises in England. Any nation that sets out on capitalist
development will sooner or later come up against these contradictions
inherent in this mode of production. And the later a nation embarks on the
capitalist venture, the more strongly will these contradictions make
themselves felt, since, once the home market has been saturated, no
substitute can be found, the outside market having already been conquered
by the older competing countries.
The upshot of it all is that the limits of capitalism are set by the increasing
poverty born of its own development, by the increasing number of
redundant workers deficient in all purchasing power. Increasing labour
productivity which can rapidly satisfy every effective demand of society
corresponds to the increasing incapacity of ever broader masses of the
population to satisfy their most vital needs; on the one hand, a glut of goods
that cannot be sold—and on the other, large masses who lack the bare
necessities.
These are Nikolayon’s general views.[288] He knows his Marx, we see, and
has turned the two first volumes of Capital to excellent use. And still, the
whole trend of his argument is genuinely Sismondian. It is capitalism itself
which brings about a shrinking home market since it impoverishes the
masses; every calamity of modern society is due to the destruction of the
‘populist’ mode of production, that is to say the destruction of small-scale
enterprise. That is his main theme. More openly even than Sismondi,
its own progress. These obstacles are ultimately due to the fact that
progressive labour productivity, involving the severance of the immediate
producer from the means of production, does not benefit society as a whole,
but only the individual entrepreneur; and the mass of labour power and
men-hours which has been ‘set free’ by this process becomes redundant and
thus is not only lost to society but will become a burden to it. The real
wants of the masses can only be satisfied more fully in so far as there can
be an ascendancy of a ‘populist’ mode of production based upon the union
between the producer and his means of production. It is the aim of
capitalism, however, to gain possession of just these spheres of production,
and to destroy in the process the main factor which makes for its own
prosperity. The periodical famines in India, for instance, recurring at
intervals of ten or eleven years, were thus among the causes of periodical
industrial crises in England. Any nation that sets out on capitalist
development will sooner or later come up against these contradictions
inherent in this mode of production. And the later a nation embarks on the
capitalist venture, the more strongly will these contradictions make
themselves felt, since, once the home market has been saturated, no
substitute can be found, the outside market having already been conquered
by the older competing countries.
The upshot of it all is that the limits of capitalism are set by the increasing
poverty born of its own development, by the increasing number of
redundant workers deficient in all purchasing power. Increasing labour
productivity which can rapidly satisfy every effective demand of society
corresponds to the increasing incapacity of ever broader masses of the
population to satisfy their most vital needs; on the one hand, a glut of goods
that cannot be sold—and on the other, large masses who lack the bare
necessities.
These are Nikolayon’s general views.[288] He knows his Marx, we see, and
has turned the two first volumes of Capital to excellent use. And still, the
whole trend of his argument is genuinely Sismondian. It is capitalism itself
which brings about a shrinking home market since it impoverishes the
masses; every calamity of modern society is due to the destruction of the
‘populist’ mode of production, that is to say the destruction of small-scale
enterprise. That is his main theme. More openly even than Sismondi,
Page 284
Nikolayon sets the tenor of his critique by an apotheosis of small-scale
enterprise, this sole approach to grace.[289] The aggregate capitalist product
cannot, in the end, be realised within the society, this can only be done with
recourse to outside markets. Nikolayon here comes to the same conclusion
as Vorontsov, in spite of a quite different theoretical point of departure.
Applied to Russia, it is the economic scientific ground for a sceptical
attitude towards capitalism. Capitalist development in Russia has been
without access to foreign markets from the first, it could only show its
worst aspects—it has impoverished the masses of the people. In
consequence, it was a ‘fatal mistake’ to promote capitalism in Russia.
On this point, Nikolayon fulminates like a prophet of the Old Testament:
‘Instead of keeping to the tradition of centuries, instead of developing our
old inherited principle of a close connection between the immediate
producer and his means of production, instead of usefully applying the
scientific achievements of W. Europe to their forms of production based on
the peasants’ ownership of their means of production, instead of increasing
their productivity by concentrating the means of production in their hands,
instead of benefiting, not by the forms of production in W. Europe, but by
its organisation, its powerful co-operation, its division of labour, its
machinery, etc., etc.—instead of developing the fundamental principle of a
landowning peasantry and applying it to the cultivation of the land by the
peasants, instead of making science and its application widely accessible to
the peasants—instead of all this, we have taken the opposite turning. We
have failed to prevent the development of capitalist forms of production,
although they are based on the expropriation of the peasants; on the
contrary, we have promoted with all our might the upsetting of our entire
economic life which resulted in the famine of 1891.’
Though the evil is much advanced, it is not too late even now to retrace our
steps. On the contrary, a complete reform of economic policy is just as
urgently needed for Russia in view of the threatening proletarisation and
collapse, as Alexander’s reforms after the Crimean war were necessary in
their time.
Now a social reform as advocated by Nikolayon is completely Utopian. His
attitude exhibits an even more blatant petty-bourgeois and reactionary bias
than Sismondi’s ever did, considering that the Russian ‘populist’ writes
after a lapse of seventy years. For in his opinion, the old obshchina, the
enterprise, this sole approach to grace.[289] The aggregate capitalist product
cannot, in the end, be realised within the society, this can only be done with
recourse to outside markets. Nikolayon here comes to the same conclusion
as Vorontsov, in spite of a quite different theoretical point of departure.
Applied to Russia, it is the economic scientific ground for a sceptical
attitude towards capitalism. Capitalist development in Russia has been
without access to foreign markets from the first, it could only show its
worst aspects—it has impoverished the masses of the people. In
consequence, it was a ‘fatal mistake’ to promote capitalism in Russia.
On this point, Nikolayon fulminates like a prophet of the Old Testament:
‘Instead of keeping to the tradition of centuries, instead of developing our
old inherited principle of a close connection between the immediate
producer and his means of production, instead of usefully applying the
scientific achievements of W. Europe to their forms of production based on
the peasants’ ownership of their means of production, instead of increasing
their productivity by concentrating the means of production in their hands,
instead of benefiting, not by the forms of production in W. Europe, but by
its organisation, its powerful co-operation, its division of labour, its
machinery, etc., etc.—instead of developing the fundamental principle of a
landowning peasantry and applying it to the cultivation of the land by the
peasants, instead of making science and its application widely accessible to
the peasants—instead of all this, we have taken the opposite turning. We
have failed to prevent the development of capitalist forms of production,
although they are based on the expropriation of the peasants; on the
contrary, we have promoted with all our might the upsetting of our entire
economic life which resulted in the famine of 1891.’
Though the evil is much advanced, it is not too late even now to retrace our
steps. On the contrary, a complete reform of economic policy is just as
urgently needed for Russia in view of the threatening proletarisation and
collapse, as Alexander’s reforms after the Crimean war were necessary in
their time.
Now a social reform as advocated by Nikolayon is completely Utopian. His
attitude exhibits an even more blatant petty-bourgeois and reactionary bias
than Sismondi’s ever did, considering that the Russian ‘populist’ writes
after a lapse of seventy years. For in his opinion, the old obshchina, the
Page 285
rural community founded on the communal ownership of the soil, is the raft
to deliver Russia from the flood of capitalism. On it, the discoveries of
modern big industry and scientific technique are to be grafted by measures
which remain his own secret—so that it can serve as the basis of a
‘socialised’ higher form of production. Russia can choose no other
alternative: either she turns her back upon capitalist development, or she
must resign herself to death and decay.[290]
After a crushing criticism of capitalism Nikolayon thus ends up with the
same old ‘populist’ panacea which had as early as the fifties, though at that
time with greater justification, been hailed as the ‘peculiarly Russian’
guarantee of a higher social development, although its reactionary character
as a lifeless relic of ancient institutions had been exposed in Engels’
Fluechtlingsliteratur in Volksstaat (1875). Engels wrote at the time:
‘A further development of Russia on bourgeois lines would gradually
destroy communal property there too, quite apart from any interference of
the Russian government “with the knout and with bayonets” (as the
revolutionary populists imagined). Under the pressure of taxes and usury,
communal landownership is no longer a privilege, it becomes an irksome
chain. The peasants frequently run away from it, either with or without their
families, to seek their living as itinerant labourers, and leave the land
behind. We see that communal ownership in Russia has long since passed
its flower and there is every indication that its decay is approaching.’
With these words, Engels hits right on the target of the obshchina problem
—eighteen years before the publication of Nikolayon’s principal work. If
Nikolayon subsequently with renewed courage again conjured up the ghost
of the obshchina, it was a bad historical anachronism inasmuch as about a
decade later the obshchina was given an official burial by the state. The
absolutist government which had for financial reasons tried during half a
century artificially to keep the machinery of the rural community going was
compelled to give up this thankless task on its own accord. The agrarian
problem soon made it clear how far the old ‘populist’ delusion was lagging
behind the actual course of economic events, and conversely, how
powerfully capitalist development in Russia, mourned and cursed as still-
born, could demonstrate with lightning and thunder its capacity to live and
to multiply. Once again, and for the last time, this turn of events
demonstrates in quite a different historical setting how a social critique of
to deliver Russia from the flood of capitalism. On it, the discoveries of
modern big industry and scientific technique are to be grafted by measures
which remain his own secret—so that it can serve as the basis of a
‘socialised’ higher form of production. Russia can choose no other
alternative: either she turns her back upon capitalist development, or she
must resign herself to death and decay.[290]
After a crushing criticism of capitalism Nikolayon thus ends up with the
same old ‘populist’ panacea which had as early as the fifties, though at that
time with greater justification, been hailed as the ‘peculiarly Russian’
guarantee of a higher social development, although its reactionary character
as a lifeless relic of ancient institutions had been exposed in Engels’
Fluechtlingsliteratur in Volksstaat (1875). Engels wrote at the time:
‘A further development of Russia on bourgeois lines would gradually
destroy communal property there too, quite apart from any interference of
the Russian government “with the knout and with bayonets” (as the
revolutionary populists imagined). Under the pressure of taxes and usury,
communal landownership is no longer a privilege, it becomes an irksome
chain. The peasants frequently run away from it, either with or without their
families, to seek their living as itinerant labourers, and leave the land
behind. We see that communal ownership in Russia has long since passed
its flower and there is every indication that its decay is approaching.’
With these words, Engels hits right on the target of the obshchina problem
—eighteen years before the publication of Nikolayon’s principal work. If
Nikolayon subsequently with renewed courage again conjured up the ghost
of the obshchina, it was a bad historical anachronism inasmuch as about a
decade later the obshchina was given an official burial by the state. The
absolutist government which had for financial reasons tried during half a
century artificially to keep the machinery of the rural community going was
compelled to give up this thankless task on its own accord. The agrarian
problem soon made it clear how far the old ‘populist’ delusion was lagging
behind the actual course of economic events, and conversely, how
powerfully capitalist development in Russia, mourned and cursed as still-
born, could demonstrate with lightning and thunder its capacity to live and
to multiply. Once again, and for the last time, this turn of events
demonstrates in quite a different historical setting how a social critique of
Page 286
capitalism, which begins by doubting its capacity for development, must by
a deadly logic lead to a reactionary Utopianism—both in the France of 1819
and in the Russia of 1893.[291]
a deadly logic lead to a reactionary Utopianism—both in the France of 1819
and in the Russia of 1893.[291]
Page 287
CHAPTER XXI
Page 288
STRUVE’S ‘THIRD PERSONS’ AND ‘THREE
WORLD EMPIRES’
We now turn to the criticism of the above opinions as given by the Russian
Marxists.
In 1894, Peter v. Struve who had already given a detailed appraisal of
Nikolayon’s book in an essay ‘On Capitalist Development in Russia’,[292]
published a book in Russian,[293] criticising the theories of ‘populism’ from
various aspects. In respect of our present problem, however, he mainly
confines himself to proving, against both Vorontsov and Nikolayon, that
capitalism does not cause a contraction of the home market but, on the
contrary, an expansion. There can be no doubt that Nikolayon has made a
blunder—the same that Sismondi had made. They each describe only a
single aspect of the destructive process, performed by capitalism on the
traditional forms of production by small enterprise. They saw only the
resulting depression of general welfare, the impoverishment of broad strata
of the population, and failed to notice that economic aspect of the process
which entails the abolition of natural economy and the substitution of a
commodity economy in rural districts. And this is as much as to say that, by
absorbing further and further sections of formerly independent and self-
sufficient producers into its own sphere, capitalism continuously transforms
into commodity buyers ever new strata of people who had not before
bought its commodities. In fact, the course of capitalist development is just
the opposite of that pictured by the ‘populists’ on the model of Sismondi.
Capitalism, far from ruining the home market, really sets about creating it,
precisely by means of a spreading money economy.
Struve in particular refutes the theory that the surplus value cannot possibly
be realised on the home market. He argues as follows: The conviction that a
mature capitalist society consists exclusively of entrepreneurs and workers
forms the basis of Vorontsov’s theory, and Nikolayon himself operates with
this concept throughout. From this point of view, of course, the realisation
of the capitalist aggregate product seems incomprehensible. And
Vorontsov’s theory is correct in so far as it states the fact that neither the
WORLD EMPIRES’
We now turn to the criticism of the above opinions as given by the Russian
Marxists.
In 1894, Peter v. Struve who had already given a detailed appraisal of
Nikolayon’s book in an essay ‘On Capitalist Development in Russia’,[292]
published a book in Russian,[293] criticising the theories of ‘populism’ from
various aspects. In respect of our present problem, however, he mainly
confines himself to proving, against both Vorontsov and Nikolayon, that
capitalism does not cause a contraction of the home market but, on the
contrary, an expansion. There can be no doubt that Nikolayon has made a
blunder—the same that Sismondi had made. They each describe only a
single aspect of the destructive process, performed by capitalism on the
traditional forms of production by small enterprise. They saw only the
resulting depression of general welfare, the impoverishment of broad strata
of the population, and failed to notice that economic aspect of the process
which entails the abolition of natural economy and the substitution of a
commodity economy in rural districts. And this is as much as to say that, by
absorbing further and further sections of formerly independent and self-
sufficient producers into its own sphere, capitalism continuously transforms
into commodity buyers ever new strata of people who had not before
bought its commodities. In fact, the course of capitalist development is just
the opposite of that pictured by the ‘populists’ on the model of Sismondi.
Capitalism, far from ruining the home market, really sets about creating it,
precisely by means of a spreading money economy.
Struve in particular refutes the theory that the surplus value cannot possibly
be realised on the home market. He argues as follows: The conviction that a
mature capitalist society consists exclusively of entrepreneurs and workers
forms the basis of Vorontsov’s theory, and Nikolayon himself operates with
this concept throughout. From this point of view, of course, the realisation
of the capitalist aggregate product seems incomprehensible. And
Vorontsov’s theory is correct in so far as it states the fact that neither the
Page 289
capitalists’ nor the workers’ consumption can realise the surplus value, so
that the existence of ‘third persons’ must be presumed.[294] But then, is it
not beyond any doubt that some such ‘third persons’ exist in every capitalist
society? The idea of Vorontsov and Nikolayon is pure fiction ‘which cannot
advance our understanding of any historical process whatever by a hair’s
breadth’.[295] There is no actual capitalist society, however highly
developed, composed exclusively of capitalists and workers.
‘Even in England and Wales, out of a thousand self-supporting inhabitants,
543 are engaged in industry, 172 in commerce, 140 in agriculture, 81 in
casual wage labour, and 62 in the Civil Service, the liberal professions and
the like.’
Even in England, then, there are large numbers of ‘third persons’, and it is
they who, by their consumption, help to realise the surplus value in so far as
it is not consumed by the capitalists. Struve leaves it open whether these
‘third persons’ consume enough to realise all surplus value—however that
may be, ‘the contrary would have to be proved’.[296] This cannot be done,
he claims, for Russia, that vast country with an immense population. She, in
fact, is in the fortunate position to be able to dispense with foreign markets.
In this—and here Struve dips into the intellectual treasures of Professors
Wagner, Schaeffle, and Schmoller—she enjoys the same privileges as the
United States of America. ‘If the example of the N. American Union stands
for anything, it is proof of the fact that under certain circumstances
capitalist industry can attain a very high level of development almost
entirely on the basis of the home market.’[297]
The negligible amount of industrial exports from the U.S.A. in 1882 is
mentioned in support of this statement which Struve formulates as a general
doctrine: ‘The vaster the territory, and the larger the population of a country,
the less does that country require foreign markets for its capitalist
development.’ He infers from this, in direct opposition to the ‘populists’, ‘a
more brilliant future (for Russia) than for the other countries’.
On the basis of commodity production, the progressive development of
agriculture is bound to create a market wide enough to support the
development of Russian industrial capitalism. This market would be
capable of unlimited expansion, in step with the economic and cultural
progress of the country, and together with the substitution of a monetary for
that the existence of ‘third persons’ must be presumed.[294] But then, is it
not beyond any doubt that some such ‘third persons’ exist in every capitalist
society? The idea of Vorontsov and Nikolayon is pure fiction ‘which cannot
advance our understanding of any historical process whatever by a hair’s
breadth’.[295] There is no actual capitalist society, however highly
developed, composed exclusively of capitalists and workers.
‘Even in England and Wales, out of a thousand self-supporting inhabitants,
543 are engaged in industry, 172 in commerce, 140 in agriculture, 81 in
casual wage labour, and 62 in the Civil Service, the liberal professions and
the like.’
Even in England, then, there are large numbers of ‘third persons’, and it is
they who, by their consumption, help to realise the surplus value in so far as
it is not consumed by the capitalists. Struve leaves it open whether these
‘third persons’ consume enough to realise all surplus value—however that
may be, ‘the contrary would have to be proved’.[296] This cannot be done,
he claims, for Russia, that vast country with an immense population. She, in
fact, is in the fortunate position to be able to dispense with foreign markets.
In this—and here Struve dips into the intellectual treasures of Professors
Wagner, Schaeffle, and Schmoller—she enjoys the same privileges as the
United States of America. ‘If the example of the N. American Union stands
for anything, it is proof of the fact that under certain circumstances
capitalist industry can attain a very high level of development almost
entirely on the basis of the home market.’[297]
The negligible amount of industrial exports from the U.S.A. in 1882 is
mentioned in support of this statement which Struve formulates as a general
doctrine: ‘The vaster the territory, and the larger the population of a country,
the less does that country require foreign markets for its capitalist
development.’ He infers from this, in direct opposition to the ‘populists’, ‘a
more brilliant future (for Russia) than for the other countries’.
On the basis of commodity production, the progressive development of
agriculture is bound to create a market wide enough to support the
development of Russian industrial capitalism. This market would be
capable of unlimited expansion, in step with the economic and cultural
progress of the country, and together with the substitution of a monetary for
Page 290
a natural economy. ‘In this respect, capitalism enjoys more favourable
conditions in Russia than in other countries.’[298]
Struve paints a detailed and highly coloured picture of the new markets
which, thanks to the Trans-Siberian Railway, are opening up in Siberia,
Central Asia, Asia Minor, Persia and the Balkans. But his prophetic zeal
blinds him to the fact that he is no longer talking about the ‘indefinitely
expanding’ home market but about specific foreign markets. In later years,
he was to throw in his lot, in politics too, with this optimistic Russian
capitalism and its liberal programme of imperialist expansion, for which he
had laid the theoretical foundations when still a ‘Marxist’.
Indeed, the tenor of Struve’s argument is a fervent belief in the unlimited
capacity for expansion of capitalist production, but the economic
foundation of this optimism is rather weak. He is somewhat reticent as to
what he means by the ‘third persons’ whom he considers the mainstay of
accumulation, but his references to English occupational statistics indicate
that he has in mind the various private and public servants, the liberal
professions, in short the notorious grand public so dear to bourgeois
economists when they are completely at a loss. It is this ‘great public’ of
which Marx said that it serves as the explanation for things which the
economist cannot explain. It is obvious that, if we categorically refer to
consumption by the capitalists and the workers, we do not speak of the
entrepreneur as an individual, but of the capitalist class as a whole,
including their hangers-on—employees, Civil Servants, liberal professions,
and the like. All such ‘third persons’ who are certainly not lacking in any
capitalist society are, as far as economics is concerned, joint consumers of
the surplus value for the greater part, in so far, namely, as they are not also
joint consumers of the wages of labour. These groups can only derive their
purchasing power either from the wage of the proletariat or from the surplus
value, if not from both; but on the whole, they are to be regarded as joint
consumers of the surplus value. It follows that their consumption is already
included in the consumption of the capitalist class, and if Struve tries to
reintroduce them to the capitalists by sleight-of-hand as ‘third persons’ to
save the situation and help to realise the surplus value, the shrewd profiteer
will not be taken in. He will see at once that this great public is nothing but
his old familiar retinue of parasites who buy his commodities with money
conditions in Russia than in other countries.’[298]
Struve paints a detailed and highly coloured picture of the new markets
which, thanks to the Trans-Siberian Railway, are opening up in Siberia,
Central Asia, Asia Minor, Persia and the Balkans. But his prophetic zeal
blinds him to the fact that he is no longer talking about the ‘indefinitely
expanding’ home market but about specific foreign markets. In later years,
he was to throw in his lot, in politics too, with this optimistic Russian
capitalism and its liberal programme of imperialist expansion, for which he
had laid the theoretical foundations when still a ‘Marxist’.
Indeed, the tenor of Struve’s argument is a fervent belief in the unlimited
capacity for expansion of capitalist production, but the economic
foundation of this optimism is rather weak. He is somewhat reticent as to
what he means by the ‘third persons’ whom he considers the mainstay of
accumulation, but his references to English occupational statistics indicate
that he has in mind the various private and public servants, the liberal
professions, in short the notorious grand public so dear to bourgeois
economists when they are completely at a loss. It is this ‘great public’ of
which Marx said that it serves as the explanation for things which the
economist cannot explain. It is obvious that, if we categorically refer to
consumption by the capitalists and the workers, we do not speak of the
entrepreneur as an individual, but of the capitalist class as a whole,
including their hangers-on—employees, Civil Servants, liberal professions,
and the like. All such ‘third persons’ who are certainly not lacking in any
capitalist society are, as far as economics is concerned, joint consumers of
the surplus value for the greater part, in so far, namely, as they are not also
joint consumers of the wages of labour. These groups can only derive their
purchasing power either from the wage of the proletariat or from the surplus
value, if not from both; but on the whole, they are to be regarded as joint
consumers of the surplus value. It follows that their consumption is already
included in the consumption of the capitalist class, and if Struve tries to
reintroduce them to the capitalists by sleight-of-hand as ‘third persons’ to
save the situation and help to realise the surplus value, the shrewd profiteer
will not be taken in. He will see at once that this great public is nothing but
his old familiar retinue of parasites who buy his commodities with money
Page 291
of his own providing. No, no, indeed! Struve’s ‘third persons’ will not do at
all.
Struve’s theory of foreign markets and their significance for capitalist
production is equally untenable. In this, he defers to the mechanist approach
of the ‘populists’ who, along with the professors’ textbooks, hold that a
capitalist (European) country will first exploit the home market to the limit,
and will only look to foreign markets when this is almost or completely
exhausted. Then, following in the footsteps of Wagner, Schaeffle and
Schmoller, Struve arrives at the absurd conclusion that a country with vast
territories and a large population can make its capitalist production a ‘self-
contained whole’ and rely indefinitely on the home market alone.[299] In
actual fact, capitalist production is by nature production on a universal
scale. Quite contrary to the bookish decrees issued by German scholars, it is
producing for a world market already from the word go. The various
pioneering branches of capitalist production in England, such as the textile,
iron and coal industries, cast about for markets in all countries and
continents, long before the process of destroying peasants’ property, the
decline of handicraft and of the old domestic industries within the country
had come to an end. And again, is it likely that the German chemical or
electrotechnical industries would be grateful for the sober advice not to
work for five continents, as they have done from the beginning, but to
confine themselves to the German home market which, being largely
supplied from abroad, is evidently far from exhausted in respect of a whole
lot of other German industries? Or that one should explain to the German
machine industry, it should not venture yet upon foreign markets, since
German import statistics are visible proof that a good deal of the demand in
Germany for products of this branch is satisfied by foreign supplies? No,
this schematic conception of ‘foreign trade’ does not help us at all to grasp
the complexity of the world market with its uncounted ramifications and
different shades in the division of labour. The industrial development of the
U.S.A. who have already at the time of writing become a dangerous rival to
Britain both on the world market and even in England herself, just as they
have beaten German competition, e.g. in the sphere of electrotechnics, both
in the world market and in Germany herself, has given the lie to Struve’s
inferences, already out-of-date when they were put on paper.
all.
Struve’s theory of foreign markets and their significance for capitalist
production is equally untenable. In this, he defers to the mechanist approach
of the ‘populists’ who, along with the professors’ textbooks, hold that a
capitalist (European) country will first exploit the home market to the limit,
and will only look to foreign markets when this is almost or completely
exhausted. Then, following in the footsteps of Wagner, Schaeffle and
Schmoller, Struve arrives at the absurd conclusion that a country with vast
territories and a large population can make its capitalist production a ‘self-
contained whole’ and rely indefinitely on the home market alone.[299] In
actual fact, capitalist production is by nature production on a universal
scale. Quite contrary to the bookish decrees issued by German scholars, it is
producing for a world market already from the word go. The various
pioneering branches of capitalist production in England, such as the textile,
iron and coal industries, cast about for markets in all countries and
continents, long before the process of destroying peasants’ property, the
decline of handicraft and of the old domestic industries within the country
had come to an end. And again, is it likely that the German chemical or
electrotechnical industries would be grateful for the sober advice not to
work for five continents, as they have done from the beginning, but to
confine themselves to the German home market which, being largely
supplied from abroad, is evidently far from exhausted in respect of a whole
lot of other German industries? Or that one should explain to the German
machine industry, it should not venture yet upon foreign markets, since
German import statistics are visible proof that a good deal of the demand in
Germany for products of this branch is satisfied by foreign supplies? No,
this schematic conception of ‘foreign trade’ does not help us at all to grasp
the complexity of the world market with its uncounted ramifications and
different shades in the division of labour. The industrial development of the
U.S.A. who have already at the time of writing become a dangerous rival to
Britain both on the world market and even in England herself, just as they
have beaten German competition, e.g. in the sphere of electrotechnics, both
in the world market and in Germany herself, has given the lie to Struve’s
inferences, already out-of-date when they were put on paper.
Page 292
Struve also shares the crude view of the Russian ‘populists’ who saw hardly
more than a merchant’s sordid concern for his market in the international
connections of capitalist economy, and its historical tendency to create a
homogeneous living organism based on social division of labour as well as
the countless variety of natural wealth and productive conditions of the
globe. Moreover he accepts the Three Empire fiction of Wagner and
Schmoller (the self-contained Empires of Great Britain, Russia and the
U.S.A.) which completely ignores or artificially minimises the vital part
played by an unlimited supply of means of subsistence, of raw and auxiliary
materials and of labour power which is just as necessary for a capitalist
industry computed in terms of a world market as the demand for finished
products. Alone the history of the English cotton industry, a reflection in
miniature of the history of capitalism in general, spreading over five
continents throughout the nineteenth century, makes a mockery of the
professors’ childish pretensions which have only one real significance: to
provide the theoretical justification for the system of protective tariffs.
more than a merchant’s sordid concern for his market in the international
connections of capitalist economy, and its historical tendency to create a
homogeneous living organism based on social division of labour as well as
the countless variety of natural wealth and productive conditions of the
globe. Moreover he accepts the Three Empire fiction of Wagner and
Schmoller (the self-contained Empires of Great Britain, Russia and the
U.S.A.) which completely ignores or artificially minimises the vital part
played by an unlimited supply of means of subsistence, of raw and auxiliary
materials and of labour power which is just as necessary for a capitalist
industry computed in terms of a world market as the demand for finished
products. Alone the history of the English cotton industry, a reflection in
miniature of the history of capitalism in general, spreading over five
continents throughout the nineteenth century, makes a mockery of the
professors’ childish pretensions which have only one real significance: to
provide the theoretical justification for the system of protective tariffs.
Page 293
CHAPTER XXII
Page 294
BULGAKOV AND HIS COMPLETION OF
MARX’S ANALYSIS
The second critic of ‘populist’ scepticism, S. Bulgakov, is no respecter of
Struve’s ‘third persons’ and at once denies that they form the sheet-anchor
for capitalist accumulation.
‘The majority of economists before Marx’, he declares, ‘solved the problem
by saying that some sort of “third person” is needed, as a deus ex machina,
to cut the Gordian knot, i.e. to consume the surplus value. This part is
played by luxury-loving landowners (as with Malthus), or by indulgent
capitalists, or yet by militarism and the like. There can be no demand for the
surplus value without some such extraordinary mediators; a deadlock will
be reached on the markets and the result will be over-production and
crises.’[300]
‘Struve thus assumes that capitalist production in its development, too, may
find its ultimate mainstay in the consumption of some fantastic sort of
“third person”. But if this great public is essentially characterised as
consuming the surplus value, whence does it obtain the means to buy?’[301]
For his part, Bulgakov centres the whole problem from the first in the
analysis of the social aggregate product and its reproduction as given by
Marx in the second volume of Capital. He has a thorough grasp of the fact
that he must start with simple reproduction and must fully understand its
working in order to solve the question of accumulation. In this context, he
says, it is of particular importance to obtain a clear picture of the
consumption of surplus value and wages in such branches of production as
do not turn out goods for consumption, and further, to understand fully the
circulation of that portion of the social aggregate product which represents
used-up constant capital. This, he argues, is a completely new problem of
which economists had not even been aware before Marx brought it up. ‘In
order to solve this problem, Marx divides all capitalistically produced
commodities into two great and fundamentally different categories: the
production of producer and consumer goods. There is more theoretical
MARX’S ANALYSIS
The second critic of ‘populist’ scepticism, S. Bulgakov, is no respecter of
Struve’s ‘third persons’ and at once denies that they form the sheet-anchor
for capitalist accumulation.
‘The majority of economists before Marx’, he declares, ‘solved the problem
by saying that some sort of “third person” is needed, as a deus ex machina,
to cut the Gordian knot, i.e. to consume the surplus value. This part is
played by luxury-loving landowners (as with Malthus), or by indulgent
capitalists, or yet by militarism and the like. There can be no demand for the
surplus value without some such extraordinary mediators; a deadlock will
be reached on the markets and the result will be over-production and
crises.’[300]
‘Struve thus assumes that capitalist production in its development, too, may
find its ultimate mainstay in the consumption of some fantastic sort of
“third person”. But if this great public is essentially characterised as
consuming the surplus value, whence does it obtain the means to buy?’[301]
For his part, Bulgakov centres the whole problem from the first in the
analysis of the social aggregate product and its reproduction as given by
Marx in the second volume of Capital. He has a thorough grasp of the fact
that he must start with simple reproduction and must fully understand its
working in order to solve the question of accumulation. In this context, he
says, it is of particular importance to obtain a clear picture of the
consumption of surplus value and wages in such branches of production as
do not turn out goods for consumption, and further, to understand fully the
circulation of that portion of the social aggregate product which represents
used-up constant capital. This, he argues, is a completely new problem of
which economists had not even been aware before Marx brought it up. ‘In
order to solve this problem, Marx divides all capitalistically produced
commodities into two great and fundamentally different categories: the
production of producer and consumer goods. There is more theoretical
Page 295
importance in this division than in all previous squabbles on the theory of
markets.’[302]
Bulgakov, we see, is an outspoken and enthusiastic supporter of Marx’s
theory. The object of his study, as he puts it, is thus a critique of the doctrine
that capitalism cannot exist without external markets. ‘For this purpose, the
author has made use of the most valuable analysis of social reproduction
given by Marx in volume ii of Capital which for reasons unknown has
scarcely been utilised in economic theory. Though this analysis cannot be
taken as fully completed, we are yet of opinion that even in its present
fragmentary shape it offers an adequate foundation for a solution of the
market problem that differs from that adopted by Messrs. Nikolayon, V. V.
and others, and which they claim to have found in Marx.’[303]
Bulgakov gives the following formulation of his solution which he has
deduced from Marx himself: ‘In certain conditions, capitalism may exist
solely by virtue of an internal market. It is not an inherent necessity peculiar
to the capitalist mode of production that the outside market be able to
absorb the surplus of capitalist production. The author has arrived at this
conclusion in consequence of his study of the above-mentioned analysis of
social reproduction.’
And now we are eager to hear the arguments Bulgakov has based on the
above thesis.
At first sight, they prove surprisingly simple: Bulgakov faithfully
reproduces Marx’s well-known diagram of simple reproduction, adding
comments which do credit to his insight. He further cites Marx’s equally
familiar diagram of enlarged reproduction—and this indeed is the proof we
have been so anxious to find.
‘Consequent upon what we have said, it will not be difficult now to
determine the very essence of accumulation. The means-of-production
department I must produce additional means of production necessary for
enlarging both its own production and that of Department II. II, in its turn,
will have to supply additional consumption goods to enlarge the variable
capital in both departments. Disregarding the circulation of money, the
expansion of production is reduced to an exchange of additional products of
I needed by II against additional products of II needed by I.’
markets.’[302]
Bulgakov, we see, is an outspoken and enthusiastic supporter of Marx’s
theory. The object of his study, as he puts it, is thus a critique of the doctrine
that capitalism cannot exist without external markets. ‘For this purpose, the
author has made use of the most valuable analysis of social reproduction
given by Marx in volume ii of Capital which for reasons unknown has
scarcely been utilised in economic theory. Though this analysis cannot be
taken as fully completed, we are yet of opinion that even in its present
fragmentary shape it offers an adequate foundation for a solution of the
market problem that differs from that adopted by Messrs. Nikolayon, V. V.
and others, and which they claim to have found in Marx.’[303]
Bulgakov gives the following formulation of his solution which he has
deduced from Marx himself: ‘In certain conditions, capitalism may exist
solely by virtue of an internal market. It is not an inherent necessity peculiar
to the capitalist mode of production that the outside market be able to
absorb the surplus of capitalist production. The author has arrived at this
conclusion in consequence of his study of the above-mentioned analysis of
social reproduction.’
And now we are eager to hear the arguments Bulgakov has based on the
above thesis.
At first sight, they prove surprisingly simple: Bulgakov faithfully
reproduces Marx’s well-known diagram of simple reproduction, adding
comments which do credit to his insight. He further cites Marx’s equally
familiar diagram of enlarged reproduction—and this indeed is the proof we
have been so anxious to find.
‘Consequent upon what we have said, it will not be difficult now to
determine the very essence of accumulation. The means-of-production
department I must produce additional means of production necessary for
enlarging both its own production and that of Department II. II, in its turn,
will have to supply additional consumption goods to enlarge the variable
capital in both departments. Disregarding the circulation of money, the
expansion of production is reduced to an exchange of additional products of
I needed by II against additional products of II needed by I.’
Page 296
Loyally following Marx’s deductions, Bulgakov does not notice that so far
his entire thesis is nothing but words. He believes that these mathematical
formulæ solve the problem of accumulation. No doubt we can easily
imagine proportions such as those he has copied from Marx, and if there is
expanding production, these formulæ will apply. Yet Bulgakov overlooks
the principal problem: who exactly is to profit by an expansion such as that
whose mechanism he examines? Is it explained just because we can put the
mathematical proportions of accumulation on paper? Hardly, because just
as soon as Bulgakov has declared the matter settled and goes on to
introduce the circulation of money into the analysis, he right away comes
up against the question: where are I and II to get the money for the purchase
of additional products? When we dealt with Marx, time and again the weak
point in his analysis, the question really of consumers in enlarged
reproduction, cropped up in a perverted form as the question of additional
money sources. Here Bulgakov quite slavishly follows Marx’s approach,
accepting his misleading formulation of the problem without noticing that it
is not straightforward, although he knows perfectly well that ‘Marx himself
did not answer this question in the drafts which were used to compile the
second volume of Capital’. It should be all the more interesting to see what
answer Marx’s Russian pupil attempted to work out on his own.
‘The following solution’, Bulgakov says, ‘seems to us to correspond best to
Marx’s doctrine as a whole: The new variable capital in money-form
supplied by II for both departments has its commodity equivalent in surplus
value II. With reference to simple reproduction, we have already seen that
the capitalists themselves must throw money into circulation to realise their
surplus value, money which ultimately reverts to the pocket of the very
capitalist it came from. The quantity of money required for the circulation
of the surplus value is determined in accordance with the general law of
commodity circulation by the value of the commodities that contained it,
divided by the average amount of money turnover. This same law must
apply here; the capitalists of Department II must dispose of a certain
amount of money for the circulation of their surplus value, and must
consequently possess certain money reserves. These reserves must be ample
enough for the circulation both of that portion of the surplus value which
represents the consumption fund and of that which is to be accumulated as
capital.’
his entire thesis is nothing but words. He believes that these mathematical
formulæ solve the problem of accumulation. No doubt we can easily
imagine proportions such as those he has copied from Marx, and if there is
expanding production, these formulæ will apply. Yet Bulgakov overlooks
the principal problem: who exactly is to profit by an expansion such as that
whose mechanism he examines? Is it explained just because we can put the
mathematical proportions of accumulation on paper? Hardly, because just
as soon as Bulgakov has declared the matter settled and goes on to
introduce the circulation of money into the analysis, he right away comes
up against the question: where are I and II to get the money for the purchase
of additional products? When we dealt with Marx, time and again the weak
point in his analysis, the question really of consumers in enlarged
reproduction, cropped up in a perverted form as the question of additional
money sources. Here Bulgakov quite slavishly follows Marx’s approach,
accepting his misleading formulation of the problem without noticing that it
is not straightforward, although he knows perfectly well that ‘Marx himself
did not answer this question in the drafts which were used to compile the
second volume of Capital’. It should be all the more interesting to see what
answer Marx’s Russian pupil attempted to work out on his own.
‘The following solution’, Bulgakov says, ‘seems to us to correspond best to
Marx’s doctrine as a whole: The new variable capital in money-form
supplied by II for both departments has its commodity equivalent in surplus
value II. With reference to simple reproduction, we have already seen that
the capitalists themselves must throw money into circulation to realise their
surplus value, money which ultimately reverts to the pocket of the very
capitalist it came from. The quantity of money required for the circulation
of the surplus value is determined in accordance with the general law of
commodity circulation by the value of the commodities that contained it,
divided by the average amount of money turnover. This same law must
apply here; the capitalists of Department II must dispose of a certain
amount of money for the circulation of their surplus value, and must
consequently possess certain money reserves. These reserves must be ample
enough for the circulation both of that portion of the surplus value which
represents the consumption fund and of that which is to be accumulated as
capital.’
Page 297
Bulgakov further argues that it is immaterial to the question how much
money is required to circulate a certain amount of commodities inside a
country, whether or not some of these commodities contain any surplus
value. ‘In answer to the general question as to money sources inside the
country, however, our solution is that the money is supplied by the producer
of gold.’[304]
If a country requires more money consequent upon an ‘expansion of
production’, the production of gold will have to be increased accordingly.
So here we are again: the producer of gold is again the deus ex machina,
just as he had been for Marx. In fact, Bulgakov has sadly disappointed us in
the high hopes we had of his new solution. His ‘solution’ of the problem
does not go a step beyond Marx’s own analysis. It can be reduced to three
extremely simple statements as follows: (1) Question: How much money do
we need for the realisation of capitalised surplus value? Answer: Just as
much as is required in accordance with the general law of commodity
circulation. (2) Q.: Where do the capitalists get the money for the realisation
of capitalised surplus value? A.: They are supposed to have it. (3) Q.: How
did the money come into the country in the first place? A.: It is provided by
the producer of gold. The extreme simplicity of this method of explanation
is suspicious rather than attractive.
We need not trouble, however, to refute this theory which makes the gold
producer the deus ex machina of capitalist accumulation. Bulgakov has
done it himself quite adequately. Eighty pages on, he returns to the gold
producer in quite a different context, in the course of a lengthy argument
against the theory of the wages fund in which he got involved for some
mysterious reason. Here he suddenly displays a keen grasp of the problem:
‘We know already that there is a gold producer amongst other producers.
Even under conditions of simple reproduction, he increases, on the one
hand, the absolute quantity of money circulating inside the country, and on
the other, he buys producer and consumer goods without, in his turn, selling
commodities, paying with his own product, i.e. with the general exchange
equivalent, for the goods he buys. The gold producer now might perhaps
render the service of buying the whole accumulated surplus value from II
and pay for it in gold which II can then use to buy means of production
from I and to increase its variable capital needed to pay for additional
money is required to circulate a certain amount of commodities inside a
country, whether or not some of these commodities contain any surplus
value. ‘In answer to the general question as to money sources inside the
country, however, our solution is that the money is supplied by the producer
of gold.’[304]
If a country requires more money consequent upon an ‘expansion of
production’, the production of gold will have to be increased accordingly.
So here we are again: the producer of gold is again the deus ex machina,
just as he had been for Marx. In fact, Bulgakov has sadly disappointed us in
the high hopes we had of his new solution. His ‘solution’ of the problem
does not go a step beyond Marx’s own analysis. It can be reduced to three
extremely simple statements as follows: (1) Question: How much money do
we need for the realisation of capitalised surplus value? Answer: Just as
much as is required in accordance with the general law of commodity
circulation. (2) Q.: Where do the capitalists get the money for the realisation
of capitalised surplus value? A.: They are supposed to have it. (3) Q.: How
did the money come into the country in the first place? A.: It is provided by
the producer of gold. The extreme simplicity of this method of explanation
is suspicious rather than attractive.
We need not trouble, however, to refute this theory which makes the gold
producer the deus ex machina of capitalist accumulation. Bulgakov has
done it himself quite adequately. Eighty pages on, he returns to the gold
producer in quite a different context, in the course of a lengthy argument
against the theory of the wages fund in which he got involved for some
mysterious reason. Here he suddenly displays a keen grasp of the problem:
‘We know already that there is a gold producer amongst other producers.
Even under conditions of simple reproduction, he increases, on the one
hand, the absolute quantity of money circulating inside the country, and on
the other, he buys producer and consumer goods without, in his turn, selling
commodities, paying with his own product, i.e. with the general exchange
equivalent, for the goods he buys. The gold producer now might perhaps
render the service of buying the whole accumulated surplus value from II
and pay for it in gold which II can then use to buy means of production
from I and to increase its variable capital needed to pay for additional
Page 298
labour power so that the gold producer now appears as the real external
market.
‘This assumption, however, is quite absurd. To accept it would mean to
make the expansion of social production dependent upon the expansion of
gold production. (Hear, hear!) This in turn presupposes an increase in gold
production which is quite unreal. If the gold producer were obliged to buy
all the accumulated surplus value from II for his own workers, his own
variable capital would have to grow by the day and indeed by the hour. Yet
his constant capital as well as his surplus value should also grow in
proportion, and gold production as a whole would consequently have to
take on immense dimensions. (Hear, hear!) Instead of submitting this
sophistical presumption to statistical tests—which in any case would hardly
be possible—a single fact can be adduced which would alone refute this
presupposition: it is the development of the institution of credit which
accompanies the development of capitalist economy. (Hear, hear!) Credit
has the tendency to diminish the amount of money in circulation (this
decrease being, of course, only relative, not absolute); it is the necessary
complement of a developing economy of exchange which would otherwise
soon find itself hampered by a lack of coined money. I think we need not
give figures in this context to prove that the rôle of money in exchange-
transactions is now very small. The hypothesis is thus proved in immediate
and evident disagreement with the facts and must be confuted.’[305]
Bravo! Bravissimo! This is really excellent! Bulgakov, however, thus
‘confutes’ also his former explanation of the question, in what way and by
whom capitalised surplus value is realised. Moreover, in refuting his own
statements, Bulgakov has only explained in somewhat greater detail what
Marx expressed in a single word when he called the hypothesis of a gold
producer swallowing up the entire surplus value of society—‘absurd’.
Admittedly, Bulgakov’s real solution and that of Russian Marxists in
general who deal extensively with the problem must be sought elsewhere.
Just like Tugan Baranovski and Ilyin [Lenin], Bulgakov underlines the fact
that the opposing sceptics made a capital error with respect to the
possibility of accumulation in analysing the value of the aggregate product.
They, especially Vorontsov, assumed that the aggregate social product
consists in consumer goods, and they all started from the false premise that
consumption is indeed the object of capitalist production. This, as the
market.
‘This assumption, however, is quite absurd. To accept it would mean to
make the expansion of social production dependent upon the expansion of
gold production. (Hear, hear!) This in turn presupposes an increase in gold
production which is quite unreal. If the gold producer were obliged to buy
all the accumulated surplus value from II for his own workers, his own
variable capital would have to grow by the day and indeed by the hour. Yet
his constant capital as well as his surplus value should also grow in
proportion, and gold production as a whole would consequently have to
take on immense dimensions. (Hear, hear!) Instead of submitting this
sophistical presumption to statistical tests—which in any case would hardly
be possible—a single fact can be adduced which would alone refute this
presupposition: it is the development of the institution of credit which
accompanies the development of capitalist economy. (Hear, hear!) Credit
has the tendency to diminish the amount of money in circulation (this
decrease being, of course, only relative, not absolute); it is the necessary
complement of a developing economy of exchange which would otherwise
soon find itself hampered by a lack of coined money. I think we need not
give figures in this context to prove that the rôle of money in exchange-
transactions is now very small. The hypothesis is thus proved in immediate
and evident disagreement with the facts and must be confuted.’[305]
Bravo! Bravissimo! This is really excellent! Bulgakov, however, thus
‘confutes’ also his former explanation of the question, in what way and by
whom capitalised surplus value is realised. Moreover, in refuting his own
statements, Bulgakov has only explained in somewhat greater detail what
Marx expressed in a single word when he called the hypothesis of a gold
producer swallowing up the entire surplus value of society—‘absurd’.
Admittedly, Bulgakov’s real solution and that of Russian Marxists in
general who deal extensively with the problem must be sought elsewhere.
Just like Tugan Baranovski and Ilyin [Lenin], Bulgakov underlines the fact
that the opposing sceptics made a capital error with respect to the
possibility of accumulation in analysing the value of the aggregate product.
They, especially Vorontsov, assumed that the aggregate social product
consists in consumer goods, and they all started from the false premise that
consumption is indeed the object of capitalist production. This, as the
Page 299
Marxists now explain, is the source of the entire misunderstanding—of all
the imaginary difficulties connected with the realisation of the surplus
value, with which the sceptics racked their brains.
‘This school created non-existent difficulties because of this mistaken
conception. Since the normal conditions of capitalist production presuppose
that the capitalists’ consumption fund is only a part of the surplus value, and
the smaller part at that, the larger being set aside for the expansion of
production, it is obvious that the difficulties imagined by this (the populist)
school do not really exist.’[306]
The unconcern with which Bulgakov here ignores the real problem is
striking. Apparently it has not dawned on him that the question as to the
ultimate beneficiaries, quite irrelevant so long as personal consumption of
the entire surplus value is assumed, only becomes acute on the assumption
of enlarged reproduction.
All these ‘imaginary difficulties’ vanish, thanks to two discoveries of
Marx’s which his Russian pupils untiringly quote against their opponents.
The first is the fact that, in terms of value, the social product is composed,
not of v + s, but of c + v + s. Secondly, the ratio of c to v in this sum
continually increases with the progress of capitalist production, and at the
same time, the capitalised part of the surplus value as against that part of it
that is consumed, is ever growing. On this basis, Bulgakov establishes a
complete theory of the relations between production and consumption in a
capitalist society. As this theory plays such an important part for the
Russian Marxists in general, and Bulgakov in particular, it will be necessary
to get better acquainted with it.
‘Consumption,’ Bulgakov says, ‘the satisfaction of social needs, is but an
incidental moment in the circulation of capital. The volume of production is
determined by the volume of capital, and not by the amount of social
requirements. Not alone that the development of production is
unaccompanied by a growth in consumption—the two are mutually
antagonistic. Capitalist production knows no other than effective
consumption, but only such persons who draw either surplus value or
labour wages can be effective consumers, and their purchasing power
strictly corresponds to the amount of those revenues. Yet we have seen that
the fundamental evolutionary laws of capitalist production tend, despite the
the imaginary difficulties connected with the realisation of the surplus
value, with which the sceptics racked their brains.
‘This school created non-existent difficulties because of this mistaken
conception. Since the normal conditions of capitalist production presuppose
that the capitalists’ consumption fund is only a part of the surplus value, and
the smaller part at that, the larger being set aside for the expansion of
production, it is obvious that the difficulties imagined by this (the populist)
school do not really exist.’[306]
The unconcern with which Bulgakov here ignores the real problem is
striking. Apparently it has not dawned on him that the question as to the
ultimate beneficiaries, quite irrelevant so long as personal consumption of
the entire surplus value is assumed, only becomes acute on the assumption
of enlarged reproduction.
All these ‘imaginary difficulties’ vanish, thanks to two discoveries of
Marx’s which his Russian pupils untiringly quote against their opponents.
The first is the fact that, in terms of value, the social product is composed,
not of v + s, but of c + v + s. Secondly, the ratio of c to v in this sum
continually increases with the progress of capitalist production, and at the
same time, the capitalised part of the surplus value as against that part of it
that is consumed, is ever growing. On this basis, Bulgakov establishes a
complete theory of the relations between production and consumption in a
capitalist society. As this theory plays such an important part for the
Russian Marxists in general, and Bulgakov in particular, it will be necessary
to get better acquainted with it.
‘Consumption,’ Bulgakov says, ‘the satisfaction of social needs, is but an
incidental moment in the circulation of capital. The volume of production is
determined by the volume of capital, and not by the amount of social
requirements. Not alone that the development of production is
unaccompanied by a growth in consumption—the two are mutually
antagonistic. Capitalist production knows no other than effective
consumption, but only such persons who draw either surplus value or
labour wages can be effective consumers, and their purchasing power
strictly corresponds to the amount of those revenues. Yet we have seen that
the fundamental evolutionary laws of capitalist production tend, despite the
Page 300
absolute increase, to diminish the relative size of variable capital as well as
of the capitalists’ consumption fund. We can say, then, that the development
of production diminishes consumption.[307] The conditions of production
and of consumption are thus in conflict. Production cannot and does not
expand to further consumption. Expansion, however, is an inherent
fundamental law of capitalist production and confronts every individual
capitalist in the form of a stern command to compete. This contradiction is
negligible in view of the fact that expanding production as such represents a
market for additional products. “Inherent contradictions are resolved by an
extension of the outlying fields of production.”’[308] (Bulgakov here quotes
a saying of Marx which he has thoroughly misunderstood; we shall later
have occasion to deal with it once more.) ‘It has just been shown how this is
possible.’ (A reference to the analysis of the diagram of enlarged
reproduction.) ‘Evidently, the greater share of the expansion is apportioned
to Department I, to the production, that is to say, of constant capital, and
only a (relatively) smaller part to Department II which produces
commodities for immediate consumption. This change in the relations of
the two departments shows well enough what part is played by consumption
in a capitalist society, and it indicates where we should expect to find the
most important demand for capitalist commodities.’[309] ‘Even within the
narrow limits of the profit motive and the crises, even on this strait and
narrow path, capitalist production is capable of unlimited expansion,
irrespective of, and even despite, a decrease in consumption. The Russian
literature frequently points out that in view of diminishing consumption a
considerable increase of capitalist production is impossible without external
markets, but this is due to a wrong evaluation of the part played by
consumption in a capitalist society, the failure to appreciate that
consumption is not the ultimate end of capitalist production. Capitalist
production does not exist by the grace of an increase in consumption but
because of an extension of the outlying fields of production which in fact
constitute the market for capitalist products. A whole progression of
Malthusian investigators, discontented with the superficial harmony
doctrine of the school of Say and Ricardo, have slaved away at a solution of
the hopeless undertaking: to find means of increasing consumption which
the capitalist mode of production is bound to decrease. Marx was the only
one to analyse the real connections: he has shown that the growth of
consumption is fatally lagging behind that of production, and must do so
of the capitalists’ consumption fund. We can say, then, that the development
of production diminishes consumption.[307] The conditions of production
and of consumption are thus in conflict. Production cannot and does not
expand to further consumption. Expansion, however, is an inherent
fundamental law of capitalist production and confronts every individual
capitalist in the form of a stern command to compete. This contradiction is
negligible in view of the fact that expanding production as such represents a
market for additional products. “Inherent contradictions are resolved by an
extension of the outlying fields of production.”’[308] (Bulgakov here quotes
a saying of Marx which he has thoroughly misunderstood; we shall later
have occasion to deal with it once more.) ‘It has just been shown how this is
possible.’ (A reference to the analysis of the diagram of enlarged
reproduction.) ‘Evidently, the greater share of the expansion is apportioned
to Department I, to the production, that is to say, of constant capital, and
only a (relatively) smaller part to Department II which produces
commodities for immediate consumption. This change in the relations of
the two departments shows well enough what part is played by consumption
in a capitalist society, and it indicates where we should expect to find the
most important demand for capitalist commodities.’[309] ‘Even within the
narrow limits of the profit motive and the crises, even on this strait and
narrow path, capitalist production is capable of unlimited expansion,
irrespective of, and even despite, a decrease in consumption. The Russian
literature frequently points out that in view of diminishing consumption a
considerable increase of capitalist production is impossible without external
markets, but this is due to a wrong evaluation of the part played by
consumption in a capitalist society, the failure to appreciate that
consumption is not the ultimate end of capitalist production. Capitalist
production does not exist by the grace of an increase in consumption but
because of an extension of the outlying fields of production which in fact
constitute the market for capitalist products. A whole progression of
Malthusian investigators, discontented with the superficial harmony
doctrine of the school of Say and Ricardo, have slaved away at a solution of
the hopeless undertaking: to find means of increasing consumption which
the capitalist mode of production is bound to decrease. Marx was the only
one to analyse the real connections: he has shown that the growth of
consumption is fatally lagging behind that of production, and must do so
Page 301
whatever “third persons” one might invent. Consumption and its volume
then should by no means be considered as establishing the immediate limits
to the expansion of production. Capitalist production atones by the crises
for deviating from the true purpose of production, but it is independent of
consumption. The expansion of production is alone limited by, and
dependent upon, the volume of capital.’[310]
The theory of Bulgakov and Tugan Baranovski is here directly attributed to
Marx. In the eyes of the Russian Marxists, it is on the whole the direct
consequence of Marx’s doctrine, of which it forms an organic part. On
another occasion Bulgakov says even more clearly that it is a faithful
interpretation of Marx’s diagram of enlarged reproduction. Once a country
has embraced capitalist production, its internal movement develops along
the following lines:
‘The production of constant capital makes up the Department I of social
reproduction, thereby instituting an independent demand for consumption
goods to the extent of both its own variable capital and the consumption
fund of its capitalists. Department II in its turn starts the demand for the
products of Department I. Thus a closed circle is already formed at the
initial stage of capitalist production, in which it depends on no external
market but is self-sufficient and can grow, of itself, as it were, by means of
accumulation.’[311]
In the hands of the Russian Marxists this theory becomes the favourite stick
with which to beat their opponents, the ‘populist’ sceptics, in the question of
markets. We can only appreciate its daring to the full when we look at its
amazing discrepancy with everyday practice, with all the known facts of
capitalist economy. A thesis pronounced so triumphantly as the purest
Marxist gospel is even more deserving of our admiration when we consider
that it is grounded in an extremely simple confusion. We shall have further
occasion to deal with this confusion when we come to the doctrine of Tugan
Baranovski.
Bulgakov further develops a completely erroneous theory of foreign
commerce, based upon his misapprehension of the relations between
consumption and production in capitalist economy. A picture of
reproduction like the above in fact has no room for foreign commerce. If
capitalism forms a ‘closed circle’ in every country from the very beginning,
then should by no means be considered as establishing the immediate limits
to the expansion of production. Capitalist production atones by the crises
for deviating from the true purpose of production, but it is independent of
consumption. The expansion of production is alone limited by, and
dependent upon, the volume of capital.’[310]
The theory of Bulgakov and Tugan Baranovski is here directly attributed to
Marx. In the eyes of the Russian Marxists, it is on the whole the direct
consequence of Marx’s doctrine, of which it forms an organic part. On
another occasion Bulgakov says even more clearly that it is a faithful
interpretation of Marx’s diagram of enlarged reproduction. Once a country
has embraced capitalist production, its internal movement develops along
the following lines:
‘The production of constant capital makes up the Department I of social
reproduction, thereby instituting an independent demand for consumption
goods to the extent of both its own variable capital and the consumption
fund of its capitalists. Department II in its turn starts the demand for the
products of Department I. Thus a closed circle is already formed at the
initial stage of capitalist production, in which it depends on no external
market but is self-sufficient and can grow, of itself, as it were, by means of
accumulation.’[311]
In the hands of the Russian Marxists this theory becomes the favourite stick
with which to beat their opponents, the ‘populist’ sceptics, in the question of
markets. We can only appreciate its daring to the full when we look at its
amazing discrepancy with everyday practice, with all the known facts of
capitalist economy. A thesis pronounced so triumphantly as the purest
Marxist gospel is even more deserving of our admiration when we consider
that it is grounded in an extremely simple confusion. We shall have further
occasion to deal with this confusion when we come to the doctrine of Tugan
Baranovski.
Bulgakov further develops a completely erroneous theory of foreign
commerce, based upon his misapprehension of the relations between
consumption and production in capitalist economy. A picture of
reproduction like the above in fact has no room for foreign commerce. If
capitalism forms a ‘closed circle’ in every country from the very beginning,
Page 302
if, chasing its tail like a puppy and in complete ‘self-sufficiency’, it is able
of itself to create an unlimited market for its products and can spur itself on
to ever greater expansion, then every capitalist country as such must also be
a closed and self-sufficient economic whole. In but a single respect would
foreign commerce appear reasonable: to compensate, by imports from
abroad, for certain deficiencies due to the soil and the climate, i.e. the
import of raw materials or foodstuffs from sheer necessity. Completely
upsetting the thesis of the ‘populists’, Bulgakov in fact advances a theory of
international commerce among capitalist states which gives pride of place
to the import of agricultural products, with industrial exports merely
providing the requisite funds.
International traffic in commodities does not here seem to flow from the
character of the mode of production but from the natural conditions of the
countries concerned. This theory at any rate has not been borrowed from
Marx but from the economic experts of the German bourgeoisie. Just as
Struve took over from Wagner and Schaeffle his Three Empire Theory, so
Bulgakov adopts from the late List (R.I.P.) the division of states on the basis
of ‘agriculture’ and ‘mixed agriculture and manufacture’, or rather adapts it,
in deference to the times, to the categories of ‘manufacture’ and ‘mixed
manufacture and agriculture’. Nature has afflicted the first category with a
deficiency in raw materials and foodstuffs, making it thus dependent upon
foreign commerce. The second category has been liberally endowed with all
it needs; here foreign trade is of no account. The prototype of the first
category is England, of the second—the U.S.A. The stoppage of foreign
commerce would mean the economic death-blow to England, but only a
temporary crisis in the U.S.A. with a guarantee of full recovery.
‘Production there is capable of unlimited expansion on the basis of the
internal market.’[312]
This theory, a hoary relic of German economics even now, has obviously
not the least grasp of the interrelations obtaining in an international
capitalist economy. It conceives of modern international trade in terms that
may have been appropriate to the times of the Phoenicians. Just listen to the
lecture of Professor Buecher:
‘Although the liberalist era has greatly facilitated international traffic, it
would be a mistake to infer from this that the period of a national economy
of itself to create an unlimited market for its products and can spur itself on
to ever greater expansion, then every capitalist country as such must also be
a closed and self-sufficient economic whole. In but a single respect would
foreign commerce appear reasonable: to compensate, by imports from
abroad, for certain deficiencies due to the soil and the climate, i.e. the
import of raw materials or foodstuffs from sheer necessity. Completely
upsetting the thesis of the ‘populists’, Bulgakov in fact advances a theory of
international commerce among capitalist states which gives pride of place
to the import of agricultural products, with industrial exports merely
providing the requisite funds.
International traffic in commodities does not here seem to flow from the
character of the mode of production but from the natural conditions of the
countries concerned. This theory at any rate has not been borrowed from
Marx but from the economic experts of the German bourgeoisie. Just as
Struve took over from Wagner and Schaeffle his Three Empire Theory, so
Bulgakov adopts from the late List (R.I.P.) the division of states on the basis
of ‘agriculture’ and ‘mixed agriculture and manufacture’, or rather adapts it,
in deference to the times, to the categories of ‘manufacture’ and ‘mixed
manufacture and agriculture’. Nature has afflicted the first category with a
deficiency in raw materials and foodstuffs, making it thus dependent upon
foreign commerce. The second category has been liberally endowed with all
it needs; here foreign trade is of no account. The prototype of the first
category is England, of the second—the U.S.A. The stoppage of foreign
commerce would mean the economic death-blow to England, but only a
temporary crisis in the U.S.A. with a guarantee of full recovery.
‘Production there is capable of unlimited expansion on the basis of the
internal market.’[312]
This theory, a hoary relic of German economics even now, has obviously
not the least grasp of the interrelations obtaining in an international
capitalist economy. It conceives of modern international trade in terms that
may have been appropriate to the times of the Phoenicians. Just listen to the
lecture of Professor Buecher:
‘Although the liberalist era has greatly facilitated international traffic, it
would be a mistake to infer from this that the period of a national economy
Page 303
is nearing its end, to be replaced by a period of international economy....
Granted that we see in Europe to-day a number of small countries that are
not independent nations in respect of their commodity supply, being
compelled to import substantial amounts of their foodstuffs and luxuries,
while their industrial productivity is in excess of the national needs and
creates a permanent surplus for which employment must be found in alien
spheres of consumption. Yet although countries of industrial production and
those producing raw materials exist side by side and depend upon one
another, such “international division of labour” should not be regarded as a
sign that mankind is about to attain to a higher stage of development which
it would be proper to contrast, under the label of world economy, with the ...
previous stages. No stage of economic development has ever permanently
guaranteed full autonomy in the satisfaction of wants. Every one of them
has left certain gaps which had to be filled in by some means or other. So-
called “international economy”, on the other hand, has not, at any rate so
far, engendered any phenomena which are essentially different from those
of national economy, and we very much doubt that such phenomena will
appear in the near future.’[313]
As far as Bulgakov is concerned, this conception at any rate results in an
unexpected conclusion: his theory of the unlimited capacity for
development of capitalism is confined to certain countries with favourable
natural conditions. Capitalism in England is foredoomed because the world
market will be exhausted before long. In the U.S.A., India and Russia it can
look forward to an unlimited development because these countries are ‘self-
sufficient’.
Apart from these obvious peculiarities, Bulgakov’s arguments about foreign
commerce again imply a fundamental misconception. Against the sceptics,
from Sismondi to Nikolayon, who believed that they had to take recourse to
outside markets for the realisation of capitalist surplus value, he chiefly
argues as follows:
‘These experts obviously consider external commerce as a “bottomless pit”
to swallow up in all eternity the surplus value which cannot be got rid of
inside the country.’
Bulgakov for his part triumphantly points out that foreign commerce is
indeed not a pit and certainly not a bottomless one, but rather appears as a
Granted that we see in Europe to-day a number of small countries that are
not independent nations in respect of their commodity supply, being
compelled to import substantial amounts of their foodstuffs and luxuries,
while their industrial productivity is in excess of the national needs and
creates a permanent surplus for which employment must be found in alien
spheres of consumption. Yet although countries of industrial production and
those producing raw materials exist side by side and depend upon one
another, such “international division of labour” should not be regarded as a
sign that mankind is about to attain to a higher stage of development which
it would be proper to contrast, under the label of world economy, with the ...
previous stages. No stage of economic development has ever permanently
guaranteed full autonomy in the satisfaction of wants. Every one of them
has left certain gaps which had to be filled in by some means or other. So-
called “international economy”, on the other hand, has not, at any rate so
far, engendered any phenomena which are essentially different from those
of national economy, and we very much doubt that such phenomena will
appear in the near future.’[313]
As far as Bulgakov is concerned, this conception at any rate results in an
unexpected conclusion: his theory of the unlimited capacity for
development of capitalism is confined to certain countries with favourable
natural conditions. Capitalism in England is foredoomed because the world
market will be exhausted before long. In the U.S.A., India and Russia it can
look forward to an unlimited development because these countries are ‘self-
sufficient’.
Apart from these obvious peculiarities, Bulgakov’s arguments about foreign
commerce again imply a fundamental misconception. Against the sceptics,
from Sismondi to Nikolayon, who believed that they had to take recourse to
outside markets for the realisation of capitalist surplus value, he chiefly
argues as follows:
‘These experts obviously consider external commerce as a “bottomless pit”
to swallow up in all eternity the surplus value which cannot be got rid of
inside the country.’
Bulgakov for his part triumphantly points out that foreign commerce is
indeed not a pit and certainly not a bottomless one, but rather appears as a
Page 304
double-edged sword, that exports always belong with imports, and that the
two usually counterbalance one another. Thus, whatever is pushed out over
one border, will be brought back, in a changed use-form, over another. ‘We
must find room for the commodities that have been imported as an
equivalent of those exported, within the bounds of the given market, and as
this is impossible, ex hypothesi, it would only generate new difficulties to
have recourse to an external demand.’[314]
On another occasion he says that the way to realise the surplus value found
by the Russian ‘populists’, viz. external markets, ‘is much less favourable
than that discovered by Malthus, v. Kirchmann and Vorontsov himself when
he wrote the essay On Militarism and Capitalism’.[315]
Although Bulgakov fervently copies Marx’s diagram of reproduction, he
here exhibits no grasp whatever of the real problem towards which the
sceptics from Sismondi to Nikolayon were groping their way. He denies
that foreign commerce solves the difficulty as pretended, since it again
brings the surplus value that has been disposed of into the country, although
in a ‘changed form’. In conformity with the crude picture of v. Kirchmann
and Vorontsov, he thus believes the problem to be that of destroying a
certain quantity of the surplus value, of wiping it from the face of the earth.
It simply does not occur to him that the real problem is the realisation of the
surplus value, the metamorphosis of commodities, in fact the ‘changed
form’ of the surplus value.
Bulgakov thus finally arrives at the same goal as Struve, though by a
different route. He preaches the self-sufficiency of capitalist accumulation
which swallows up its own product as Kronos swallows up his children, and
breeds ever more vigorously without help from outside. Now only one
further step is needed for Marxism to revert to bourgeois economics, and
this, as luck would have it, was taken by Tugan Baranovski.
two usually counterbalance one another. Thus, whatever is pushed out over
one border, will be brought back, in a changed use-form, over another. ‘We
must find room for the commodities that have been imported as an
equivalent of those exported, within the bounds of the given market, and as
this is impossible, ex hypothesi, it would only generate new difficulties to
have recourse to an external demand.’[314]
On another occasion he says that the way to realise the surplus value found
by the Russian ‘populists’, viz. external markets, ‘is much less favourable
than that discovered by Malthus, v. Kirchmann and Vorontsov himself when
he wrote the essay On Militarism and Capitalism’.[315]
Although Bulgakov fervently copies Marx’s diagram of reproduction, he
here exhibits no grasp whatever of the real problem towards which the
sceptics from Sismondi to Nikolayon were groping their way. He denies
that foreign commerce solves the difficulty as pretended, since it again
brings the surplus value that has been disposed of into the country, although
in a ‘changed form’. In conformity with the crude picture of v. Kirchmann
and Vorontsov, he thus believes the problem to be that of destroying a
certain quantity of the surplus value, of wiping it from the face of the earth.
It simply does not occur to him that the real problem is the realisation of the
surplus value, the metamorphosis of commodities, in fact the ‘changed
form’ of the surplus value.
Bulgakov thus finally arrives at the same goal as Struve, though by a
different route. He preaches the self-sufficiency of capitalist accumulation
which swallows up its own product as Kronos swallows up his children, and
breeds ever more vigorously without help from outside. Now only one
further step is needed for Marxism to revert to bourgeois economics, and
this, as luck would have it, was taken by Tugan Baranovski.
Page 305
CHAPTER XXIII
Page 306
TUGAN BARANOVSKI AND HIS ‘LACK OF
PROPORTION’
We have left this theorist to the end, although he already developed his
views in Russian in 1894, i.e. before Struve and Bulgakov, partly because
he only gave his theories their mature form in German at a later date,[316]
and also because the conclusions he draws from the premises of the Marxist
critics are the most far-reaching in their implications.
Like Bulgakov, Tugan Baranovski starts from Marx’s analysis of social
reproduction which gave him the clue to this bewildering maze of
problems. But while Bulgakov, the enthusiastic disciple of Marx, only
sought to follow him faithfully and simply attributed his own conclusions to
the master, Tugan Baranovski, on the other hand, lays down the law to
Marx who, in his opinion, did not know how to turn his brilliant exposition
of the reproductive process to good account. Tugan Baranovski’s most
important general conclusion from Marx’s principles, the pivot of his whole
theory, is that, contrary to the assumptions of the sceptics, capitalist
accumulation is not only possible under the capitalist forms of revenue and
consumption, but is, in fact, completely independent of both. It is not
consumption, he says, but production itself which makes for the best
market. Production and the market are therefore the same, and since the
expansion of production is unlimited in itself, the market, the capacity to
absorb its products, has no limits either.
‘The diagram quoted’, he says, ‘was to prove conclusively a postulate
which, though simple enough, might easily give rise to objections, unless
the process be adequately understood—the postulate, namely, that capitalist
production creates a market for itself. So long as it is possible to expand
social production, if the productive forces are adequate for this purpose, the
proportionate division of social production must also bring about a
corresponding expansion of the demand inasmuch as under such conditions
all newly produced goods represent a newly created purchasing power for
the acquisition of other goods. Comparing simple reproduction of the social
capital with its reproduction on a rising scale, we arrive at the most
PROPORTION’
We have left this theorist to the end, although he already developed his
views in Russian in 1894, i.e. before Struve and Bulgakov, partly because
he only gave his theories their mature form in German at a later date,[316]
and also because the conclusions he draws from the premises of the Marxist
critics are the most far-reaching in their implications.
Like Bulgakov, Tugan Baranovski starts from Marx’s analysis of social
reproduction which gave him the clue to this bewildering maze of
problems. But while Bulgakov, the enthusiastic disciple of Marx, only
sought to follow him faithfully and simply attributed his own conclusions to
the master, Tugan Baranovski, on the other hand, lays down the law to
Marx who, in his opinion, did not know how to turn his brilliant exposition
of the reproductive process to good account. Tugan Baranovski’s most
important general conclusion from Marx’s principles, the pivot of his whole
theory, is that, contrary to the assumptions of the sceptics, capitalist
accumulation is not only possible under the capitalist forms of revenue and
consumption, but is, in fact, completely independent of both. It is not
consumption, he says, but production itself which makes for the best
market. Production and the market are therefore the same, and since the
expansion of production is unlimited in itself, the market, the capacity to
absorb its products, has no limits either.
‘The diagram quoted’, he says, ‘was to prove conclusively a postulate
which, though simple enough, might easily give rise to objections, unless
the process be adequately understood—the postulate, namely, that capitalist
production creates a market for itself. So long as it is possible to expand
social production, if the productive forces are adequate for this purpose, the
proportionate division of social production must also bring about a
corresponding expansion of the demand inasmuch as under such conditions
all newly produced goods represent a newly created purchasing power for
the acquisition of other goods. Comparing simple reproduction of the social
capital with its reproduction on a rising scale, we arrive at the most
Page 307
important conclusion that in capitalist economy the demand for
commodities is in a sense independent of the total volume of social
consumption. Absurd as it may seem to “common-sense”, it is yet possible
that the volume of social consumption as a whole goes down while at the
same time the aggregate social demand for commodities grows.’[317]
And again further on: ‘Arising from the abstract analysis of the
reproductive process of social capital we have formed the conclusion that
nothing will be left over of the social product in view of the proportionate
division of the social capital.’[318]
Accordingly Tugan Baranovski subjects Marx’s theory of crises to a
revision which he claims to have developed from Sismondi’s ‘over-
consumption’. ‘Marx is in substantial agreement with the general view that
the poverty of the workers, i.e. of the great majority of the population,
makes it impossible to realise the products of an ever expanding capitalist
production, since it causes a decline in demand. This opinion is definitely
mistaken. We have seen that capitalist production creates its own market—
consumption being only one of the moments of capitalist production. In a
planned social production if the leaders of production were equipped with
all information about the demand and with the power to transfer labour and
capital freely from one branch of production to another, then, however low
the level of social consumption, the supply of commodities would not
exceed the demand.’[319]
The only circumstance which periodically causes the market to be flooded
is a lack of proportion in the enlargement of production. On this
assumption, therefore, Tugan Baranovski describes the course of capitalist
accumulation as follows: ‘What would the workers ... produce if production
were organised on proportionate lines? Obviously their own means of
subsistence and production. With what object? To expand production in the
second year. The production of what products? Again of means of
production and subsistence for the workers—and so on ad infinitum.’[320]
This game of question and answer, mind you, is not a form of self-mockery,
it is meant in all seriousness. ‘If the expansion of production has no
practical limits, then we must assume that the expansion of markets is
equally unlimited, for if social production is proportionately organised,
commodities is in a sense independent of the total volume of social
consumption. Absurd as it may seem to “common-sense”, it is yet possible
that the volume of social consumption as a whole goes down while at the
same time the aggregate social demand for commodities grows.’[317]
And again further on: ‘Arising from the abstract analysis of the
reproductive process of social capital we have formed the conclusion that
nothing will be left over of the social product in view of the proportionate
division of the social capital.’[318]
Accordingly Tugan Baranovski subjects Marx’s theory of crises to a
revision which he claims to have developed from Sismondi’s ‘over-
consumption’. ‘Marx is in substantial agreement with the general view that
the poverty of the workers, i.e. of the great majority of the population,
makes it impossible to realise the products of an ever expanding capitalist
production, since it causes a decline in demand. This opinion is definitely
mistaken. We have seen that capitalist production creates its own market—
consumption being only one of the moments of capitalist production. In a
planned social production if the leaders of production were equipped with
all information about the demand and with the power to transfer labour and
capital freely from one branch of production to another, then, however low
the level of social consumption, the supply of commodities would not
exceed the demand.’[319]
The only circumstance which periodically causes the market to be flooded
is a lack of proportion in the enlargement of production. On this
assumption, therefore, Tugan Baranovski describes the course of capitalist
accumulation as follows: ‘What would the workers ... produce if production
were organised on proportionate lines? Obviously their own means of
subsistence and production. With what object? To expand production in the
second year. The production of what products? Again of means of
production and subsistence for the workers—and so on ad infinitum.’[320]
This game of question and answer, mind you, is not a form of self-mockery,
it is meant in all seriousness. ‘If the expansion of production has no
practical limits, then we must assume that the expansion of markets is
equally unlimited, for if social production is proportionately organised,
Page 308
there is no limit to the expansion of the market other than the productive
forces available.’[321]
Since production thus creates its own demand, foreign commerce of
capitalist states is also assigned that peculiar mechanistic function we have
already met in Bulgakov. A foreign market, for instance, is an absolute
necessity for England. ‘Does not this prove that capitalist production creates
a surplus product for which there is no room on the internal market? Why,
come to that, does England require an external market? The answer is not
difficult: because a considerable part of England’s purchasing power is
expended on obtaining foreign commodities. The import of foreign
commodities for the English home market also makes it essential to export
English commodities abroad. Since England cannot manage without
importing from abroad, exports are a vital condition for that country, since
without them she would not be able to pay for her imports.’[322]
Here again agricultural imports are described as a stimulating and decisive
factor, quite in accordance with the scheme of the German professors.
What, then, is the general line of reasoning on which Tugan Baranovski
supports his daring solution of the problem of accumulation, the new
revelation on the problem of crises and a whole lot of others? Hard to
believe, but quite incontrovertible for all that, Tugan Baranovski’s proof
consists exclusively and entirely—in Marx’s diagram of enlarged
reproduction, no more no less. Although he repeatedly refers rather
pompously to his ‘abstract analysis of the reproductive process of social
capital’, to the ‘conclusive logic’ of his analysis, this entire analysis is
nothing but a copy of Marx’s diagram of enlarged reproduction, with a
different set of figures. Nowhere in the entire works of Tugan Baranovski
shall we find a trace of any other argument. In Marx’s diagram, admittedly,
accumulation, production, realisation and exchange run smoothly with
clockwork precision, and no doubt this kind of ‘accumulation’ can continue
ad infinitum, just as long, that is to say, as ink and paper do not run out. And
it is this harmless written exercise with mathematical equations which
Tugan Baranovski quite seriously considers a demonstration of such a
course in real events.
‘The diagrams we have adduced are bound to prove conclusively that....’
forces available.’[321]
Since production thus creates its own demand, foreign commerce of
capitalist states is also assigned that peculiar mechanistic function we have
already met in Bulgakov. A foreign market, for instance, is an absolute
necessity for England. ‘Does not this prove that capitalist production creates
a surplus product for which there is no room on the internal market? Why,
come to that, does England require an external market? The answer is not
difficult: because a considerable part of England’s purchasing power is
expended on obtaining foreign commodities. The import of foreign
commodities for the English home market also makes it essential to export
English commodities abroad. Since England cannot manage without
importing from abroad, exports are a vital condition for that country, since
without them she would not be able to pay for her imports.’[322]
Here again agricultural imports are described as a stimulating and decisive
factor, quite in accordance with the scheme of the German professors.
What, then, is the general line of reasoning on which Tugan Baranovski
supports his daring solution of the problem of accumulation, the new
revelation on the problem of crises and a whole lot of others? Hard to
believe, but quite incontrovertible for all that, Tugan Baranovski’s proof
consists exclusively and entirely—in Marx’s diagram of enlarged
reproduction, no more no less. Although he repeatedly refers rather
pompously to his ‘abstract analysis of the reproductive process of social
capital’, to the ‘conclusive logic’ of his analysis, this entire analysis is
nothing but a copy of Marx’s diagram of enlarged reproduction, with a
different set of figures. Nowhere in the entire works of Tugan Baranovski
shall we find a trace of any other argument. In Marx’s diagram, admittedly,
accumulation, production, realisation and exchange run smoothly with
clockwork precision, and no doubt this kind of ‘accumulation’ can continue
ad infinitum, just as long, that is to say, as ink and paper do not run out. And
it is this harmless written exercise with mathematical equations which
Tugan Baranovski quite seriously considers a demonstration of such a
course in real events.
‘The diagrams we have adduced are bound to prove conclusively that....’
Page 309
On another occasion he counters Hobson, who is convinced that
accumulation is impossible, with the following words: ‘Diagram No. 2 of
the reproduction of social capital on a rising scale corresponds to the case of
capital accumulation Hobson has in mind. But does this diagram show a
surplus product to come into being? Far from it.’[323]
Hobson is refuted and the matter settled because ‘in the diagram’ no surplus
product comes into being.
Admittedly, Tugan Baranovski knows quite well that in hard fact things do
not work out so smoothly. There are continual fluctuations in the exchange
relations and periodical crises. But these crises happen only because in the
expansion of production the proper proportions are not maintained, because,
that is to say, the proportions of ‘diagram No. 2’ are not observed in the first
place. If they were, there would be no crisis, and capitalist production could
get along as nicely as it does on paper, in every detail. Tugan Baranovski is
committed to the view that we can ignore the crises if we consider the
reproductive process as a continuous process. Although the ‘proportion’
may be upset at any moment, yet on average it will always be re-established
by different deviations, by price-fluctuations from day to day, and in the
long run by periodical crises. That on the whole this ‘proportion’ is more or
less maintained is proved by the fact that capitalist economy is still going
strong—otherwise it would long ago have ended in chaos and collapse. In
the long run, then, Tugan Baranovski’s ‘proportion’ is observed by and
large, and we must conclude that reality obeys ‘diagram No. 2’. And since
this diagram can be indefinitely extended, it follows that capitalist
accumulation can also proceed ad infinitum.
What is striking in all this is not Tugan Baranovski’s conclusion that the
diagram corresponds to the actual course of events—as we have seen,
Bulgakov also shared this belief; the really startling fact is that Tugan
Baranovski sees no necessity for as much as inquiring whether the diagram
is correct, that, instead of proving the diagram, he considers this, the
arithmetical exercise on paper, as proof of the actual state of affairs.
Bulgakov honestly tried to project Marx’s diagram on the real concrete
relations of capitalist economy and of capitalist exchange; he endeavoured
to overcome the difficulties resulting from it, though without success, it is
true, remaining to the last involved with Marx’s analysis, which he himself
recognised to be incomplete and fragmentary. But Tugan Baranovski does
accumulation is impossible, with the following words: ‘Diagram No. 2 of
the reproduction of social capital on a rising scale corresponds to the case of
capital accumulation Hobson has in mind. But does this diagram show a
surplus product to come into being? Far from it.’[323]
Hobson is refuted and the matter settled because ‘in the diagram’ no surplus
product comes into being.
Admittedly, Tugan Baranovski knows quite well that in hard fact things do
not work out so smoothly. There are continual fluctuations in the exchange
relations and periodical crises. But these crises happen only because in the
expansion of production the proper proportions are not maintained, because,
that is to say, the proportions of ‘diagram No. 2’ are not observed in the first
place. If they were, there would be no crisis, and capitalist production could
get along as nicely as it does on paper, in every detail. Tugan Baranovski is
committed to the view that we can ignore the crises if we consider the
reproductive process as a continuous process. Although the ‘proportion’
may be upset at any moment, yet on average it will always be re-established
by different deviations, by price-fluctuations from day to day, and in the
long run by periodical crises. That on the whole this ‘proportion’ is more or
less maintained is proved by the fact that capitalist economy is still going
strong—otherwise it would long ago have ended in chaos and collapse. In
the long run, then, Tugan Baranovski’s ‘proportion’ is observed by and
large, and we must conclude that reality obeys ‘diagram No. 2’. And since
this diagram can be indefinitely extended, it follows that capitalist
accumulation can also proceed ad infinitum.
What is striking in all this is not Tugan Baranovski’s conclusion that the
diagram corresponds to the actual course of events—as we have seen,
Bulgakov also shared this belief; the really startling fact is that Tugan
Baranovski sees no necessity for as much as inquiring whether the diagram
is correct, that, instead of proving the diagram, he considers this, the
arithmetical exercise on paper, as proof of the actual state of affairs.
Bulgakov honestly tried to project Marx’s diagram on the real concrete
relations of capitalist economy and of capitalist exchange; he endeavoured
to overcome the difficulties resulting from it, though without success, it is
true, remaining to the last involved with Marx’s analysis, which he himself
recognised to be incomplete and fragmentary. But Tugan Baranovski does
Page 310
not need any proof, he does not greatly exercise his brains: since the
arithmetical sums come out satisfactorily, and may be continued ad lib., this
is to him proof that capitalist accumulation can also proceed without let or
hindrance—provided the said ‘proportion’ obtains, which it will have to do
by hook or by crook, as he himself would not dream of denying.
Tugan Baranovski, however, has one indirect proof that the diagram with its
strange results corresponds to, and truly reflects, reality. This is the fact that
capitalist production, quite in accordance with Marx’s diagram, puts human
consumption second to production, that it conceives of the former as a
means and of the latter as an end in itself, just as it puts human labour, the
‘worker’, on a par with the machine.
‘Technical progress is expressed by the fact that the means of labour, the
machine, increases more and more in importance as compared to living
labour, to the worker himself. Means of production play an ever growing
part in the productive process and on the commodity market. Compared to
the machine, the worker recedes further into the background and the
demand resulting from the consumption of the workers is also put into the
shade by that which results from productive consumption by the means of
production. The entire workings of capitalist economy take on the character
of a mechanism existing on its own, as it were, in which human
consumption appears as a simple moment of the reproductive process and
the circulation of capitals.’[324]
Tugan Baranovski considers this discovery as a fundamental law of the
capitalist mode of production, which is confirmed by a quite tangible
phenomenon: with the progress of capitalist development Department I
goes on growing relatively to, and at the expense of, Department II. It was
Marx himself who, as we all know, set up this law in which he grounded the
schematic exposition of reproduction, though in the further development of
his diagram he ignored subsequent alterations for simplicity’s sake. This,
the automatic growth of the producer goods as compared with the consumer
goods department affords Tugan Baranovski the only objective proof of his
theory: that in capitalist society human consumption becomes increasingly
unimportant, and production more and more an end in itself. This thesis
forms the corner-stone of his entire theoretical edifice.
arithmetical sums come out satisfactorily, and may be continued ad lib., this
is to him proof that capitalist accumulation can also proceed without let or
hindrance—provided the said ‘proportion’ obtains, which it will have to do
by hook or by crook, as he himself would not dream of denying.
Tugan Baranovski, however, has one indirect proof that the diagram with its
strange results corresponds to, and truly reflects, reality. This is the fact that
capitalist production, quite in accordance with Marx’s diagram, puts human
consumption second to production, that it conceives of the former as a
means and of the latter as an end in itself, just as it puts human labour, the
‘worker’, on a par with the machine.
‘Technical progress is expressed by the fact that the means of labour, the
machine, increases more and more in importance as compared to living
labour, to the worker himself. Means of production play an ever growing
part in the productive process and on the commodity market. Compared to
the machine, the worker recedes further into the background and the
demand resulting from the consumption of the workers is also put into the
shade by that which results from productive consumption by the means of
production. The entire workings of capitalist economy take on the character
of a mechanism existing on its own, as it were, in which human
consumption appears as a simple moment of the reproductive process and
the circulation of capitals.’[324]
Tugan Baranovski considers this discovery as a fundamental law of the
capitalist mode of production, which is confirmed by a quite tangible
phenomenon: with the progress of capitalist development Department I
goes on growing relatively to, and at the expense of, Department II. It was
Marx himself who, as we all know, set up this law in which he grounded the
schematic exposition of reproduction, though in the further development of
his diagram he ignored subsequent alterations for simplicity’s sake. This,
the automatic growth of the producer goods as compared with the consumer
goods department affords Tugan Baranovski the only objective proof of his
theory: that in capitalist society human consumption becomes increasingly
unimportant, and production more and more an end in itself. This thesis
forms the corner-stone of his entire theoretical edifice.
Page 311
‘In all the industrial countries’, he proclaims, ‘we are confronted with the
same type of development—the development of national economy
everywhere follows the same fundamental law. The mining industry which
creates the means of production for modern industry comes more and more
to the fore. The relative decrease in the export of immediately consumable
manufactured goods from Britain is thus also an expression of the
fundamental law governing capitalist development. The further technical
progress advances, the more do consumer goods recede as compared with
producer goods. Human consumption plays an ever decreasing part as
against the productive consumption of the means of production.’[325]
Although this ‘fundamental law’ like all his other ‘fundamental’ laws, in so
far as they mean anything at all, is borrowed ready-made from Marx,
Baranovski does not rest content with this and immediately proceeds to
preach the Marxist gospel to Marx himself. Scrabbling about like a blind
hen, Marx has turned up another pearl—Tugan will give him that—only he
does not know what to do with it. It needed a Tugan Baranovski to know
how to make it useful to science, and in his hand the newly discovered law
suddenly throws a new light on the whole workings of capitalist economy.
This law of the expansion in the department of producer goods at the cost of
that of consumer goods reveals clearly, concisely, exactly, and in
measurable terms, that capitalist society attaches progressively less
importance to human consumption, putting man on the same level as the
means of production, and that Marx was therefore completely wrong both
in assuming that man alone, not the machine, too, can be the creator of
surplus value, and in saying, further, that human consumption represents a
limit for capitalist production which is bound to cause periodical crises in
the present, and the collapse and terrible end of capitalist economy in the
near future. In short, the ‘fundamental law’ governing the increase of
producer as compared to consumer goods reflects the singular nature of
capitalist society as a whole which Marx had not understood and which to
interpret happily fell to the lot of Tugan Baranovski.
We have seen above the decisive part played by the ‘fundamental law’ of
capital in the controversy between the Russian Marxists and the sceptics.
Bulgakov’s remarks we already know; another Marxist already referred to,
Vladimir Ilyin, expresses himself in similar terms in his polemics against
the ‘populists’:
same type of development—the development of national economy
everywhere follows the same fundamental law. The mining industry which
creates the means of production for modern industry comes more and more
to the fore. The relative decrease in the export of immediately consumable
manufactured goods from Britain is thus also an expression of the
fundamental law governing capitalist development. The further technical
progress advances, the more do consumer goods recede as compared with
producer goods. Human consumption plays an ever decreasing part as
against the productive consumption of the means of production.’[325]
Although this ‘fundamental law’ like all his other ‘fundamental’ laws, in so
far as they mean anything at all, is borrowed ready-made from Marx,
Baranovski does not rest content with this and immediately proceeds to
preach the Marxist gospel to Marx himself. Scrabbling about like a blind
hen, Marx has turned up another pearl—Tugan will give him that—only he
does not know what to do with it. It needed a Tugan Baranovski to know
how to make it useful to science, and in his hand the newly discovered law
suddenly throws a new light on the whole workings of capitalist economy.
This law of the expansion in the department of producer goods at the cost of
that of consumer goods reveals clearly, concisely, exactly, and in
measurable terms, that capitalist society attaches progressively less
importance to human consumption, putting man on the same level as the
means of production, and that Marx was therefore completely wrong both
in assuming that man alone, not the machine, too, can be the creator of
surplus value, and in saying, further, that human consumption represents a
limit for capitalist production which is bound to cause periodical crises in
the present, and the collapse and terrible end of capitalist economy in the
near future. In short, the ‘fundamental law’ governing the increase of
producer as compared to consumer goods reflects the singular nature of
capitalist society as a whole which Marx had not understood and which to
interpret happily fell to the lot of Tugan Baranovski.
We have seen above the decisive part played by the ‘fundamental law’ of
capital in the controversy between the Russian Marxists and the sceptics.
Bulgakov’s remarks we already know; another Marxist already referred to,
Vladimir Ilyin, expresses himself in similar terms in his polemics against
the ‘populists’:
Page 312
‘It is well known that the law of capitalist production consists in the fact
that the constant capital grows more rapidly than the variable capital, that is
to say an ever increasing part of the newly formed capital falls to the
department of social production which creates producer goods. In
consequence, this department is absolutely bound to grow more rapidly than
the department creating consumer goods, that is to say, the very thing
happens which Sismondi declared to be “impossible”, “dangerous”, etc. In
consequence, consumer goods make up a smaller and smaller share of the
total bulk of capitalist production, and this is entirely in accordance with the
historical “mission” of capitalism and its specific social structure: the
former in fact consists in the development of the productive forces of
society (production as an end in itself), and the latter prevents that the mass
of the population should turn them to use.’[326]
In this respect, of course, Tugan Baranovski goes even farther. With his love
of paradox he actually permits himself the joke of submitting a
mathematical proof that accumulation of capital and expansion of
production are possible even if the absolute volume of production
decreases. In this connection, Karl Kautsky has pointed out, he had recourse
to a somewhat dubious scientific subterfuge, namely that he shaped his
daring deductions exclusively for a specific moment: the transition from
simple to enlarged reproduction—a moment which is exceptional even in
theory, but certainly of no practical significance whatever.[327]
As to Tugan Baranovski’s ‘fundamental law’, Kautsky declares it to be a
mere illusion due to the fact that Tugan Baranovski considered the
organisation of production only in the old countries of capitalist big
industry.
‘It is correct’, Kautsky says, ‘that with a progressive division of labour,
there will be comparatively fewer and fewer factories etc. for the
production of goods direct for personal consumption, together with a
relative increase in the number of those which supply both the former and
one another with tools, machines, raw materials, transport facilities and so
on. While in original peasant economy an enterprise that cultivated the flax
also made the linen with its own tools and got it ready for human
consumption, nowadays hundreds of enterprises may share in the
manufacture of a single shirt, by producing raw cotton, iron rails, steam
engines and railway trucks that bring it to port, and so on. With
that the constant capital grows more rapidly than the variable capital, that is
to say an ever increasing part of the newly formed capital falls to the
department of social production which creates producer goods. In
consequence, this department is absolutely bound to grow more rapidly than
the department creating consumer goods, that is to say, the very thing
happens which Sismondi declared to be “impossible”, “dangerous”, etc. In
consequence, consumer goods make up a smaller and smaller share of the
total bulk of capitalist production, and this is entirely in accordance with the
historical “mission” of capitalism and its specific social structure: the
former in fact consists in the development of the productive forces of
society (production as an end in itself), and the latter prevents that the mass
of the population should turn them to use.’[326]
In this respect, of course, Tugan Baranovski goes even farther. With his love
of paradox he actually permits himself the joke of submitting a
mathematical proof that accumulation of capital and expansion of
production are possible even if the absolute volume of production
decreases. In this connection, Karl Kautsky has pointed out, he had recourse
to a somewhat dubious scientific subterfuge, namely that he shaped his
daring deductions exclusively for a specific moment: the transition from
simple to enlarged reproduction—a moment which is exceptional even in
theory, but certainly of no practical significance whatever.[327]
As to Tugan Baranovski’s ‘fundamental law’, Kautsky declares it to be a
mere illusion due to the fact that Tugan Baranovski considered the
organisation of production only in the old countries of capitalist big
industry.
‘It is correct’, Kautsky says, ‘that with a progressive division of labour,
there will be comparatively fewer and fewer factories etc. for the
production of goods direct for personal consumption, together with a
relative increase in the number of those which supply both the former and
one another with tools, machines, raw materials, transport facilities and so
on. While in original peasant economy an enterprise that cultivated the flax
also made the linen with its own tools and got it ready for human
consumption, nowadays hundreds of enterprises may share in the
manufacture of a single shirt, by producing raw cotton, iron rails, steam
engines and railway trucks that bring it to port, and so on. With
Page 313
international division of labour it will happen that some countries—the old
industrial countries—can only slowly expand their production for personal
consumption, while making large strides in their production of producer
goods which is much more decisive for the heartbeat of economic life than
the production of consumer goods. From the point of view of the nation
concerned, we might easily form the opinion that producer goods can be
turned out on a constantly rising scale with a more rapid rate of increase
than in the production of consumer goods, and that their production is not
bound up with that of the latter.’
The opinion, that producer goods can be produced independent of
consumption, is of course a mirage of Tugan Baranovski’s, typical of vulgar
economics. Not so the fact cited in support of this fallacy: the quicker
growth of Department I as compared with Department II is beyond dispute,
not only in old industrial countries but wherever technical progress plays a
decisive part in production. It is the foundation also of Marx’s fundamental
law that the rate of profit tends to fall. Yet in spite of it all, or rather
precisely for this reason, it is a howler if Bulgakov, Ilyin and Tugan
Baranovski imagine to have discovered in this law the essential nature of
capitalist economy as an economic system in which production is an end in
itself and human consumption merely incidental.
The growth of the constant at the expense of the variable capital is only the
capitalist expression of the general effects of increasing labour productivity.
The formula c greater than v (c > v), translated from the language of
capitalism into that of the social labour process, means only that the higher
the productivity of human labour, the shorter the time needed to change a
given quantity of means of production into finished products.[328]
This is a universal law of human labour. It has been valid in all pre-
capitalist forms of production and will also be valid in the future in a
socialist order of society. In terms of the material use-form of society’s
aggregate product, this law must manifest itself by more and more social
labour time being employed in the manufacture of producer than of
consumer goods. In a planned and controlled social economy, organised on
socialist lines, this transformation would in fact be more rapid even than it
is in contemporary capitalist economy. In the first place, rational scientific
techniques can only be applied on the largest scale when the barriers of
private ownership in land are abolished. This will result in an immense
industrial countries—can only slowly expand their production for personal
consumption, while making large strides in their production of producer
goods which is much more decisive for the heartbeat of economic life than
the production of consumer goods. From the point of view of the nation
concerned, we might easily form the opinion that producer goods can be
turned out on a constantly rising scale with a more rapid rate of increase
than in the production of consumer goods, and that their production is not
bound up with that of the latter.’
The opinion, that producer goods can be produced independent of
consumption, is of course a mirage of Tugan Baranovski’s, typical of vulgar
economics. Not so the fact cited in support of this fallacy: the quicker
growth of Department I as compared with Department II is beyond dispute,
not only in old industrial countries but wherever technical progress plays a
decisive part in production. It is the foundation also of Marx’s fundamental
law that the rate of profit tends to fall. Yet in spite of it all, or rather
precisely for this reason, it is a howler if Bulgakov, Ilyin and Tugan
Baranovski imagine to have discovered in this law the essential nature of
capitalist economy as an economic system in which production is an end in
itself and human consumption merely incidental.
The growth of the constant at the expense of the variable capital is only the
capitalist expression of the general effects of increasing labour productivity.
The formula c greater than v (c > v), translated from the language of
capitalism into that of the social labour process, means only that the higher
the productivity of human labour, the shorter the time needed to change a
given quantity of means of production into finished products.[328]
This is a universal law of human labour. It has been valid in all pre-
capitalist forms of production and will also be valid in the future in a
socialist order of society. In terms of the material use-form of society’s
aggregate product, this law must manifest itself by more and more social
labour time being employed in the manufacture of producer than of
consumer goods. In a planned and controlled social economy, organised on
socialist lines, this transformation would in fact be more rapid even than it
is in contemporary capitalist economy. In the first place, rational scientific
techniques can only be applied on the largest scale when the barriers of
private ownership in land are abolished. This will result in an immense
Page 314
revolution in vast provinces of production which will ultimately amount to
a replacement of living labour by machine labour, and which will enable us
to tackle technical jobs on a scale quite impossible under present day
conditions. Secondly, the general use of machinery in the productive
process will be put on a new economic basis. At present the machine does
not compete with living labour but only with that part of it that is paid. The
cost of the labour power which is replaced by the machine represents the
lowest limit of the applicability of the machine. Which means that the
capitalist becomes interested in a machine only when the costs of its
production—assuming the same level of performance—amount to less than
the wages of the workers it replaces. From the point of view of the social
labour process which is the only one to matter in a socialist society, the
machine competes not with the labour that is necessary to maintain the
worker but with the labour he actually performs. In other words, in a society
that is not governed by the profit motive but aims at saving human labour,
the use of machinery is economically indicated just as soon as it can save
more human labour than is necessary for making it, not to mention the
many cases where the use of machinery is desirable even if it does not
answer this economic minimum—for reasons of health and similar
considerations, in the interest of the workers themselves. However that may
be, the tension between the respective economic usefulness of the machine
in (a) a capitalist, and (b) a socialist society is at least equal to the
difference between labour and that part of it that is paid; it is, in other
words, the precise equivalent of the whole capitalist surplus value.
Consequently, if the capitalist profit motive is abolished and a social
organisation of labour introduced, the marginal use of the machine will
suddenly be increased by the whole extent of the capitalist surplus value, so
that an enormous field, not to be gauged as yet, will be open to the
triumphal march of the machine. This would be tangible proof that the
capitalist mode of production, alleged to spur on to the optimum technical
development, in fact sets large social limits to technical progress, in form of
the profit motive on which it is based. It would show that as soon as these
limits are abolished, technical progress will develop such a powerful drive
that the technical marvels of capitalist production will be child’s play in
comparison.
In terms of the composition of the social product, this technical
transformation can only mean that, compared to the production of consumer
a replacement of living labour by machine labour, and which will enable us
to tackle technical jobs on a scale quite impossible under present day
conditions. Secondly, the general use of machinery in the productive
process will be put on a new economic basis. At present the machine does
not compete with living labour but only with that part of it that is paid. The
cost of the labour power which is replaced by the machine represents the
lowest limit of the applicability of the machine. Which means that the
capitalist becomes interested in a machine only when the costs of its
production—assuming the same level of performance—amount to less than
the wages of the workers it replaces. From the point of view of the social
labour process which is the only one to matter in a socialist society, the
machine competes not with the labour that is necessary to maintain the
worker but with the labour he actually performs. In other words, in a society
that is not governed by the profit motive but aims at saving human labour,
the use of machinery is economically indicated just as soon as it can save
more human labour than is necessary for making it, not to mention the
many cases where the use of machinery is desirable even if it does not
answer this economic minimum—for reasons of health and similar
considerations, in the interest of the workers themselves. However that may
be, the tension between the respective economic usefulness of the machine
in (a) a capitalist, and (b) a socialist society is at least equal to the
difference between labour and that part of it that is paid; it is, in other
words, the precise equivalent of the whole capitalist surplus value.
Consequently, if the capitalist profit motive is abolished and a social
organisation of labour introduced, the marginal use of the machine will
suddenly be increased by the whole extent of the capitalist surplus value, so
that an enormous field, not to be gauged as yet, will be open to the
triumphal march of the machine. This would be tangible proof that the
capitalist mode of production, alleged to spur on to the optimum technical
development, in fact sets large social limits to technical progress, in form of
the profit motive on which it is based. It would show that as soon as these
limits are abolished, technical progress will develop such a powerful drive
that the technical marvels of capitalist production will be child’s play in
comparison.
In terms of the composition of the social product, this technical
transformation can only mean that, compared to the production of consumer
Page 315
goods, the production of producer goods—measured in units of labour time
—must increase more rapidly in a socialist society than it does even to-day.
Thus the relation between the two departments of social production which
the Russian Marxists took to reveal typical capitalist baseness, the neglect
of man’s need to consume, rather proves to be the precise manifestation of
the progressive subjection of nature to social labour, which will become
even more striking when production is organised solely with a view to
human needs. The only objective proof for Tugan Baranovski’s
‘fundamental law’ thus collapses as a ‘fundamental’ confusion. His whole
construction, including his ‘new theory of crises’, together with the ‘lack of
proportion’, is reduced to its foundations on paper: a slavish copy of Marx’s
diagram of enlarged reproduction.
—must increase more rapidly in a socialist society than it does even to-day.
Thus the relation between the two departments of social production which
the Russian Marxists took to reveal typical capitalist baseness, the neglect
of man’s need to consume, rather proves to be the precise manifestation of
the progressive subjection of nature to social labour, which will become
even more striking when production is organised solely with a view to
human needs. The only objective proof for Tugan Baranovski’s
‘fundamental law’ thus collapses as a ‘fundamental’ confusion. His whole
construction, including his ‘new theory of crises’, together with the ‘lack of
proportion’, is reduced to its foundations on paper: a slavish copy of Marx’s
diagram of enlarged reproduction.
Page 316
CHAPTER XXIV
Page 317
THE END OF RUSSIAN ‘LEGALIST’
MARXISM
The Russian ‘legalist’ Marxists, and Tugan Baranovski above all, can claim
the credit, in their struggle against the doubters of capitalist accumulation,
of having enriched economic theory by an application of Marx’s analysis of
the social reproductive process and its schematic representation in the
second volume of Capital. But in view of the fact that this same Tugan
Baranovski quite wrongly regarded said diagram as the solution to the
problem instead of its formulation, his conclusions were bound to reverse
the basic order of Marx’s doctrine.
Tugan Baranovski’s approach, according to which capitalist production can
create unlimited markets and is independent of consumption, leads him
straight on to the thesis of Say-Ricardo, i.e. a natural balance between
production and consumption, between supply and demand. The difference
is simply that those two only thought in terms of simple commodity
circulation, whilst Tugan Baranovski applies the same doctrine to the
circulation of capital. His theory of crises being caused by a ‘lack of
proportion’ is in effect just a paraphrase of Say’s old trite absurdity: the
over-production of any one commodity only goes to show under-production
of another; and Tugan Baranovski simply translates this nonsense into the
terminology used in Marx’s analysis of the reproductive process. Even
though he declares that, Say notwithstanding, general over-production is
quite possible in the light of the circulation of money which the former had
entirely neglected, yet it is in fact this very same neglect, the besetting sin
of Say and Ricardo in their dealings with the problem of crises which is the
condition for his delightful manipulations with Marx’s diagram. As soon as
it is applied to the circulation of money, ‘diagram No. 2’ begins to bristle
with spikes and barbs. Bulgakov was caught in these spikes when he
attempted to follow up Marx’s interrupted analysis to a logical conclusion.
This compound of forms of thought borrowed from Marx with contents
derived from Say and Ricardo is what Tugan Baranovski modestly calls his
‘attempt at a synthesis between Marx’s theory and classical economics’.
MARXISM
The Russian ‘legalist’ Marxists, and Tugan Baranovski above all, can claim
the credit, in their struggle against the doubters of capitalist accumulation,
of having enriched economic theory by an application of Marx’s analysis of
the social reproductive process and its schematic representation in the
second volume of Capital. But in view of the fact that this same Tugan
Baranovski quite wrongly regarded said diagram as the solution to the
problem instead of its formulation, his conclusions were bound to reverse
the basic order of Marx’s doctrine.
Tugan Baranovski’s approach, according to which capitalist production can
create unlimited markets and is independent of consumption, leads him
straight on to the thesis of Say-Ricardo, i.e. a natural balance between
production and consumption, between supply and demand. The difference
is simply that those two only thought in terms of simple commodity
circulation, whilst Tugan Baranovski applies the same doctrine to the
circulation of capital. His theory of crises being caused by a ‘lack of
proportion’ is in effect just a paraphrase of Say’s old trite absurdity: the
over-production of any one commodity only goes to show under-production
of another; and Tugan Baranovski simply translates this nonsense into the
terminology used in Marx’s analysis of the reproductive process. Even
though he declares that, Say notwithstanding, general over-production is
quite possible in the light of the circulation of money which the former had
entirely neglected, yet it is in fact this very same neglect, the besetting sin
of Say and Ricardo in their dealings with the problem of crises which is the
condition for his delightful manipulations with Marx’s diagram. As soon as
it is applied to the circulation of money, ‘diagram No. 2’ begins to bristle
with spikes and barbs. Bulgakov was caught in these spikes when he
attempted to follow up Marx’s interrupted analysis to a logical conclusion.
This compound of forms of thought borrowed from Marx with contents
derived from Say and Ricardo is what Tugan Baranovski modestly calls his
‘attempt at a synthesis between Marx’s theory and classical economics’.
Page 318
After almost a century, the theory of optimism which holds, in the face of
petty-bourgeois doubts, that capitalist production is capable of
development, returns, by way of Marx’s doctrine and its ‘legalist’
champions, to its point of departure, to Say and Ricardo. The three
‘Marxists’ join forces with the bourgeois ‘harmonists’ of the Golden Age
shortly before the Fall when bourgeois economics was expelled from the
Garden of Innocence—the circle is closed.
There can be no doubt that the ‘legalist’ Russian Marxists achieved a
victory over their opponents, the ‘populists’, but that victory was rather too
thorough. In the heat of battle, all three—Struve, Bulgakov and Tugan
Baranovski—overstated their case. The question was whether capitalism in
general, and Russian capitalism in particular, is capable of development;
these Marxists, however, proved this capacity to the extent of even offering
theoretical proof that capitalism can go on for ever. Assuming the
accumulation of capital to be without limits, one has obviously proved the
unlimited capacity of capitalism to survive! Accumulation is the specifically
capitalist method of expanding production, of furthering labour
productivity, of developing the productive forces, of economic progress. If
the capitalist mode of production can ensure boundless expansion of the
productive forces, of economic progress, it is invincible indeed. The most
important objective argument in support of socialist theory breaks down;
socialist political action and the ideological import of the proletarian class
struggle cease to reflect economic events, and socialism no longer appears
an historical necessity. Setting out to show that capitalism is possible, this
trend of reasoning ends up by showing that socialism is impossible.
The three Russian Marxists were fully aware that in the course of the
dispute they had made an about-turn, though Struve, in his enthusiasm for
the cultural mission of capitalism, does not worry about giving up a useful
warrant.[329] Bulgakov tried to stop the gaps now made in socialist theory
with another fragment of the same theory as best he could: he hoped that
capitalist society might yet perish, in spite of the immanent balance
between production and consumption, because of the declining profit rate.
But it was he himself who finally cut away the ground from under this
somewhat precarious comfort. Forgetting the straw he had offered for the
salvation of socialism, he turned on Tugan Baranovski with the teaching
that, in the case of large capitals, the relative decline in the profit rate is
petty-bourgeois doubts, that capitalist production is capable of
development, returns, by way of Marx’s doctrine and its ‘legalist’
champions, to its point of departure, to Say and Ricardo. The three
‘Marxists’ join forces with the bourgeois ‘harmonists’ of the Golden Age
shortly before the Fall when bourgeois economics was expelled from the
Garden of Innocence—the circle is closed.
There can be no doubt that the ‘legalist’ Russian Marxists achieved a
victory over their opponents, the ‘populists’, but that victory was rather too
thorough. In the heat of battle, all three—Struve, Bulgakov and Tugan
Baranovski—overstated their case. The question was whether capitalism in
general, and Russian capitalism in particular, is capable of development;
these Marxists, however, proved this capacity to the extent of even offering
theoretical proof that capitalism can go on for ever. Assuming the
accumulation of capital to be without limits, one has obviously proved the
unlimited capacity of capitalism to survive! Accumulation is the specifically
capitalist method of expanding production, of furthering labour
productivity, of developing the productive forces, of economic progress. If
the capitalist mode of production can ensure boundless expansion of the
productive forces, of economic progress, it is invincible indeed. The most
important objective argument in support of socialist theory breaks down;
socialist political action and the ideological import of the proletarian class
struggle cease to reflect economic events, and socialism no longer appears
an historical necessity. Setting out to show that capitalism is possible, this
trend of reasoning ends up by showing that socialism is impossible.
The three Russian Marxists were fully aware that in the course of the
dispute they had made an about-turn, though Struve, in his enthusiasm for
the cultural mission of capitalism, does not worry about giving up a useful
warrant.[329] Bulgakov tried to stop the gaps now made in socialist theory
with another fragment of the same theory as best he could: he hoped that
capitalist society might yet perish, in spite of the immanent balance
between production and consumption, because of the declining profit rate.
But it was he himself who finally cut away the ground from under this
somewhat precarious comfort. Forgetting the straw he had offered for the
salvation of socialism, he turned on Tugan Baranovski with the teaching
that, in the case of large capitals, the relative decline in the profit rate is
Page 319
compensated by the absolute growth of capital.[330] More consistent than
the others, Tugan Baranovski finally with the crude joy of a barbarian
destroys all objective economic arguments in support of socialism, thus
building in his own spirit ‘a more beautiful world’ on an ethical foundation.
‘The individual protests against an economic order which transforms the
end (man) into a means (production) and the means (production) into an
end.’[331]
Our three Marxists demonstrated in person that the new foundations of
socialism had been frail and jerry-built. They had hardly laid down the new
basis for socialism before they turned their backs on it. When the masses of
Russia were staking their lives in the fight for the ideals of a social order to
come, which would put the end (man) before the means (production), the
‘individual’ went into retreat, to find philosophical and ethical solace with
Kant. In actual fact, the ‘legalist’ bourgeois Marxists ended up just where
we should expect them to from their theoretical position—in the camp of
bourgeois harmonies.
the others, Tugan Baranovski finally with the crude joy of a barbarian
destroys all objective economic arguments in support of socialism, thus
building in his own spirit ‘a more beautiful world’ on an ethical foundation.
‘The individual protests against an economic order which transforms the
end (man) into a means (production) and the means (production) into an
end.’[331]
Our three Marxists demonstrated in person that the new foundations of
socialism had been frail and jerry-built. They had hardly laid down the new
basis for socialism before they turned their backs on it. When the masses of
Russia were staking their lives in the fight for the ideals of a social order to
come, which would put the end (man) before the means (production), the
‘individual’ went into retreat, to find philosophical and ethical solace with
Kant. In actual fact, the ‘legalist’ bourgeois Marxists ended up just where
we should expect them to from their theoretical position—in the camp of
bourgeois harmonies.
Page 320
SECTION THREE
★
★
Page 321
THE HISTORICAL CONDITIONS OF
ACCUMULATION
ACCUMULATION
Page 322
CHAPTER XXV
Page 323
CONTRADICTIONS WITHIN THE DIAGRAM
OF ENLARGED REPRODUCTION
In the first section, we ascertained that Marx’s diagram of accumulation
does not solve the question of who is to benefit in the end by enlarged
reproduction. If we take the diagram literally as it is set out at the end of
volume ii, it appears that capitalist production would itself realise its entire
surplus value, and that it would use the capitalised surplus value exclusively
for its own needs. This impression is confirmed by Marx’s analysis of the
diagram where he attempts to reduce the circulation within the diagram
altogether to terms of money, that is to say to the effective demand of
capitalists and workers—an attempt which in the end leads him to introduce
the ‘producer of money’ as a deus ex machina. In addition, there is that
most important passage in Capital, volume i, which must be interpreted to
mean the same.
‘The annual production must in the first place furnish all those objects (use-
values) from which the material components of capital, used up in the
course of the year, have to be replaced. Deducting these there remains the
net or surplus-product, in which the surplus-value lies. And of what does
this surplus-value consist? Only of things destined to satisfy the wants and
desires of the capitalist class, things which, consequently, enter into the
consumption fund of the capitalists? Were that the case, the cup of surplus-
value would be drained to the very dregs, and nothing but simple
reproduction would ever take place.
‘To accumulate it is necessary to convert a portion of the surplus-product
into capital. But we cannot, except by a miracle, convert into capital
anything but such articles as can be employed in the labour-process (i.e.
means of production), and such further articles as are suitable for the
sustenance of the labourer (i.e. means of subsistence). Consequently, a part
of the annual surplus-labour must have been applied to the production of
additional means of production and subsistence, over and above the
quantity of these things required to replace the capital advanced. In one
word, surplus-value is convertible into capital solely because the surplus-
OF ENLARGED REPRODUCTION
In the first section, we ascertained that Marx’s diagram of accumulation
does not solve the question of who is to benefit in the end by enlarged
reproduction. If we take the diagram literally as it is set out at the end of
volume ii, it appears that capitalist production would itself realise its entire
surplus value, and that it would use the capitalised surplus value exclusively
for its own needs. This impression is confirmed by Marx’s analysis of the
diagram where he attempts to reduce the circulation within the diagram
altogether to terms of money, that is to say to the effective demand of
capitalists and workers—an attempt which in the end leads him to introduce
the ‘producer of money’ as a deus ex machina. In addition, there is that
most important passage in Capital, volume i, which must be interpreted to
mean the same.
‘The annual production must in the first place furnish all those objects (use-
values) from which the material components of capital, used up in the
course of the year, have to be replaced. Deducting these there remains the
net or surplus-product, in which the surplus-value lies. And of what does
this surplus-value consist? Only of things destined to satisfy the wants and
desires of the capitalist class, things which, consequently, enter into the
consumption fund of the capitalists? Were that the case, the cup of surplus-
value would be drained to the very dregs, and nothing but simple
reproduction would ever take place.
‘To accumulate it is necessary to convert a portion of the surplus-product
into capital. But we cannot, except by a miracle, convert into capital
anything but such articles as can be employed in the labour-process (i.e.
means of production), and such further articles as are suitable for the
sustenance of the labourer (i.e. means of subsistence). Consequently, a part
of the annual surplus-labour must have been applied to the production of
additional means of production and subsistence, over and above the
quantity of these things required to replace the capital advanced. In one
word, surplus-value is convertible into capital solely because the surplus-
Page 324
product, whose value it is, already comprises the material elements of new
capital.’[332]
The following conditions of accumulation are here laid down: (1) The
surplus value to be capitalised first comes into being in the natural form of
capital (as additional means of production and additional means of
subsistence for the workers). (2) The expansion of capitalist production is
achieved exclusively by means of capitalist products, i.e. its own means of
production and subsistence. (3) The limits of this expansion are each time
determined in advance by the amount of surplus value which is to be
capitalised in any given case; they cannot be extended, since they depend
on the amount of the means of production and subsistence which make up
the surplus product; neither can they be reduced, since a part of the surplus
value could not then be employed in its natural form. Deviations in either
direction (above and below) may give rise to periodical fluctuations and
crises—in this context, however, these may be ignored, because in general
the surplus product to be capitalised must be equal to actual accumulation.
(4) Since capitalist production buys up its entire surplus product, there is no
limit to the accumulation of capital.
Marx’s diagram of enlarged reproduction adheres to these conditions.
Accumulation here takes its course, but it is not in the least indicated who is
to benefit by it, who are the new consumers for whose sake production is
ever more enlarged. The diagram assumes, say, the following course of
events: the coal industry is expanded in order to expand the iron industry in
order to expand the machine industry in order to expand the production of
consumer goods. This last, in turn, is expanded to maintain both its own
workers and the growing army of coal, iron and machine operatives. And so
on ad infinitum. We are running in circles, quite in accordance with the
theory of Tugan Baranovski. Considered in isolation, Marx’s diagram does
indeed permit of such an interpretation since he himself explicitly states
time and again that he aims at presenting the process of accumulation of the
aggregate capital in a society consisting solely of capitalists and workers.
Passages to this effect can be found in every volume of Capital.
In volume i, in the very chapter on ‘The Conversion of Surplus-Value into
Capital’, he says:
capital.’[332]
The following conditions of accumulation are here laid down: (1) The
surplus value to be capitalised first comes into being in the natural form of
capital (as additional means of production and additional means of
subsistence for the workers). (2) The expansion of capitalist production is
achieved exclusively by means of capitalist products, i.e. its own means of
production and subsistence. (3) The limits of this expansion are each time
determined in advance by the amount of surplus value which is to be
capitalised in any given case; they cannot be extended, since they depend
on the amount of the means of production and subsistence which make up
the surplus product; neither can they be reduced, since a part of the surplus
value could not then be employed in its natural form. Deviations in either
direction (above and below) may give rise to periodical fluctuations and
crises—in this context, however, these may be ignored, because in general
the surplus product to be capitalised must be equal to actual accumulation.
(4) Since capitalist production buys up its entire surplus product, there is no
limit to the accumulation of capital.
Marx’s diagram of enlarged reproduction adheres to these conditions.
Accumulation here takes its course, but it is not in the least indicated who is
to benefit by it, who are the new consumers for whose sake production is
ever more enlarged. The diagram assumes, say, the following course of
events: the coal industry is expanded in order to expand the iron industry in
order to expand the machine industry in order to expand the production of
consumer goods. This last, in turn, is expanded to maintain both its own
workers and the growing army of coal, iron and machine operatives. And so
on ad infinitum. We are running in circles, quite in accordance with the
theory of Tugan Baranovski. Considered in isolation, Marx’s diagram does
indeed permit of such an interpretation since he himself explicitly states
time and again that he aims at presenting the process of accumulation of the
aggregate capital in a society consisting solely of capitalists and workers.
Passages to this effect can be found in every volume of Capital.
In volume i, in the very chapter on ‘The Conversion of Surplus-Value into
Capital’, he says:
Page 325
‘In order to examine the object of our investigation in its integrity, free from
all disturbing subsidiary circumstances, we must treat the whole world as
one nation, and assume that capitalist production is everywhere established
and has possessed itself of every branch of industry.’[333]
In volume ii, the assumption repeatedly returns; thus in chapter 17 on ‘The
Circulation of Surplus-Value’: ‘Now, there are only two points of departure:
The capitalist and the labourer. All third classes of persons must either
receive money for their services from these two classes, or, to the extent
that they receive it without any equivalent services, they are joint owners of
the surplus-value in the form of rent, interest, etc.... The capitalist class,
then, remains the sole point of departure of the circulation of money.’[334]
Further, in the same chapter ‘On the Circulation of Money in Particular
under Assumption of Accumulation’: ‘But the difficulty arises when we
assume, not a partial, but a general accumulation of money-capital on the
part of the capitalist class. Apart from this class, there is, according to our
assumption—the general and exclusive domination of capitalist production
—no other class but the working class.’[335]
And again in chapter 20: ‘... there are only two classes in this case, the
working class disposing of their labour-power, and the capitalist class
owning the social means of production and the money.’[336]
In volume iii, Marx says quite explicitly, when demonstrating the process of
capitalist production as a whole: ‘Let us suppose that the whole society is
composed only of industrial capitalists and wage workers. Let us
furthermore make exceptions of fluctuations of prices which prevent large
portions of the total capital from reproducing themselves under average
conditions and which, owing to the general interrelations of the entire
process of reproduction, such as are developed particularly by credit, must
always call forth general stoppages of a transient nature. Let us also make
abstraction of the bogus transactions and speculations, which the credit
system favours. In that case, a crisis could be explained only by a
disproportion of production in various branches, and by a disproportion of
the consumption of the capitalists and the accumulation of their capitals.
But as matters stand, the reproduction of the capitals invested in production
depends largely upon the consuming power of the non-producing classes;
while the consuming power of the labourers is handicapped partly by the
all disturbing subsidiary circumstances, we must treat the whole world as
one nation, and assume that capitalist production is everywhere established
and has possessed itself of every branch of industry.’[333]
In volume ii, the assumption repeatedly returns; thus in chapter 17 on ‘The
Circulation of Surplus-Value’: ‘Now, there are only two points of departure:
The capitalist and the labourer. All third classes of persons must either
receive money for their services from these two classes, or, to the extent
that they receive it without any equivalent services, they are joint owners of
the surplus-value in the form of rent, interest, etc.... The capitalist class,
then, remains the sole point of departure of the circulation of money.’[334]
Further, in the same chapter ‘On the Circulation of Money in Particular
under Assumption of Accumulation’: ‘But the difficulty arises when we
assume, not a partial, but a general accumulation of money-capital on the
part of the capitalist class. Apart from this class, there is, according to our
assumption—the general and exclusive domination of capitalist production
—no other class but the working class.’[335]
And again in chapter 20: ‘... there are only two classes in this case, the
working class disposing of their labour-power, and the capitalist class
owning the social means of production and the money.’[336]
In volume iii, Marx says quite explicitly, when demonstrating the process of
capitalist production as a whole: ‘Let us suppose that the whole society is
composed only of industrial capitalists and wage workers. Let us
furthermore make exceptions of fluctuations of prices which prevent large
portions of the total capital from reproducing themselves under average
conditions and which, owing to the general interrelations of the entire
process of reproduction, such as are developed particularly by credit, must
always call forth general stoppages of a transient nature. Let us also make
abstraction of the bogus transactions and speculations, which the credit
system favours. In that case, a crisis could be explained only by a
disproportion of production in various branches, and by a disproportion of
the consumption of the capitalists and the accumulation of their capitals.
But as matters stand, the reproduction of the capitals invested in production
depends largely upon the consuming power of the non-producing classes;
while the consuming power of the labourers is handicapped partly by the
Page 326
laws of wages, partly by the fact that it can be exerted only so long as the
labourers can be employed at a profit for the capitalist class.’[337]
This last quotation refers to the question of crises with which we are not
here concerned. It can leave no doubt, however, that the movement of the
total capital, ‘as matters stand’, depends in Marx’s view on three categories
of consumers only: the capitalists, the workers and the ‘non-productive
classes’, i.e. the hangers-on of the capitalist class (king, parson, professor,
prostitute, mercenary), of whom he quite rightly disposes in volume ii as
the mere representatives of a derivative purchasing power, and thus the
parasitic joint consumers of the surplus value or of the wage of labour.
Finally, in Theories of Surplus Value,[338] Marx formulates his general
presuppositions with regard to accumulation as follows: ‘Here we have only
to consider the forms through which capital passes during the various stages
of its development. Thus we do not set out the actual conditions of the real
process of production, but always assume that the commodity is sold for
what it is worth. We ignore the competition of capitalists and the credit
system; we also leave out of account the actual constitution of society
which never consists exclusively of the classes of workers and industrial
capitalists, and where there is accordingly no strict division between
producers and consumers. The first category (of consumers, whose
revenues are partly of a secondary, not a primitive nature, derived from
profits and the wage of labour) is much wider than the second category (of
producers). Therefore the manner in which it spends its income, and the
extent of such income, effects very large modifications in the economic
household, and especially so in the process of circulation and reproduction
of capital.’
Speaking of the ‘actual constitution of society’, Marx here also considers
merely the parasitic joint consumers of surplus value and of the wage of
labour, i.e. only the hangers-on of the principal categories of capitalist
production.
There can be no doubt, therefore, that Marx wanted to demonstrate the
process of accumulation in a society consisting exclusively of workers and
capitalists, under the universal and exclusive domination of the capitalist
mode of production. On this assumption, however, his diagram does not
labourers can be employed at a profit for the capitalist class.’[337]
This last quotation refers to the question of crises with which we are not
here concerned. It can leave no doubt, however, that the movement of the
total capital, ‘as matters stand’, depends in Marx’s view on three categories
of consumers only: the capitalists, the workers and the ‘non-productive
classes’, i.e. the hangers-on of the capitalist class (king, parson, professor,
prostitute, mercenary), of whom he quite rightly disposes in volume ii as
the mere representatives of a derivative purchasing power, and thus the
parasitic joint consumers of the surplus value or of the wage of labour.
Finally, in Theories of Surplus Value,[338] Marx formulates his general
presuppositions with regard to accumulation as follows: ‘Here we have only
to consider the forms through which capital passes during the various stages
of its development. Thus we do not set out the actual conditions of the real
process of production, but always assume that the commodity is sold for
what it is worth. We ignore the competition of capitalists and the credit
system; we also leave out of account the actual constitution of society
which never consists exclusively of the classes of workers and industrial
capitalists, and where there is accordingly no strict division between
producers and consumers. The first category (of consumers, whose
revenues are partly of a secondary, not a primitive nature, derived from
profits and the wage of labour) is much wider than the second category (of
producers). Therefore the manner in which it spends its income, and the
extent of such income, effects very large modifications in the economic
household, and especially so in the process of circulation and reproduction
of capital.’
Speaking of the ‘actual constitution of society’, Marx here also considers
merely the parasitic joint consumers of surplus value and of the wage of
labour, i.e. only the hangers-on of the principal categories of capitalist
production.
There can be no doubt, therefore, that Marx wanted to demonstrate the
process of accumulation in a society consisting exclusively of workers and
capitalists, under the universal and exclusive domination of the capitalist
mode of production. On this assumption, however, his diagram does not
Page 327
permit of any other interpretation than that of production for production’s
sake.
Let us recall the second example of Marx’s diagram of enlarged
reproduction:
1st year:
I. 5,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 7,000means of production
II. 1,430c + 285v + 285s = 2,000means of subsistence
9,000
2nd year:
I. 5,417c + 1,083v + 1,083s = 7,583means of production
II. 1,583c + 316v + 316s = 2,215means of subsistence
9,798
3rd year:
I. 5,869c + 1,173v + 1,173s = 8,215means of production
II. 1,715c + 342v + 342s = 2,399means of subsistence
10,614
4th year:
I. 6,358c + 1,271v + 1,271s = 8,900means of production
II. 1,858c + 371v + 371s = 2,600means of subsistence
11,500
Here accumulation continues year after year without interruption, the
capitalists in each case consuming half of the surplus value they have
gained and capitalising the other half. In the process of capitalisation, the
same technical foundation, that is to say the same organic composition or
division into constant and variable capital and also the same rate of
exploitation (always amounting to 100 per cent) is consecutively
maintained for the additional capital as it was for the original capital. In
accordance with Marx’s assumption in volume i of Capital, the capitalised
part of the surplus value first comes into being as additional means of
production and as means of subsistence for the workers, both serving the
purpose of an ever expanding production in the two departments. It cannot
be discovered from the assumptions of Marx’s diagram for whose sake
production is progressively expanded. Admittedly, production and
consumption increase simultaneously in a society. The consumption of the
sake.
Let us recall the second example of Marx’s diagram of enlarged
reproduction:
1st year:
I. 5,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 7,000means of production
II. 1,430c + 285v + 285s = 2,000means of subsistence
9,000
2nd year:
I. 5,417c + 1,083v + 1,083s = 7,583means of production
II. 1,583c + 316v + 316s = 2,215means of subsistence
9,798
3rd year:
I. 5,869c + 1,173v + 1,173s = 8,215means of production
II. 1,715c + 342v + 342s = 2,399means of subsistence
10,614
4th year:
I. 6,358c + 1,271v + 1,271s = 8,900means of production
II. 1,858c + 371v + 371s = 2,600means of subsistence
11,500
Here accumulation continues year after year without interruption, the
capitalists in each case consuming half of the surplus value they have
gained and capitalising the other half. In the process of capitalisation, the
same technical foundation, that is to say the same organic composition or
division into constant and variable capital and also the same rate of
exploitation (always amounting to 100 per cent) is consecutively
maintained for the additional capital as it was for the original capital. In
accordance with Marx’s assumption in volume i of Capital, the capitalised
part of the surplus value first comes into being as additional means of
production and as means of subsistence for the workers, both serving the
purpose of an ever expanding production in the two departments. It cannot
be discovered from the assumptions of Marx’s diagram for whose sake
production is progressively expanded. Admittedly, production and
consumption increase simultaneously in a society. The consumption of the
Page 328
capitalists increases (in terms of value, in the first year it amounts to 500 +
142, in the second year to 542 + 158, in the third year to 586 + 171, and in
the fourth year to 635 + 185); the consumption of the workers increases as
well; the variable capital increasing year after year in both departments
precisely indicates this growth in terms of value. And yet, the growing
consumption of the capitalists can certainly not be regarded as the ultimate
purpose of accumulation; on the contrary, there is no accumulation
inasmuch as this consumption takes place and increases; personal
consumption of the capitalists must be regarded as simple reproduction.
Rather, the question is: if, and in so far as, the capitalists do not themselves
consume their products but ‘practise abstinence’, i.e. accumulate, for whose
sake do they produce? Even less can the maintenance of an ever larger army
of workers be the ultimate purpose of continuous accumulation of capital.
From the capitalist’s point of view, the consumption of the workers is a
consequence of accumulation, it is never its object or its condition, unless
the principles (foundations) of capitalist production are to be turned upside
down. And in any case, the workers can only consume that part of the
product which corresponds to the variable capital, not a jot more. Who,
then, realises the permanently increasing surplus value? The diagram
answers: the capitalists themselves and they alone.—And what do they do
with this increasing surplus value?—The diagram replies: They use it for an
ever greater expansion of their production. These capitalists are thus
fanatical supporters of an expansion of production for production’s sake.
They see to it that ever more machines are built for the sake of building—
with their help—ever more new machines. Yet the upshot of all this is not
accumulation of capital but an increasing production of producer goods to
no purpose whatever. Indeed, one must be as reckless as Tugan Baranovski,
and rejoice as much in paradoxical statements, to assume that this untiring
merry-go-round in thin air could be a faithful reflection in theory of
capitalist reality, a true deduction from Marx’s doctrine.[339]
Besides the analysis of enlarged reproduction roughed out in Capital,
volume ii, the whole of Marx’s work, volume ii in particular, contains a
most elaborate and lucid exposition of his general views regarding the
typical course of capitalist accumulation. If we once fully understand this
interpretation, the deficiencies of the diagram at the end of volume ii are
immediately evident.
142, in the second year to 542 + 158, in the third year to 586 + 171, and in
the fourth year to 635 + 185); the consumption of the workers increases as
well; the variable capital increasing year after year in both departments
precisely indicates this growth in terms of value. And yet, the growing
consumption of the capitalists can certainly not be regarded as the ultimate
purpose of accumulation; on the contrary, there is no accumulation
inasmuch as this consumption takes place and increases; personal
consumption of the capitalists must be regarded as simple reproduction.
Rather, the question is: if, and in so far as, the capitalists do not themselves
consume their products but ‘practise abstinence’, i.e. accumulate, for whose
sake do they produce? Even less can the maintenance of an ever larger army
of workers be the ultimate purpose of continuous accumulation of capital.
From the capitalist’s point of view, the consumption of the workers is a
consequence of accumulation, it is never its object or its condition, unless
the principles (foundations) of capitalist production are to be turned upside
down. And in any case, the workers can only consume that part of the
product which corresponds to the variable capital, not a jot more. Who,
then, realises the permanently increasing surplus value? The diagram
answers: the capitalists themselves and they alone.—And what do they do
with this increasing surplus value?—The diagram replies: They use it for an
ever greater expansion of their production. These capitalists are thus
fanatical supporters of an expansion of production for production’s sake.
They see to it that ever more machines are built for the sake of building—
with their help—ever more new machines. Yet the upshot of all this is not
accumulation of capital but an increasing production of producer goods to
no purpose whatever. Indeed, one must be as reckless as Tugan Baranovski,
and rejoice as much in paradoxical statements, to assume that this untiring
merry-go-round in thin air could be a faithful reflection in theory of
capitalist reality, a true deduction from Marx’s doctrine.[339]
Besides the analysis of enlarged reproduction roughed out in Capital,
volume ii, the whole of Marx’s work, volume ii in particular, contains a
most elaborate and lucid exposition of his general views regarding the
typical course of capitalist accumulation. If we once fully understand this
interpretation, the deficiencies of the diagram at the end of volume ii are
immediately evident.
Page 329
If we examine critically the diagram of enlarged reproduction in the light of
Marx’s theory, we find various contradictions between the two.
To begin with, the diagram completely disregards the increasing
productivity of labour. For it assumes that the composition of capital is the
same in every year, that is to say, the technical basis of the productive
process is not affected by accumulation. This procedure would be quite
permissible in itself in order to simplify the analysis, but when we come to
examine the concrete conditions for the realisation of the aggregate product,
and for reproduction, then at least we must take into account, and make
allowance for, changes in technique which are bound up with the process of
capital accumulation. Yet if we allow for improved productivity of labour,
the material aggregate of the social product—both producer and consumer
goods—will in consequence show a much more rapid increase in volume
than is set forth in the diagram. This increase in the aggregate of use-values,
moreover, indicates also a change in the value relationships. As Marx
argues so convincingly, basing his whole theory on this axiom, the
progressive development of labour productivity reacts on both the
composition of accumulating capital and the rate of surplus value so that
they cannot remain constant under conditions of increasing accumulation of
capital, as was assumed by the diagram. Rather, if accumulation continues,
c, the constant capital of both departments, must increase not only
absolutely but also relatively to v + c or the total new value (the social
aspect of labour productivity); at the same time, constant capital and
similarly the surplus value must increase relatively to the variable capital—
in short, the rate of surplus value, i.e. the ratio between surplus value and
variable capital, must similarly increase (the capitalist aspect of labour
productivity). These changes need not, of course, occur annually, just as the
terms of first, second and third year in Marx’s diagram do not necessarily
refer to calendar years but may stand for any given period. Finally, we may
choose to assume that these alterations, both in the composition of capital
and in the rate of surplus value, take place either in the first, third, fifth,
seventh year, etc., or in the second, sixth and ninth year, etc. The important
thing is only that they are allowed for somewhere and taken into account as
periodical phenomena. If the diagram is amended accordingly, the result of
this method of accumulation will be an increasing annual surplus in the
consumer at the expense of producer goods. It is true that Tugan Baranovski
conquers all difficulties on paper: he simply constructs a diagram with
Marx’s theory, we find various contradictions between the two.
To begin with, the diagram completely disregards the increasing
productivity of labour. For it assumes that the composition of capital is the
same in every year, that is to say, the technical basis of the productive
process is not affected by accumulation. This procedure would be quite
permissible in itself in order to simplify the analysis, but when we come to
examine the concrete conditions for the realisation of the aggregate product,
and for reproduction, then at least we must take into account, and make
allowance for, changes in technique which are bound up with the process of
capital accumulation. Yet if we allow for improved productivity of labour,
the material aggregate of the social product—both producer and consumer
goods—will in consequence show a much more rapid increase in volume
than is set forth in the diagram. This increase in the aggregate of use-values,
moreover, indicates also a change in the value relationships. As Marx
argues so convincingly, basing his whole theory on this axiom, the
progressive development of labour productivity reacts on both the
composition of accumulating capital and the rate of surplus value so that
they cannot remain constant under conditions of increasing accumulation of
capital, as was assumed by the diagram. Rather, if accumulation continues,
c, the constant capital of both departments, must increase not only
absolutely but also relatively to v + c or the total new value (the social
aspect of labour productivity); at the same time, constant capital and
similarly the surplus value must increase relatively to the variable capital—
in short, the rate of surplus value, i.e. the ratio between surplus value and
variable capital, must similarly increase (the capitalist aspect of labour
productivity). These changes need not, of course, occur annually, just as the
terms of first, second and third year in Marx’s diagram do not necessarily
refer to calendar years but may stand for any given period. Finally, we may
choose to assume that these alterations, both in the composition of capital
and in the rate of surplus value, take place either in the first, third, fifth,
seventh year, etc., or in the second, sixth and ninth year, etc. The important
thing is only that they are allowed for somewhere and taken into account as
periodical phenomena. If the diagram is amended accordingly, the result of
this method of accumulation will be an increasing annual surplus in the
consumer at the expense of producer goods. It is true that Tugan Baranovski
conquers all difficulties on paper: he simply constructs a diagram with
Page 330
different proportions where year by year the variable capital decreases by
25 per cent. And since this arithmetical exercise is successful enough on
paper, Tugan triumphantly claims to have ‘proved’ that accumulation runs
smoothly like clockwork, even if the absolute volume of consumption
decreases. Even he must admit in the end, however, that his assumption of
such an absolute decrease of the variable capital is in striking contrast to
reality. Variable capital is in point of fact a growing quantity in all capitalist
countries; only in relation to the even more rapid growth of constant capital
can it be said to decrease. On the basis of what is actually happening,
namely a greater yearly increase of constant capital as against that of
variable capital, as well as a growing rate of surplus value, discrepancies
must arise between the material composition of the social product and the
composition of capital in terms of value. If, instead of the unchanging
proportion of 5 to 1 between constant and variable capital, proposed by
Marx’s diagram, we assume for instance that this increase of capital is
accompanied by a progressive readjustment of its composition, the
proportion between constant and variable in the second year being 6 to 1, in
the third year 7 to 1, and in the fourth year 8 to 1—if we further assume that
the rate of surplus value also increases progressively in accordance with the
higher productivity of labour so that, in each case, we have the same
amounts as those of the diagram, although, because of the relatively
decreasing variable capital, the rate of surplus value does not remain
constant at the original 100 per cent—and if finally we assume that one-half
of the appropriated surplus value is capitalised in each case (excepting
Department II where capitalisation exceeds 50 per cent, 184 out of 285
being capitalised during the first year), the result will be as follows:
1st year:
I. 5,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 7,000 means of production
II. 1,430c + 285v + 285s = 2,000means of subsistence
2nd year:
I. 5,4284⁄7c + 1,0713⁄7v + 1,083s = 7,583means of production
II. 1,5875⁄7c + 3112⁄7v + 316s = 2,215means of subsistence
3rd year:
I. 5,903c + 1,139v + 1,173s = 8,215means of production
II. 1,726c + 331v + 342s = 2,399means of subsistence
25 per cent. And since this arithmetical exercise is successful enough on
paper, Tugan triumphantly claims to have ‘proved’ that accumulation runs
smoothly like clockwork, even if the absolute volume of consumption
decreases. Even he must admit in the end, however, that his assumption of
such an absolute decrease of the variable capital is in striking contrast to
reality. Variable capital is in point of fact a growing quantity in all capitalist
countries; only in relation to the even more rapid growth of constant capital
can it be said to decrease. On the basis of what is actually happening,
namely a greater yearly increase of constant capital as against that of
variable capital, as well as a growing rate of surplus value, discrepancies
must arise between the material composition of the social product and the
composition of capital in terms of value. If, instead of the unchanging
proportion of 5 to 1 between constant and variable capital, proposed by
Marx’s diagram, we assume for instance that this increase of capital is
accompanied by a progressive readjustment of its composition, the
proportion between constant and variable in the second year being 6 to 1, in
the third year 7 to 1, and in the fourth year 8 to 1—if we further assume that
the rate of surplus value also increases progressively in accordance with the
higher productivity of labour so that, in each case, we have the same
amounts as those of the diagram, although, because of the relatively
decreasing variable capital, the rate of surplus value does not remain
constant at the original 100 per cent—and if finally we assume that one-half
of the appropriated surplus value is capitalised in each case (excepting
Department II where capitalisation exceeds 50 per cent, 184 out of 285
being capitalised during the first year), the result will be as follows:
1st year:
I. 5,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 7,000 means of production
II. 1,430c + 285v + 285s = 2,000means of subsistence
2nd year:
I. 5,4284⁄7c + 1,0713⁄7v + 1,083s = 7,583means of production
II. 1,5875⁄7c + 3112⁄7v + 316s = 2,215means of subsistence
3rd year:
I. 5,903c + 1,139v + 1,173s = 8,215means of production
II. 1,726c + 331v + 342s = 2,399means of subsistence
Page 331
4th year:
I. 6,424c + 1,205v + 1,271s = 8,900means of production
II. 1,879c + 350v + 371s = 2,600means of subsistence
If this were a true picture of the accumulative process, the means of
production (constant capital) would show a deficit of 16 in the second year,
of 45 in the third year and of 88 in the fourth year; similarly, the means of
subsistence would show a surplus of 16 in the second year, of 45 in the third
year and of 88 in the fourth year.
This negative balance for the means of production may be only imaginary
in part. The increasing productivity of labour ensures that the means of
production grow faster in bulk than in value, in other words: means of
production become cheaper. As it is use value, i.e. the material elements of
capital, which is relevant for technical improvements of production, we
may assume that the quantity of means of production, in spite of their lower
value, will suffice for progressive accumulation up to a certain point. This
phenomenon amongst others also checks the actual decline of the rate of
profit and modifies it to a mere tendency, though our example shows that
the decline of the profit rate would not only be retarded but rather
completely arrested. On the other hand, the same fact indicates a much
larger surplus of unsaleable means of subsistence than is suggested by the
amount of this surplus in terms of value. In that case, we should have to
compel the capitalists of Department II to consume this surplus themselves,
which Marx makes them do on other occasions; in which case, and in so far
as those capitalists are concerned, there would again be no accumulation
but rather simple reproduction. Alternatively, we should have to pronounce
this whole surplus unsaleable.
Yet would it not be very easy to make good this loss in means of production
which results from our example? We need only assume that the capitalists
of Department I capitalise their surplus value to a greater extent. Indeed,
there is no valid reason to suppose, as Marx did, that the capitalists in each
case add only half their surplus value to their capital. Advances in labour
productivity may well lead to progressively increasing capitalisation of
surplus value. This assumption is the more permissible in that the
cheapening of consumer goods for the capitalist class, too, is one of the
consequences of technological progress. The relative decrease in the value
I. 6,424c + 1,205v + 1,271s = 8,900means of production
II. 1,879c + 350v + 371s = 2,600means of subsistence
If this were a true picture of the accumulative process, the means of
production (constant capital) would show a deficit of 16 in the second year,
of 45 in the third year and of 88 in the fourth year; similarly, the means of
subsistence would show a surplus of 16 in the second year, of 45 in the third
year and of 88 in the fourth year.
This negative balance for the means of production may be only imaginary
in part. The increasing productivity of labour ensures that the means of
production grow faster in bulk than in value, in other words: means of
production become cheaper. As it is use value, i.e. the material elements of
capital, which is relevant for technical improvements of production, we
may assume that the quantity of means of production, in spite of their lower
value, will suffice for progressive accumulation up to a certain point. This
phenomenon amongst others also checks the actual decline of the rate of
profit and modifies it to a mere tendency, though our example shows that
the decline of the profit rate would not only be retarded but rather
completely arrested. On the other hand, the same fact indicates a much
larger surplus of unsaleable means of subsistence than is suggested by the
amount of this surplus in terms of value. In that case, we should have to
compel the capitalists of Department II to consume this surplus themselves,
which Marx makes them do on other occasions; in which case, and in so far
as those capitalists are concerned, there would again be no accumulation
but rather simple reproduction. Alternatively, we should have to pronounce
this whole surplus unsaleable.
Yet would it not be very easy to make good this loss in means of production
which results from our example? We need only assume that the capitalists
of Department I capitalise their surplus value to a greater extent. Indeed,
there is no valid reason to suppose, as Marx did, that the capitalists in each
case add only half their surplus value to their capital. Advances in labour
productivity may well lead to progressively increasing capitalisation of
surplus value. This assumption is the more permissible in that the
cheapening of consumer goods for the capitalist class, too, is one of the
consequences of technological progress. The relative decrease in the value
Page 332
of consumable income (as compared with the capitalised part) may then
permit of the same or even a higher standard of living for this class. We
might for instance make good the deficit in producer goods by transferring
a corresponding part of surplus value I to the constant capital of this
department, a part which would otherwise be consumed, since this surplus
value, like all other products of the department, originally takes the form of
producer goods; 114⁄7 would then be transferred in the second year, 34 in
the third year and 66 in the fourth year.[340] The solution of one difficulty,
however, only adds to another. It goes without saying that if the capitalists
of Department I relatively restrict their consumption for purposes of
accumulation, there will be a proportionately greater unsaleable residue of
consumer goods in Department II; and thus it becomes more and more
impossible to enlarge the constant capital even on its previous technological
basis. If the capitalists in Department I relatively restrict their consumption,
the capitalists of Department II must relatively expand their personal
consumption in proportion. The assumption of accelerated accumulation in
Department I would then have to be supplemented by that of retarded
accumulation in Department II, technical progress in one department by
regression in the other.
These results are not due to mere chance. The adjustments we have tried out
on Marx’s diagram are merely meant to illustrate that technical progress, as
he himself admits, must be accompanied by a relative growth of constant as
against variable capital. Hence the necessity for a continuous revision of the
ratio in which capitalised surplus value should be allotted to c and v
respectively. In Marx’s diagram, however, the capitalists are in no position
to make these allocations at will, since the material form of their surplus
value predetermines the forms of capitalisation. Since, according to Marx’s
assumption, all expansion of production proceeds exclusively by means of
its own, capitalistically produced means of production and subsistence,—
since there are here no other places and forms of production and equally no
other consumers than the two departments with their capitalists and
workers,—and since, on the other hand, the smooth working of the
accumulative process depends on that circulation should wholly absorb the
aggregate product of both departments, the technological shape of enlarged
reproduction is in consequence strictly prescribed by the material form of
the surplus product. In other words: according to Marx’s diagram, the
permit of the same or even a higher standard of living for this class. We
might for instance make good the deficit in producer goods by transferring
a corresponding part of surplus value I to the constant capital of this
department, a part which would otherwise be consumed, since this surplus
value, like all other products of the department, originally takes the form of
producer goods; 114⁄7 would then be transferred in the second year, 34 in
the third year and 66 in the fourth year.[340] The solution of one difficulty,
however, only adds to another. It goes without saying that if the capitalists
of Department I relatively restrict their consumption for purposes of
accumulation, there will be a proportionately greater unsaleable residue of
consumer goods in Department II; and thus it becomes more and more
impossible to enlarge the constant capital even on its previous technological
basis. If the capitalists in Department I relatively restrict their consumption,
the capitalists of Department II must relatively expand their personal
consumption in proportion. The assumption of accelerated accumulation in
Department I would then have to be supplemented by that of retarded
accumulation in Department II, technical progress in one department by
regression in the other.
These results are not due to mere chance. The adjustments we have tried out
on Marx’s diagram are merely meant to illustrate that technical progress, as
he himself admits, must be accompanied by a relative growth of constant as
against variable capital. Hence the necessity for a continuous revision of the
ratio in which capitalised surplus value should be allotted to c and v
respectively. In Marx’s diagram, however, the capitalists are in no position
to make these allocations at will, since the material form of their surplus
value predetermines the forms of capitalisation. Since, according to Marx’s
assumption, all expansion of production proceeds exclusively by means of
its own, capitalistically produced means of production and subsistence,—
since there are here no other places and forms of production and equally no
other consumers than the two departments with their capitalists and
workers,—and since, on the other hand, the smooth working of the
accumulative process depends on that circulation should wholly absorb the
aggregate product of both departments, the technological shape of enlarged
reproduction is in consequence strictly prescribed by the material form of
the surplus product. In other words: according to Marx’s diagram, the
Page 333
technical organisation of expanded production can and must be such as to
make use of the aggregate surplus value produced in Departments I and II.
In this connection we must bear in mind also that both departments can
obtain their respective elements of production only by means of mutual
exchange. Thus the allocation to constant or variable capital of the surplus
value earmarked for capitalisation, as well as the allotment of the additional
means of production and subsistence (for the workers) to Departments I and
II is given in advance and determined by the relations between the two
departments of the diagram—both in material and in terms of value. These
relations themselves, however, reflect a quite determinate technical
organisation of production. This implies that, on the assumptions of Marx’s
diagram, the techniques of production given in each case predetermine the
techniques of the subsequent periods of enlarged reproduction, if
accumulation continues. Assuming, that is to say, in accordance with
Marx’s diagram, that the expansion of capitalist production is always
performed by means of the surplus value originally produced in form of
capital, and further—or rather, conversely—that accumulation in one
department is strictly dependent on accumulation in the other, then no
change in the technical organisation of production can be possible in so far
as the relation of c to v is concerned.
We may put our point in yet another way: it is clear that a quicker growth of
constant as compared with variable capital, i.e. the progressive
metamorphosis of the organic composition of capital, must take the material
form of faster expansion of production in Department I as against
production in Department II. Yet Marx’s diagram, where strict conformity
of the two departments is axiomatic, precludes any such fluctuations in the
rate of accumulation in either department. It is quite legitimate to suppose
that under the technical conditions of progressive accumulation, society
would invest ever increasing portions of the surplus value earmarked for
accumulation in Department I rather than in Department II. Both
departments being only branches of the same social production—
supplementary enterprises, if you like, of the ‘aggregate capitalist’,—such a
progressive transfer, for technical reasons, from one department to the other
of a part of the accumulated surplus value would be wholly feasible,
especially as it corresponds to the actual practice of capital. Yet this
assumption is possible only so long as we envisage the surplus value
earmarked for capitalisation purely in terms of value. The diagram,
make use of the aggregate surplus value produced in Departments I and II.
In this connection we must bear in mind also that both departments can
obtain their respective elements of production only by means of mutual
exchange. Thus the allocation to constant or variable capital of the surplus
value earmarked for capitalisation, as well as the allotment of the additional
means of production and subsistence (for the workers) to Departments I and
II is given in advance and determined by the relations between the two
departments of the diagram—both in material and in terms of value. These
relations themselves, however, reflect a quite determinate technical
organisation of production. This implies that, on the assumptions of Marx’s
diagram, the techniques of production given in each case predetermine the
techniques of the subsequent periods of enlarged reproduction, if
accumulation continues. Assuming, that is to say, in accordance with
Marx’s diagram, that the expansion of capitalist production is always
performed by means of the surplus value originally produced in form of
capital, and further—or rather, conversely—that accumulation in one
department is strictly dependent on accumulation in the other, then no
change in the technical organisation of production can be possible in so far
as the relation of c to v is concerned.
We may put our point in yet another way: it is clear that a quicker growth of
constant as compared with variable capital, i.e. the progressive
metamorphosis of the organic composition of capital, must take the material
form of faster expansion of production in Department I as against
production in Department II. Yet Marx’s diagram, where strict conformity
of the two departments is axiomatic, precludes any such fluctuations in the
rate of accumulation in either department. It is quite legitimate to suppose
that under the technical conditions of progressive accumulation, society
would invest ever increasing portions of the surplus value earmarked for
accumulation in Department I rather than in Department II. Both
departments being only branches of the same social production—
supplementary enterprises, if you like, of the ‘aggregate capitalist’,—such a
progressive transfer, for technical reasons, from one department to the other
of a part of the accumulated surplus value would be wholly feasible,
especially as it corresponds to the actual practice of capital. Yet this
assumption is possible only so long as we envisage the surplus value
earmarked for capitalisation purely in terms of value. The diagram,
Page 334
however, implies that this part of the surplus value appears in a definite
material form which prescribes its capitalisation. Thus the surplus value of
Department II exists as means of subsistence, and since it is as such to be
only realised by Department I, this intended transfer of part of the
capitalised surplus value from Department II to Department I is ruled out,
first because the material form of this surplus value is obviously useless to
Department I, and secondly because of the relations of exchange between
the two departments which would in turn necessitate an equivalent transfer
of the products of Department I into Department II. It is therefore
downright impossible to achieve a faster expansion of Department I as
against Department II within the limits of Marx’s diagram.
However we may regard the technological alterations of the mode of
production in the course of accumulation, they cannot be accomplished
without upsetting the fundamental relations of Marx’s diagram.
And further: according to Marx’s diagram, the capitalised surplus value is
in each case immediately and completely absorbed by the productive
process of the following period, for, apart from the portion earmarked for
consumption, it has a natural form which allows of only one particular kind
of employment. The diagram precludes the cashing and hoarding of surplus
value in monetary form, as capital waiting to be invested. The free
monetary forms of private capital, in Marx’s view, are first the money
deposited gradually against the wear and tear of the fixed capital, for its
eventual renewal; and secondly those amounts of money which represent
realised surplus value but are still too small for investment. From the point
of view of the aggregate capital, both these sources of free money capital
are negligible. For if we assume that even a portion of the social surplus
value is realised in monetary form for purposes of future investment, then at
once the question arises: who has bought the material items of this surplus
value, and who has provided the money? If the answer is: other capitalists,
of course,—then, seeing that the capitalist class is represented in the
diagram by the two departments, this portion of the surplus value must also
be regarded as invested de facto, as employed in the productive process.
And so we are back at immediate and complete investment of the surplus
value.
Or does the freezing of one part of the surplus value in monetary form in
the hands of certain capitalists mean that other capitalists will be left with a
material form which prescribes its capitalisation. Thus the surplus value of
Department II exists as means of subsistence, and since it is as such to be
only realised by Department I, this intended transfer of part of the
capitalised surplus value from Department II to Department I is ruled out,
first because the material form of this surplus value is obviously useless to
Department I, and secondly because of the relations of exchange between
the two departments which would in turn necessitate an equivalent transfer
of the products of Department I into Department II. It is therefore
downright impossible to achieve a faster expansion of Department I as
against Department II within the limits of Marx’s diagram.
However we may regard the technological alterations of the mode of
production in the course of accumulation, they cannot be accomplished
without upsetting the fundamental relations of Marx’s diagram.
And further: according to Marx’s diagram, the capitalised surplus value is
in each case immediately and completely absorbed by the productive
process of the following period, for, apart from the portion earmarked for
consumption, it has a natural form which allows of only one particular kind
of employment. The diagram precludes the cashing and hoarding of surplus
value in monetary form, as capital waiting to be invested. The free
monetary forms of private capital, in Marx’s view, are first the money
deposited gradually against the wear and tear of the fixed capital, for its
eventual renewal; and secondly those amounts of money which represent
realised surplus value but are still too small for investment. From the point
of view of the aggregate capital, both these sources of free money capital
are negligible. For if we assume that even a portion of the social surplus
value is realised in monetary form for purposes of future investment, then at
once the question arises: who has bought the material items of this surplus
value, and who has provided the money? If the answer is: other capitalists,
of course,—then, seeing that the capitalist class is represented in the
diagram by the two departments, this portion of the surplus value must also
be regarded as invested de facto, as employed in the productive process.
And so we are back at immediate and complete investment of the surplus
value.
Or does the freezing of one part of the surplus value in monetary form in
the hands of certain capitalists mean that other capitalists will be left with a
Page 335
corresponding part of that surplus product in its material form? does the
hoarding of realised surplus value by some imply that others are no longer
able to realise their surplus value, since the capitalists are the only buyers of
surplus value? This would mean, however, that the smooth course of
reproduction and similarly of accumulation as described in the diagram
would be interrupted. The result would be a crisis, due not to over-
production but to a mere intention to accumulate, the kind of crisis
envisaged by Sismondi.
In one passage of his Theories,[341] Marx explains in so many words that he
‘is not at all concerned in this connection with an accumulation of capital
greater than can be used in the productive process and might lie idle in the
banks in monetary form, with the consequence of lending abroad’. Marx
refers these phenomena to the section on competition. Yet it is important to
establish that his diagram veritably precludes the formation of such
additional capital. Competition, however wide we may make the concept,
obviously cannot create values, nor can it create capitals which are not
themselves the result of the reproductive process.
The diagram thus precludes the expansion of production by leaps and
bounds. It only allows of a gradual expansion which keeps strictly in step
with the formation of the surplus value and is based upon the identity
between realisation and capitalisation of the surplus value.
For the same reason, the diagram presumes an accumulation which affects
both departments equally and therefore all branches of capitalist production.
It precludes expansion of the demand by leaps and bounds just as much as it
prevents a one-sided or precocious development of individual branches of
capitalist production.
Thus the diagram assumes a movement of the aggregate capital which flies
in the face of the actual course of capitalist development. At first sight, two
facts are typical for the history of the capitalist mode of production: on the
one hand the periodical expansion of the whole field of production by leaps
and bounds, and on the other an extremely unequal development of the
different branches of production. The history of the English cotton industry
from the first quarter of the eighteenth to the seventies of the nineteenth
century, the most characteristic chapter in the history of the capitalist mode
hoarding of realised surplus value by some imply that others are no longer
able to realise their surplus value, since the capitalists are the only buyers of
surplus value? This would mean, however, that the smooth course of
reproduction and similarly of accumulation as described in the diagram
would be interrupted. The result would be a crisis, due not to over-
production but to a mere intention to accumulate, the kind of crisis
envisaged by Sismondi.
In one passage of his Theories,[341] Marx explains in so many words that he
‘is not at all concerned in this connection with an accumulation of capital
greater than can be used in the productive process and might lie idle in the
banks in monetary form, with the consequence of lending abroad’. Marx
refers these phenomena to the section on competition. Yet it is important to
establish that his diagram veritably precludes the formation of such
additional capital. Competition, however wide we may make the concept,
obviously cannot create values, nor can it create capitals which are not
themselves the result of the reproductive process.
The diagram thus precludes the expansion of production by leaps and
bounds. It only allows of a gradual expansion which keeps strictly in step
with the formation of the surplus value and is based upon the identity
between realisation and capitalisation of the surplus value.
For the same reason, the diagram presumes an accumulation which affects
both departments equally and therefore all branches of capitalist production.
It precludes expansion of the demand by leaps and bounds just as much as it
prevents a one-sided or precocious development of individual branches of
capitalist production.
Thus the diagram assumes a movement of the aggregate capital which flies
in the face of the actual course of capitalist development. At first sight, two
facts are typical for the history of the capitalist mode of production: on the
one hand the periodical expansion of the whole field of production by leaps
and bounds, and on the other an extremely unequal development of the
different branches of production. The history of the English cotton industry
from the first quarter of the eighteenth to the seventies of the nineteenth
century, the most characteristic chapter in the history of the capitalist mode
Page 336
of production, appears quite inexplicable from the point of view of Marx’s
diagram.
Finally, the diagram contradicts the conception of the capitalist total process
and its course as laid down by Marx in Capital, volume iii. This conception
is based on the inherent contradiction between the unlimited expansive
capacity of the productive forces and the limited expansive capacity of
social consumption under conditions of capitalist distribution. Let us see
how Marx describes this contradiction in detail in chapter 15 on
‘Unravelling the Internal Contradictions of the Law’ (of the declining profit
rate):
‘The creation of surplus-value, assuming the necessary means of
production, or sufficient accumulation of capital, to be existing, finds no
other limit but the labouring population, when the rate of surplus-value, that
is, the intensity of exploitation, is given; and no other limit but the intensity
of exploitation, when the labouring population is given. And the capitalist
process of production consists essentially of the production of surplus-
value, materialised in the surplus-product, which is that aliquot portion of
the produced commodities, in which unpaid labour is materialised. It must
never be forgotten, that the production of this surplus-value—and the re-
conversion of a portion of it into capital, or accumulation, forms an
indispensable part of this production of surplus-value—is the immediate
purpose and the compelling motive of capitalist production. It will not do to
represent capitalist production as something which it is not, that is to say, as
a production having for its immediate purpose the consumption of goods, or
the production of means of enjoyment for the capitalists. (And, of course,
even less for the worker. R. L.) This would be overlooking the specific
character of capitalist production, which reveals itself in its innermost
essence. The creation of this surplus-value is the object of the direct process
of production, and this process has no other limits than those mentioned
above. As soon as the available quantity of surplus-value has been
materialised in commodities, surplus-value has been produced. But this
production of surplus-value is but the first act of the capitalist process of
production, it merely terminates the act of direct production. Capital has
absorbed so much unpaid labour. With the development of the process,
which expresses itself through a falling tendency of the rate of profit, the
mass of surplus-value thus produced is swelled to immense dimensions.
diagram.
Finally, the diagram contradicts the conception of the capitalist total process
and its course as laid down by Marx in Capital, volume iii. This conception
is based on the inherent contradiction between the unlimited expansive
capacity of the productive forces and the limited expansive capacity of
social consumption under conditions of capitalist distribution. Let us see
how Marx describes this contradiction in detail in chapter 15 on
‘Unravelling the Internal Contradictions of the Law’ (of the declining profit
rate):
‘The creation of surplus-value, assuming the necessary means of
production, or sufficient accumulation of capital, to be existing, finds no
other limit but the labouring population, when the rate of surplus-value, that
is, the intensity of exploitation, is given; and no other limit but the intensity
of exploitation, when the labouring population is given. And the capitalist
process of production consists essentially of the production of surplus-
value, materialised in the surplus-product, which is that aliquot portion of
the produced commodities, in which unpaid labour is materialised. It must
never be forgotten, that the production of this surplus-value—and the re-
conversion of a portion of it into capital, or accumulation, forms an
indispensable part of this production of surplus-value—is the immediate
purpose and the compelling motive of capitalist production. It will not do to
represent capitalist production as something which it is not, that is to say, as
a production having for its immediate purpose the consumption of goods, or
the production of means of enjoyment for the capitalists. (And, of course,
even less for the worker. R. L.) This would be overlooking the specific
character of capitalist production, which reveals itself in its innermost
essence. The creation of this surplus-value is the object of the direct process
of production, and this process has no other limits than those mentioned
above. As soon as the available quantity of surplus-value has been
materialised in commodities, surplus-value has been produced. But this
production of surplus-value is but the first act of the capitalist process of
production, it merely terminates the act of direct production. Capital has
absorbed so much unpaid labour. With the development of the process,
which expresses itself through a falling tendency of the rate of profit, the
mass of surplus-value thus produced is swelled to immense dimensions.
Page 337
Now comes the second act of the process. The entire mass of commodities,
the total product, which contains a portion which is to reproduce the
constant and variable capital as well as a portion representing surplus-value,
must be sold. If this is not done, or only partly accomplished, or only at
prices which are below the prices of production, the labourer has been none
the less exploited, but his exploitation does not realise as much for the
capitalist. It may yield no surplus-value at all for him, or only realise a
portion of the produced surplus-value, or it may even mean a partial or
complete loss of his capital. The conditions of direct exploitation and those
of the realisation of surplus-value are not identical. They are separated
logically as well as by time and space. The first are only limited by the
productive power of society, the last by the proportional relations of the
various lines of production and by the consuming power of society. This
last-named power is not determined either by the absolute productive power
or by the absolute consuming power, but by the consuming power based on
antagonistic conditions of distribution, which reduces the consumption of
the great mass of the population to a variable minimum within more or less
narrow limits. The consuming power is furthermore restricted by the
tendency to accumulate, the greed for an expansion of capital and a
production of surplus-value on an enlarged scale. This is a law of capitalist
production imposed by incessant revolutions in the methods of production
themselves, the resulting depreciation of existing capital, the general
competitive struggle and the necessity of improving the product and
expanding the scale of production, for the sake of self-preservation and on
penalty of failure. The market must, therefore, be continually extended, so
that its interrelations and the conditions regulating them assume more and
more the form of a natural law independent of the producers and become
ever more uncontrollable. This eternal contradiction seeks to balance itself
by an expansion of the outlying fields of production. But to the extent that
the productive power develops, it finds itself at variance with the narrow
basis on which the conditions of consumption rest. On this self-
contradictory basis it is no contradiction at all that there should be an excess
of capital simultaneously with an excess of population. For while a
combination of these two would indeed increase the mass of the produced
surplus-value, it would at the same time intensify the contradiction between
the conditions under which this surplus-value is produced and those under
which it is realised.’[342]
the total product, which contains a portion which is to reproduce the
constant and variable capital as well as a portion representing surplus-value,
must be sold. If this is not done, or only partly accomplished, or only at
prices which are below the prices of production, the labourer has been none
the less exploited, but his exploitation does not realise as much for the
capitalist. It may yield no surplus-value at all for him, or only realise a
portion of the produced surplus-value, or it may even mean a partial or
complete loss of his capital. The conditions of direct exploitation and those
of the realisation of surplus-value are not identical. They are separated
logically as well as by time and space. The first are only limited by the
productive power of society, the last by the proportional relations of the
various lines of production and by the consuming power of society. This
last-named power is not determined either by the absolute productive power
or by the absolute consuming power, but by the consuming power based on
antagonistic conditions of distribution, which reduces the consumption of
the great mass of the population to a variable minimum within more or less
narrow limits. The consuming power is furthermore restricted by the
tendency to accumulate, the greed for an expansion of capital and a
production of surplus-value on an enlarged scale. This is a law of capitalist
production imposed by incessant revolutions in the methods of production
themselves, the resulting depreciation of existing capital, the general
competitive struggle and the necessity of improving the product and
expanding the scale of production, for the sake of self-preservation and on
penalty of failure. The market must, therefore, be continually extended, so
that its interrelations and the conditions regulating them assume more and
more the form of a natural law independent of the producers and become
ever more uncontrollable. This eternal contradiction seeks to balance itself
by an expansion of the outlying fields of production. But to the extent that
the productive power develops, it finds itself at variance with the narrow
basis on which the conditions of consumption rest. On this self-
contradictory basis it is no contradiction at all that there should be an excess
of capital simultaneously with an excess of population. For while a
combination of these two would indeed increase the mass of the produced
surplus-value, it would at the same time intensify the contradiction between
the conditions under which this surplus-value is produced and those under
which it is realised.’[342]
Page 338
If we compare this description with the diagram of enlarged reproduction,
the two are by no means in conformity. According to the diagram, there is
no inherent contradiction between the production of the surplus value and
its realisation, rather, the two are identical. The surplus value here from the
very beginning comes into being in a natural form exclusively designed for
the requirements of accumulation. In fact it leaves the place of production
in the very form of additional capital, that is to say it is capable of
realisation in the capitalist process of accumulation. The capitalists, as a
class, see to it in advance that the surplus value they appropriate is
produced entirely in that material form which will permit and ensure its
employment for purposes of further accumulation. Realisation and
accumulation of the surplus value here are both aspects of the same process,
they are logically identical. Therefore according to the presentation of the
reproductive process in the diagram, society’s capacity to consume does not
put a limit to production. Here production automatically expands year by
year, although the capacity of society for consumption has not gone beyond
its ‘antagonistic conditions of distribution’. This automatic continuation of
expansion, of accumulation, truly is the ‘law of capitalist production ... on
penalty of failure’. Yet according to the analysis in volume iii, ‘the market
must, therefore, be continually extended’, ‘the market’ obviously
transcending the consumption of capitalists and workers. And if Tugan
Baranovski interprets the following passage ‘this eternal contradiction seeks
to balance itself by an expansion of the outlying fields of production’ as if
Marx had meant production itself by ‘outlying fields of production’, he
violates not only the spirit of the language but also Marx’s clear train of
thought. The ‘outlying fields of production’ are clearly and unequivocally
not production itself but consumption which ‘must be continually
extended’. The following passage in Theorien über den Mehrwert, amongst
others, sufficiently shows that Marx had this in mind and nothing else:
‘Ricardo therefore consistently denies the necessity for an expansion of the
market to accompany the expansion of production and the growth of
capital. The entire capital existing within a country can also be profitably
used in that country. He therefore argues against Adam Smith who had set
up his (Ricardo’s) opinion on the one hand but also contradicted it with his
usual sure instinct.’[343]
In yet another passage, Marx clearly shows that Tugan Baranovski’s notion
of production for production’s sake is wholly alien to him: ‘Besides, we
the two are by no means in conformity. According to the diagram, there is
no inherent contradiction between the production of the surplus value and
its realisation, rather, the two are identical. The surplus value here from the
very beginning comes into being in a natural form exclusively designed for
the requirements of accumulation. In fact it leaves the place of production
in the very form of additional capital, that is to say it is capable of
realisation in the capitalist process of accumulation. The capitalists, as a
class, see to it in advance that the surplus value they appropriate is
produced entirely in that material form which will permit and ensure its
employment for purposes of further accumulation. Realisation and
accumulation of the surplus value here are both aspects of the same process,
they are logically identical. Therefore according to the presentation of the
reproductive process in the diagram, society’s capacity to consume does not
put a limit to production. Here production automatically expands year by
year, although the capacity of society for consumption has not gone beyond
its ‘antagonistic conditions of distribution’. This automatic continuation of
expansion, of accumulation, truly is the ‘law of capitalist production ... on
penalty of failure’. Yet according to the analysis in volume iii, ‘the market
must, therefore, be continually extended’, ‘the market’ obviously
transcending the consumption of capitalists and workers. And if Tugan
Baranovski interprets the following passage ‘this eternal contradiction seeks
to balance itself by an expansion of the outlying fields of production’ as if
Marx had meant production itself by ‘outlying fields of production’, he
violates not only the spirit of the language but also Marx’s clear train of
thought. The ‘outlying fields of production’ are clearly and unequivocally
not production itself but consumption which ‘must be continually
extended’. The following passage in Theorien über den Mehrwert, amongst
others, sufficiently shows that Marx had this in mind and nothing else:
‘Ricardo therefore consistently denies the necessity for an expansion of the
market to accompany the expansion of production and the growth of
capital. The entire capital existing within a country can also be profitably
used in that country. He therefore argues against Adam Smith who had set
up his (Ricardo’s) opinion on the one hand but also contradicted it with his
usual sure instinct.’[343]
In yet another passage, Marx clearly shows that Tugan Baranovski’s notion
of production for production’s sake is wholly alien to him: ‘Besides, we
Page 339
have seen in volume ii part iii that a continuous circulation takes place
between constant capital and constant capital (even without considering any
accelerated accumulation), which is in so far independent of individual
consumption, as it never enters into such consumption, but which is
nevertheless definitely limited by it, because the production of constant
capital never takes place for its own sake, but solely because more of this
capital is needed in those spheres of production whose products pass into
individual consumption.’[344]
Admittedly, in the diagram in volume ii, Tugan Baranovski’s sole support,
market and production coincide—they are one and the same. Expansion of
the market here means extended production, since production is said to be
its own exclusive market—the consumption of the workers being an
element of production, i.e. the reproduction of variable capital. Therefore
the limit for both the expansion of production and the extension of the
market is one and the same: it is given by the volume of the social capital,
or the stage of accumulation already attained. The greater the quantity of
surplus value that has been extracted in the natural form of capital, the more
can be accumulated; and the greater the volume of accumulation, the more
surplus value can be invested in its material form of capital, i.e. the more
can be realised. Thus the diagram does not admit the contradiction outlined
in the analysis of volume iii. In the process described by the diagram there
is no need for a continual extension of the market beyond the consumption
of capitalists and workers, nor is the limited social capacity for
consumption an obstacle to the smooth course of production and its
unlimited capacity for expansion. The diagram does indeed permit of crises
but only because of a lack of proportion within production, because of a
defective social control over the productive process. It precludes, however,
the deep and fundamental antagonism between the capacity to consume and
the capacity to produce in a capitalist society, a conflict resulting from the
very accumulation of capital which periodically bursts out in crises and
spurs capital on to a continual extension of the market.
between constant capital and constant capital (even without considering any
accelerated accumulation), which is in so far independent of individual
consumption, as it never enters into such consumption, but which is
nevertheless definitely limited by it, because the production of constant
capital never takes place for its own sake, but solely because more of this
capital is needed in those spheres of production whose products pass into
individual consumption.’[344]
Admittedly, in the diagram in volume ii, Tugan Baranovski’s sole support,
market and production coincide—they are one and the same. Expansion of
the market here means extended production, since production is said to be
its own exclusive market—the consumption of the workers being an
element of production, i.e. the reproduction of variable capital. Therefore
the limit for both the expansion of production and the extension of the
market is one and the same: it is given by the volume of the social capital,
or the stage of accumulation already attained. The greater the quantity of
surplus value that has been extracted in the natural form of capital, the more
can be accumulated; and the greater the volume of accumulation, the more
surplus value can be invested in its material form of capital, i.e. the more
can be realised. Thus the diagram does not admit the contradiction outlined
in the analysis of volume iii. In the process described by the diagram there
is no need for a continual extension of the market beyond the consumption
of capitalists and workers, nor is the limited social capacity for
consumption an obstacle to the smooth course of production and its
unlimited capacity for expansion. The diagram does indeed permit of crises
but only because of a lack of proportion within production, because of a
defective social control over the productive process. It precludes, however,
the deep and fundamental antagonism between the capacity to consume and
the capacity to produce in a capitalist society, a conflict resulting from the
very accumulation of capital which periodically bursts out in crises and
spurs capital on to a continual extension of the market.
Page 340
CHAPTER XXVI
Page 341
THE REPRODUCTION OF CAPITAL AND ITS
SOCIAL SETTING
Marx’s diagram of enlarged reproduction cannot explain the actual and
historical process of accumulation. And why? Because of the very premises
of the diagram. The diagram sets out to describe the accumulative process
on the assumption that the capitalists and workers are the sole agents of
capitalist consumption. We have seen that Marx consistently and
deliberately assumes the universal and exclusive domination of the
capitalist mode of production as a theoretical premise of his analysis in all
three volumes of Capital. Under these conditions, there can admittedly be
no other classes of society than capitalists and workers; as the diagram has
it, all ‘third persons’ of capitalist society—civil servants, the liberal
professions, the clergy, etc.—must, as consumers, be counted in with these
two classes, and preferably with the capitalist class. This axiom, however, is
a theoretical contrivance—real life has never known a self-sufficient
capitalist society under the exclusive domination of the capitalist mode of
production. This theoretical device is perfectly admissible so long as it
merely helps to demonstrate the problem in its integrity and does not
interfere with its very conditions. A case in point is the analysis of simple
reproduction of the aggregate social capital, where the problem itself rests
upon a fiction: in a society producing by capitalist methods, i.e. a society
which creates surplus value, the whole of the latter is taken to be consumed
by the capitalists who appropriate it. The object is to present the forms of
social production and reproduction under these given conditions. Here the
very formulation of the problem implies that production knows no other
consumers than capitalists and workers and thus strictly conforms to Marx’s
premise: universal and exclusive domination of the capitalist mode of
production. The implications of both fictions are the same. Similarly, it is
quite legitimate to postulate absolute dominance of capital in an analysis of
the accumulation of individual capitals, such as is given in Capital, volume
i. The reproduction of individual capitals is an element in total social
reproduction but one which follows an independent course, contrary to the
movements of the other elements. In consequence it will not do simply to
SOCIAL SETTING
Marx’s diagram of enlarged reproduction cannot explain the actual and
historical process of accumulation. And why? Because of the very premises
of the diagram. The diagram sets out to describe the accumulative process
on the assumption that the capitalists and workers are the sole agents of
capitalist consumption. We have seen that Marx consistently and
deliberately assumes the universal and exclusive domination of the
capitalist mode of production as a theoretical premise of his analysis in all
three volumes of Capital. Under these conditions, there can admittedly be
no other classes of society than capitalists and workers; as the diagram has
it, all ‘third persons’ of capitalist society—civil servants, the liberal
professions, the clergy, etc.—must, as consumers, be counted in with these
two classes, and preferably with the capitalist class. This axiom, however, is
a theoretical contrivance—real life has never known a self-sufficient
capitalist society under the exclusive domination of the capitalist mode of
production. This theoretical device is perfectly admissible so long as it
merely helps to demonstrate the problem in its integrity and does not
interfere with its very conditions. A case in point is the analysis of simple
reproduction of the aggregate social capital, where the problem itself rests
upon a fiction: in a society producing by capitalist methods, i.e. a society
which creates surplus value, the whole of the latter is taken to be consumed
by the capitalists who appropriate it. The object is to present the forms of
social production and reproduction under these given conditions. Here the
very formulation of the problem implies that production knows no other
consumers than capitalists and workers and thus strictly conforms to Marx’s
premise: universal and exclusive domination of the capitalist mode of
production. The implications of both fictions are the same. Similarly, it is
quite legitimate to postulate absolute dominance of capital in an analysis of
the accumulation of individual capitals, such as is given in Capital, volume
i. The reproduction of individual capitals is an element in total social
reproduction but one which follows an independent course, contrary to the
movements of the other elements. In consequence it will not do simply to
Page 342
take together the individual movements of the respective capitals in order to
arrive at the total movement of social capital, since the latter is essentially
different. The natural conditions of reproducing individual capitals
therefore neither conform with one another, nor do they conform to the
relations of the total capital. Under normal conditions of circulation, every
individual capital engages in the process of circulation and of accumulation
entirely on its own account, depending upon others only in so far, of course,
as it is compelled to find a market for its product and must find available
the means of production it requires for its specific activities. Whether the
strata who afford this market and provide the necessary means of
production are themselves capitalist producers or not is completely
immaterial for the individual capital, although, in theory, the most
favourable premise for analysing the accumulation of individual capital is
the assumption that capitalist production has attained universal and
exclusive domination and is the sole setting of this process.[345]
Now, however, the question arises whether the assumptions which were
decisive in the case of individual capital, are also legitimate for the
consideration of aggregate capital.
‘We must now put the problem in this form: given universal accumulation,
that is to say provided that in all branches of production there is greater or
less accumulation of capital—which in fact is a condition of capitalist
production, and which is just as natural to the capitalist qua capitalist as it is
natural to the miser to amass money (but which is also necessary for the
perpetuation of capitalist production)—what are the conditions of this
universal accumulation, to what elements can it be reduced?’
And the answer: ‘The conditions for the accumulation of capital are
precisely those which rule its original production and reproduction in
general: these conditions being that one part of the money buys labour and
the other commodities (raw materials, machinery, etc.) ... Accumulation of
new capital can only proceed therefore under the same conditions under
which already existing capital is reproduced.’[346]
In real life the actual conditions for the accumulation of the aggregate
capital are quite different from those prevailing for individual capitals and
for simple reproduction. The problem amounts to this: If an increasing part
of the surplus value is not consumed by the capitalists but employed in the
arrive at the total movement of social capital, since the latter is essentially
different. The natural conditions of reproducing individual capitals
therefore neither conform with one another, nor do they conform to the
relations of the total capital. Under normal conditions of circulation, every
individual capital engages in the process of circulation and of accumulation
entirely on its own account, depending upon others only in so far, of course,
as it is compelled to find a market for its product and must find available
the means of production it requires for its specific activities. Whether the
strata who afford this market and provide the necessary means of
production are themselves capitalist producers or not is completely
immaterial for the individual capital, although, in theory, the most
favourable premise for analysing the accumulation of individual capital is
the assumption that capitalist production has attained universal and
exclusive domination and is the sole setting of this process.[345]
Now, however, the question arises whether the assumptions which were
decisive in the case of individual capital, are also legitimate for the
consideration of aggregate capital.
‘We must now put the problem in this form: given universal accumulation,
that is to say provided that in all branches of production there is greater or
less accumulation of capital—which in fact is a condition of capitalist
production, and which is just as natural to the capitalist qua capitalist as it is
natural to the miser to amass money (but which is also necessary for the
perpetuation of capitalist production)—what are the conditions of this
universal accumulation, to what elements can it be reduced?’
And the answer: ‘The conditions for the accumulation of capital are
precisely those which rule its original production and reproduction in
general: these conditions being that one part of the money buys labour and
the other commodities (raw materials, machinery, etc.) ... Accumulation of
new capital can only proceed therefore under the same conditions under
which already existing capital is reproduced.’[346]
In real life the actual conditions for the accumulation of the aggregate
capital are quite different from those prevailing for individual capitals and
for simple reproduction. The problem amounts to this: If an increasing part
of the surplus value is not consumed by the capitalists but employed in the
Page 343
expansion of production, what, then, are the forms of social reproduction?
What is left of the social product after deductions for the replacement of the
constant capital cannot, ex hypothesi, be absorbed by the consumption of
the workers and capitalists—this being the main aspect of the problem—nor
can the workers and capitalists themselves realise the aggregate product.
They can always only realise the variable capital, that part of the constant
capital which will be used up, and the part of the surplus value which will
be consumed, but in this way they merely ensure that production can be
renewed on its previous scale. The workers and capitalists themselves
cannot possibly realise that part of the surplus value which is to be
capitalised. Therefore, the realisation of the surplus value for the purposes
of accumulation is an impossible task for a society which consists solely of
workers and capitalists. Strangely enough, all theorists who analysed the
problem of accumulation, from Ricardo and Sismondi to Marx, started with
the very assumption which makes their problem insoluble. A sure instinct
that realisation of the surplus value requires ‘third persons’, that is to say
consumers other than the immediate agents of capitalist production (i.e.
workers and capitalists) led to all kinds of subterfuges: ‘unproductive
consumption’ as presented by Malthus in the person of the feudal
landowner, by Vorontsov in militarism, by Struve in the ‘liberal professions’
and other hangers-on of the capitalist class; or else foreign trade is brought
into play which proved a useful safety valve to all those who regarded
accumulation with scepticism, from Sismondi to Nicolayon. Because of
these insoluble difficulties, others like v. Kirchmann and Rodbertus tried to
do without accumulation altogether, or, like Sismondi and his Russian
‘populist’ followers, stressed the need for at least putting the dampers on
accumulation as much as possible.
The salient feature of the problem of accumulation, and the vulnerable point
of earlier attempts to solve it, has only been shown up by Marx’s more
profound analysis, his precise diagrammatic demonstration of the total
reproductive process, and especially his inspired exposition of the problem
of simple reproduction. Yet he could not supply immediately a finished
solution either, partly because he broke off his analysis almost as soon as he
had begun it, and partly because he was then preoccupied, as we have
shown, with denouncing the analysis of Adam Smith and thus rather lost
sight of the main problem. In fact, he made the solution even more difficult
by assuming the capitalist mode of production to prevail universally.
What is left of the social product after deductions for the replacement of the
constant capital cannot, ex hypothesi, be absorbed by the consumption of
the workers and capitalists—this being the main aspect of the problem—nor
can the workers and capitalists themselves realise the aggregate product.
They can always only realise the variable capital, that part of the constant
capital which will be used up, and the part of the surplus value which will
be consumed, but in this way they merely ensure that production can be
renewed on its previous scale. The workers and capitalists themselves
cannot possibly realise that part of the surplus value which is to be
capitalised. Therefore, the realisation of the surplus value for the purposes
of accumulation is an impossible task for a society which consists solely of
workers and capitalists. Strangely enough, all theorists who analysed the
problem of accumulation, from Ricardo and Sismondi to Marx, started with
the very assumption which makes their problem insoluble. A sure instinct
that realisation of the surplus value requires ‘third persons’, that is to say
consumers other than the immediate agents of capitalist production (i.e.
workers and capitalists) led to all kinds of subterfuges: ‘unproductive
consumption’ as presented by Malthus in the person of the feudal
landowner, by Vorontsov in militarism, by Struve in the ‘liberal professions’
and other hangers-on of the capitalist class; or else foreign trade is brought
into play which proved a useful safety valve to all those who regarded
accumulation with scepticism, from Sismondi to Nicolayon. Because of
these insoluble difficulties, others like v. Kirchmann and Rodbertus tried to
do without accumulation altogether, or, like Sismondi and his Russian
‘populist’ followers, stressed the need for at least putting the dampers on
accumulation as much as possible.
The salient feature of the problem of accumulation, and the vulnerable point
of earlier attempts to solve it, has only been shown up by Marx’s more
profound analysis, his precise diagrammatic demonstration of the total
reproductive process, and especially his inspired exposition of the problem
of simple reproduction. Yet he could not supply immediately a finished
solution either, partly because he broke off his analysis almost as soon as he
had begun it, and partly because he was then preoccupied, as we have
shown, with denouncing the analysis of Adam Smith and thus rather lost
sight of the main problem. In fact, he made the solution even more difficult
by assuming the capitalist mode of production to prevail universally.
Page 344
Nevertheless, a solution of the problem of accumulation, in harmony both
with other parts of Marx’s doctrine and with the historical experience and
daily practice of capitalism, is implied in Marx’s complete analysis of
simple reproduction and his characterisation of the capitalist process as a
whole which shows up its immanent contradictions and their development
(in Capital, vol. iii). In the light of this, the deficiencies of the diagram can
be corrected. All the relations being, as it were, incomplete, a closer study
of the diagram of enlarged reproduction will reveal that it points to some
sort of organisation more advanced than purely capitalist production and
accumulation.
Up to now we have only considered one aspect of enlarged reproduction,
the problem of realising the surplus value, whose difficulties hitherto had
claimed the sceptics’ whole attention. Realisation of the surplus value is
doubtless a vital question of capitalist accumulation. It requires as its prime
condition—ignoring, for simplicity’s sake, the capitalists’ fund of
consumption altogether—that there should be strata of buyers outside
capitalist society. Buyers, it should be noted, not consumers, since the
material form of the surplus value is quite irrelevant to its realisation. The
decisive fact is that the surplus value cannot be realised by sale either to
workers or to capitalists, but only if it is sold to such social organisations or
strata whose own mode of production is not capitalistic. Here we can
conceive of two different cases:
(1) Capitalist production supplies consumer goods over and above its own
requirements, the demand of its workers and capitalists, which are bought
by non-capitalist strata and countries. The English cotton industry, for
instance, during the first two-thirds of the nineteenth century, and to some
extent even now, has been supplying cotton textiles to the peasants and
petty-bourgeois townspeople of the European continent, and to the peasants
of India, America, Africa and so on. The enormous expansion of the English
cotton industry was thus founded on consumption by non-capitalist strata
and countries.[347] In England herself, this flourishing cotton industry called
forth large-scale development in the production of industrial machinery
(bobbins and weaving-looms), and further in the metal and coal industries
and so on. In this instance, Department II realised its products to an
increasing extent by sale to non-capitalist social strata, and by its own
accumulation it created on its part an increasing demand for the home
with other parts of Marx’s doctrine and with the historical experience and
daily practice of capitalism, is implied in Marx’s complete analysis of
simple reproduction and his characterisation of the capitalist process as a
whole which shows up its immanent contradictions and their development
(in Capital, vol. iii). In the light of this, the deficiencies of the diagram can
be corrected. All the relations being, as it were, incomplete, a closer study
of the diagram of enlarged reproduction will reveal that it points to some
sort of organisation more advanced than purely capitalist production and
accumulation.
Up to now we have only considered one aspect of enlarged reproduction,
the problem of realising the surplus value, whose difficulties hitherto had
claimed the sceptics’ whole attention. Realisation of the surplus value is
doubtless a vital question of capitalist accumulation. It requires as its prime
condition—ignoring, for simplicity’s sake, the capitalists’ fund of
consumption altogether—that there should be strata of buyers outside
capitalist society. Buyers, it should be noted, not consumers, since the
material form of the surplus value is quite irrelevant to its realisation. The
decisive fact is that the surplus value cannot be realised by sale either to
workers or to capitalists, but only if it is sold to such social organisations or
strata whose own mode of production is not capitalistic. Here we can
conceive of two different cases:
(1) Capitalist production supplies consumer goods over and above its own
requirements, the demand of its workers and capitalists, which are bought
by non-capitalist strata and countries. The English cotton industry, for
instance, during the first two-thirds of the nineteenth century, and to some
extent even now, has been supplying cotton textiles to the peasants and
petty-bourgeois townspeople of the European continent, and to the peasants
of India, America, Africa and so on. The enormous expansion of the English
cotton industry was thus founded on consumption by non-capitalist strata
and countries.[347] In England herself, this flourishing cotton industry called
forth large-scale development in the production of industrial machinery
(bobbins and weaving-looms), and further in the metal and coal industries
and so on. In this instance, Department II realised its products to an
increasing extent by sale to non-capitalist social strata, and by its own
accumulation it created on its part an increasing demand for the home
Page 345
produce of Department I, thus helping the latter to realise its surplus value
and to increase its own accumulation.
(2) Conversely, capitalist production supplies means of production in excess
of its own demand and finds buyers in non-capitalist countries. English
industry, for instance, in the first half of the nineteenth century supplied
materials for the construction of railroads in the American and Australian
states. (The building of railways cannot in itself be taken as evidence for the
domination of capitalist production in a country. As a matter of fact, the
railways in this case provided only one of the first conditions for the
inauguration of capitalist production.) Another example would be the
German chemical industry which supplies means of production such as
dyes in great quantities to Asiatic, African and other countries whose own
production is not capitalistic.[348] Here Department I realises its products in
extra-capitalist circles. The resulting progressive expansion of Department I
gives rise to a corresponding expansion of Department II in the same
(capitalistically producing) country in order to supply the means of
subsistence for the growing army of workers in Department I.
Each of these cases differs from Marx’s diagram. In one case, the product of
Department II exceeds the needs of both departments, measured by the
variable capital and the consumed part of the surplus value. In the second
case, the product of Department I exceeds the volume of constant capital in
both departments, enlarged though it is for the purpose of expanding
production. In both cases, the surplus value does not come into being in that
natural form which would make its capitalisation in either department
possible and necessary. These two prototypes continually overlap in real
life, supplement each other and merge.
In this contest, one point seems still obscure. The surplus of consumer
goods, say cotton fabrics, which is sold to non-capitalist countries, does not
exclusively represent surplus value, but, as a capitalist commodity, it
embodies also constant and variable capital. It seems quite arbitrary to
assume that just those commodities which are sold outside the capitalist
strata of society should represent nothing but surplus value. On the other
hand, Department I clearly can in this case not only realise its surplus value
but also accumulate, and that without requiring another market for its
product than the two departments of capitalist production. Yet both these
objections are only apparent. All we need remember is that each component
and to increase its own accumulation.
(2) Conversely, capitalist production supplies means of production in excess
of its own demand and finds buyers in non-capitalist countries. English
industry, for instance, in the first half of the nineteenth century supplied
materials for the construction of railroads in the American and Australian
states. (The building of railways cannot in itself be taken as evidence for the
domination of capitalist production in a country. As a matter of fact, the
railways in this case provided only one of the first conditions for the
inauguration of capitalist production.) Another example would be the
German chemical industry which supplies means of production such as
dyes in great quantities to Asiatic, African and other countries whose own
production is not capitalistic.[348] Here Department I realises its products in
extra-capitalist circles. The resulting progressive expansion of Department I
gives rise to a corresponding expansion of Department II in the same
(capitalistically producing) country in order to supply the means of
subsistence for the growing army of workers in Department I.
Each of these cases differs from Marx’s diagram. In one case, the product of
Department II exceeds the needs of both departments, measured by the
variable capital and the consumed part of the surplus value. In the second
case, the product of Department I exceeds the volume of constant capital in
both departments, enlarged though it is for the purpose of expanding
production. In both cases, the surplus value does not come into being in that
natural form which would make its capitalisation in either department
possible and necessary. These two prototypes continually overlap in real
life, supplement each other and merge.
In this contest, one point seems still obscure. The surplus of consumer
goods, say cotton fabrics, which is sold to non-capitalist countries, does not
exclusively represent surplus value, but, as a capitalist commodity, it
embodies also constant and variable capital. It seems quite arbitrary to
assume that just those commodities which are sold outside the capitalist
strata of society should represent nothing but surplus value. On the other
hand, Department I clearly can in this case not only realise its surplus value
but also accumulate, and that without requiring another market for its
product than the two departments of capitalist production. Yet both these
objections are only apparent. All we need remember is that each component
Page 346
of the aggregate product represents a proportion of the total value, that
under conditions of capitalist production not only the aggregate product but
every single commodity contains surplus value; which consideration does
not prevent the individual capitalist, however, from computing that the sale
of his specific commodities must first reimburse him for his outlay on
constant capital and secondly replace his variable capital (or, rather loosely,
but in accordance with actual practice: it must first replace his fixed, and
then his circulating capital); what then remains will go down as profit.
Similarly, we can divide the aggregate social product into three
proportionate parts which, in terms of value, correspond to (1) the constant
capital that has been used up in society, (2) the variable capital, and (3) the
extracted surplus value. In the case of simple reproduction these proportions
are also reflected in the material shape of the aggregate product: the
constant capital materialises as means of production, the variable capital as
means of subsistence for the workers, and the surplus value as means of
subsistence for the capitalist. Yet as we know, the concept of simple
reproduction with consumption of the entire surplus value by the capitalists
is a mere fiction. As for enlarged reproduction or accumulation, in Marx’s
diagram the composition of the social product in terms of value is also
strictly in proportion to its material form: the surplus value, or rather that
part of it which is earmarked for capitalisation, has from the very beginning
the form of material means of production and means of subsistence for the
workers in a ratio appropriate to the expansion of production on a given
technical basis. As we have seen, this conception, which is based upon the
self-sufficiency and isolation of capitalist production, falls down as soon as
we consider the realisation of the surplus value. If we assume, however, that
the surplus value is realised outside the sphere of capitalist production, then
its material form is independent of the requirements of capitalist production
itself. Its material form conforms to the requirements of those non-capitalist
circles who help to realise it, that is to say, capitalist surplus value can take
the form of consumer goods, e.g. cotton fabrics, or of means of production,
e.g. materials for railway construction, as the case may be. If one
department realises its surplus value by exporting its products, and with the
ensuing expansion of production helps the other department to realise its
surplus value on the home market, then the fact still remains that the social
surplus value must yet be taken as realised outside the two departments,
either mediately or immediately. Similar considerations enable the
under conditions of capitalist production not only the aggregate product but
every single commodity contains surplus value; which consideration does
not prevent the individual capitalist, however, from computing that the sale
of his specific commodities must first reimburse him for his outlay on
constant capital and secondly replace his variable capital (or, rather loosely,
but in accordance with actual practice: it must first replace his fixed, and
then his circulating capital); what then remains will go down as profit.
Similarly, we can divide the aggregate social product into three
proportionate parts which, in terms of value, correspond to (1) the constant
capital that has been used up in society, (2) the variable capital, and (3) the
extracted surplus value. In the case of simple reproduction these proportions
are also reflected in the material shape of the aggregate product: the
constant capital materialises as means of production, the variable capital as
means of subsistence for the workers, and the surplus value as means of
subsistence for the capitalist. Yet as we know, the concept of simple
reproduction with consumption of the entire surplus value by the capitalists
is a mere fiction. As for enlarged reproduction or accumulation, in Marx’s
diagram the composition of the social product in terms of value is also
strictly in proportion to its material form: the surplus value, or rather that
part of it which is earmarked for capitalisation, has from the very beginning
the form of material means of production and means of subsistence for the
workers in a ratio appropriate to the expansion of production on a given
technical basis. As we have seen, this conception, which is based upon the
self-sufficiency and isolation of capitalist production, falls down as soon as
we consider the realisation of the surplus value. If we assume, however, that
the surplus value is realised outside the sphere of capitalist production, then
its material form is independent of the requirements of capitalist production
itself. Its material form conforms to the requirements of those non-capitalist
circles who help to realise it, that is to say, capitalist surplus value can take
the form of consumer goods, e.g. cotton fabrics, or of means of production,
e.g. materials for railway construction, as the case may be. If one
department realises its surplus value by exporting its products, and with the
ensuing expansion of production helps the other department to realise its
surplus value on the home market, then the fact still remains that the social
surplus value must yet be taken as realised outside the two departments,
either mediately or immediately. Similar considerations enable the
Page 347
individual capitalist to realise his surplus value, even if the whole of his
commodities can only replace either the variable or the constant capital of
another capitalist.
Nor is the realisation of the surplus value the only vital aspect of
reproduction. Given that Department I has disposed of its surplus value
outside, thereby starting the process of accumulation, and further, that it can
expect a new increase in the demand in non-capitalist circles, these two
conditions add up to only half of what is required for accumulation. There is
many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip. The second requirement of
accumulation is access to material elements necessary for expanding
reproduction. Seeing that we have just turned the surplus product of
Department I into money by getting rid of the surplus means of production
to non-capitalist circles, from where are these material elements then to
come? The transaction which is the portal for realising the surplus value is
also, as it were, a backdoor out of which flies all possibility of converting
this realised surplus value into productive capital—one leads to the nether
regions and the other to the deep sea. Let us take a closer look.
Here we use c in both Departments I and II as if it were the entire constant
capital in production. Yet this we know is wrong. Only for the sake of
simplifying the diagram have we disregarded that the c which figures in
Departments I and II of the diagram is only part of the aggregate constant
capital of society, that is to say that part which, circulating during one year,
is used up and embodied in the products of one period of production. Yet it
would be perfectly absurd if capitalist production—or any other—would
use up its entire constant capital and create it anew in every period of
production. On the contrary, we assume that the whole mass of means of
production, for the periodical total renewal of which the diagram provides
in annual instalments—renewal of the used-up part—lies at the back of
production as presented in the diagram. With progressing labour
productivity and an expanding volume of production, this mass increases
not only absolutely but also relatively to the part which is consumed in
production in every case, together with a corresponding increase in the
efficiency of the constant capital. It is the more intensive exploitation of this
part of the constant capital, irrespective of its increase in value, which is of
paramount importance for the expansion of production.
commodities can only replace either the variable or the constant capital of
another capitalist.
Nor is the realisation of the surplus value the only vital aspect of
reproduction. Given that Department I has disposed of its surplus value
outside, thereby starting the process of accumulation, and further, that it can
expect a new increase in the demand in non-capitalist circles, these two
conditions add up to only half of what is required for accumulation. There is
many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip. The second requirement of
accumulation is access to material elements necessary for expanding
reproduction. Seeing that we have just turned the surplus product of
Department I into money by getting rid of the surplus means of production
to non-capitalist circles, from where are these material elements then to
come? The transaction which is the portal for realising the surplus value is
also, as it were, a backdoor out of which flies all possibility of converting
this realised surplus value into productive capital—one leads to the nether
regions and the other to the deep sea. Let us take a closer look.
Here we use c in both Departments I and II as if it were the entire constant
capital in production. Yet this we know is wrong. Only for the sake of
simplifying the diagram have we disregarded that the c which figures in
Departments I and II of the diagram is only part of the aggregate constant
capital of society, that is to say that part which, circulating during one year,
is used up and embodied in the products of one period of production. Yet it
would be perfectly absurd if capitalist production—or any other—would
use up its entire constant capital and create it anew in every period of
production. On the contrary, we assume that the whole mass of means of
production, for the periodical total renewal of which the diagram provides
in annual instalments—renewal of the used-up part—lies at the back of
production as presented in the diagram. With progressing labour
productivity and an expanding volume of production, this mass increases
not only absolutely but also relatively to the part which is consumed in
production in every case, together with a corresponding increase in the
efficiency of the constant capital. It is the more intensive exploitation of this
part of the constant capital, irrespective of its increase in value, which is of
paramount importance for the expansion of production.
Page 348
‘In the extractive industries, mines, etc., the raw materials form no part of
the capital advanced. The subject of labour is in this case not a product of
previous labour, but is furnished by Nature gratis, as in the case of metals,
minerals, coal, stone, etc. In these cases the constant capital consists almost
exclusively of instruments of labour, which can very well absorb an
increased quantity of labour (day and night shifts of labourers, e.g.). All
other things being equal, the mass and value of the product will rise in
direct proportion to the labour expended. As on the first day of production,
the original produce-formers, now turned into the creators of the material
elements of capital—man and Nature—still work together. Thanks to the
elasticity of labour-power, the domain of accumulation has extended
without any previous enlargement of constant capital.—In agriculture the
land under cultivation cannot be increased without the advance of more
seed and manure. But this advance once made, the purely mechanical
working of the soil itself produces a marvellous effect on the amount of the
product. A greater quantity of labour, done by the same number of labourers
as before, thus increases the fertility, without requiring any new advance in
the instruments of labour. It is once again the direct action of man on Nature
which becomes an immediate source of greater accumulation, without the
intervention of any new capital. Finally, in what is called manufacturing
industry, every additional expenditure of labour presupposes a
corresponding additional expenditure of raw materials, but not necessarily
of instruments of labour. And as extractive industry and agriculture supply
manufacturing industry with its raw materials and those of its instruments
of labour, the additional product the former have created without additional
advance of capital, tells also in favour of the latter.—General result: by
incorporating with itself the two primary creators of wealth, labour-power
and the land, capital acquires a power of expansion that permits it to
augment the elements of its accumulation beyond the limits apparently
fixed by its own magnitude, or by the value and the mass of the means of
production, already produced, in which it has its being.’[349]
In addition, there is no obvious reason why means of production and
consumer goods should be produced by capitalist methods alone. This
assumption, for all Marx used it as the corner-stone of his thesis, is in
conformity neither with the daily practice, and the history, of capital, nor
with the specific character of this mode of production. In the first half of the
nineteenth century, a great part of the surplus value in England was
the capital advanced. The subject of labour is in this case not a product of
previous labour, but is furnished by Nature gratis, as in the case of metals,
minerals, coal, stone, etc. In these cases the constant capital consists almost
exclusively of instruments of labour, which can very well absorb an
increased quantity of labour (day and night shifts of labourers, e.g.). All
other things being equal, the mass and value of the product will rise in
direct proportion to the labour expended. As on the first day of production,
the original produce-formers, now turned into the creators of the material
elements of capital—man and Nature—still work together. Thanks to the
elasticity of labour-power, the domain of accumulation has extended
without any previous enlargement of constant capital.—In agriculture the
land under cultivation cannot be increased without the advance of more
seed and manure. But this advance once made, the purely mechanical
working of the soil itself produces a marvellous effect on the amount of the
product. A greater quantity of labour, done by the same number of labourers
as before, thus increases the fertility, without requiring any new advance in
the instruments of labour. It is once again the direct action of man on Nature
which becomes an immediate source of greater accumulation, without the
intervention of any new capital. Finally, in what is called manufacturing
industry, every additional expenditure of labour presupposes a
corresponding additional expenditure of raw materials, but not necessarily
of instruments of labour. And as extractive industry and agriculture supply
manufacturing industry with its raw materials and those of its instruments
of labour, the additional product the former have created without additional
advance of capital, tells also in favour of the latter.—General result: by
incorporating with itself the two primary creators of wealth, labour-power
and the land, capital acquires a power of expansion that permits it to
augment the elements of its accumulation beyond the limits apparently
fixed by its own magnitude, or by the value and the mass of the means of
production, already produced, in which it has its being.’[349]
In addition, there is no obvious reason why means of production and
consumer goods should be produced by capitalist methods alone. This
assumption, for all Marx used it as the corner-stone of his thesis, is in
conformity neither with the daily practice, and the history, of capital, nor
with the specific character of this mode of production. In the first half of the
nineteenth century, a great part of the surplus value in England was
Page 349
produced in form of cotton fabrics. Yet the material elements for the
capitalisation of this surplus value, although they certainly represented a
surplus product, still were by no means all capitalist surplus value, to
mention only raw cotton from the slave states of the American Union, or
grain (a means of subsistence for the English workers) from the fields of
serf-owning Russia. How much capitalist accumulation depends upon
means of production which are not produced by capitalist methods is shown
for example by the cotton crisis in England during the American War of
Secession, when the cultivation of the plantations came to a standstill, or by
the crisis of European linen-weaving during the war in the East, when flax
could not be imported from serf-owning Russia. We need only recall that
imports of corn raised by peasants—i.e. not produced by capitalist methods
—played a vital part in the feeding of industrial labour, as an element, that
is to say, of variable capital, for a further illustration of the close ties
between non-capitalist strata and the material elements necessary to the
accumulation of capital.
Moreover, capitalist production, by its very nature, cannot be restricted to
such means of production as are produced by capitalist methods. Cheap
elements of constant capital are essential to the individual capitalist who
strives to increase his rate of profit. In addition, the very condition of
continuous improvements in labour productivity as the most important
method of increasing the rate of surplus value, is unrestricted utilisation of
all substances and facilities afforded by nature and soil. To tolerate any
restriction in this respect would be contrary to the very essence of capital,
its whole mode of existence. After many centuries of development, the
capitalist mode of production still constitutes only a fragment of total world
production. Even in the small Continent of Europe, where it now chiefly
prevails, it has not yet succeeded in dominating entire branches of
production, such as peasant agriculture and the independent handicrafts; the
same holds true, further, for large parts of North America and for a number
of regions in the other continents. In general, capitalist production has
hitherto been confined mainly to the countries in the temperate zone, whilst
it made comparatively little progress in the East, for instance, and the
South. Thus, if it were dependent exclusively on elements of production
obtainable within such narrow limits, its present level and indeed its
development in general would have been impossible. From the very
beginning, the forms and laws of capitalist production aim to comprise the
capitalisation of this surplus value, although they certainly represented a
surplus product, still were by no means all capitalist surplus value, to
mention only raw cotton from the slave states of the American Union, or
grain (a means of subsistence for the English workers) from the fields of
serf-owning Russia. How much capitalist accumulation depends upon
means of production which are not produced by capitalist methods is shown
for example by the cotton crisis in England during the American War of
Secession, when the cultivation of the plantations came to a standstill, or by
the crisis of European linen-weaving during the war in the East, when flax
could not be imported from serf-owning Russia. We need only recall that
imports of corn raised by peasants—i.e. not produced by capitalist methods
—played a vital part in the feeding of industrial labour, as an element, that
is to say, of variable capital, for a further illustration of the close ties
between non-capitalist strata and the material elements necessary to the
accumulation of capital.
Moreover, capitalist production, by its very nature, cannot be restricted to
such means of production as are produced by capitalist methods. Cheap
elements of constant capital are essential to the individual capitalist who
strives to increase his rate of profit. In addition, the very condition of
continuous improvements in labour productivity as the most important
method of increasing the rate of surplus value, is unrestricted utilisation of
all substances and facilities afforded by nature and soil. To tolerate any
restriction in this respect would be contrary to the very essence of capital,
its whole mode of existence. After many centuries of development, the
capitalist mode of production still constitutes only a fragment of total world
production. Even in the small Continent of Europe, where it now chiefly
prevails, it has not yet succeeded in dominating entire branches of
production, such as peasant agriculture and the independent handicrafts; the
same holds true, further, for large parts of North America and for a number
of regions in the other continents. In general, capitalist production has
hitherto been confined mainly to the countries in the temperate zone, whilst
it made comparatively little progress in the East, for instance, and the
South. Thus, if it were dependent exclusively on elements of production
obtainable within such narrow limits, its present level and indeed its
development in general would have been impossible. From the very
beginning, the forms and laws of capitalist production aim to comprise the
Page 350
entire globe as a store of productive forces. Capital, impelled to appropriate
productive forces for purposes of exploitation, ransacks the whole world, it
procures its means of production from all corners of the earth, seizing them,
if necessary by force, from all levels of civilisation and from all forms of
society. The problem of the material elements of capitalist accumulation, far
from being solved by the material form of the surplus value that has been
produced, takes on quite a different aspect. It becomes necessary for capital
progressively to dispose ever more fully of the whole globe, to acquire an
unlimited choice of means of production, with regard to both quality and
quantity, so as to find productive employment for the surplus value it has
realised.
The process of accumulation, elastic and spasmodic as it is, requires
inevitably free access to ever new areas of raw materials in case of need,
both when imports from old sources fail or when social demand suddenly
increases. When the War of Secession interfered with the import of
American cotton, causing the notorious ‘cotton famine’ in the Lancashire
district, new and immense cotton plantations sprang up in Egypt almost at
once, as if by magic. Here it was Oriental despotism, combined with an
ancient system of bondage, which had created a sphere of activity for
European capital. Only capital with its technical resources can effect such a
miraculous change in so short a time—but only on the pre-capitalist soil of
more primitive social conditions can it develop the ascendancy necessary to
achieve such miracles. Another example of the same kind is the enormous
increase in the world consumption of rubber which at present (1912)
necessitates a supply of latex to the value of £50,000,000 per annum. The
economic basis for the production of raw materials is a primitive system of
exploitation practised by European capital in the African colonies and in
America, where the institutions of slavery and bondage are combined in
various forms.[350]
Between the production of surplus value, then, and the subsequent period of
accumulation, two separate transactions take place—that of realising the
surplus value, i.e. of converting it into pure value, and that of transforming
this pure value into productive capital. They are both dealings between
capitalist production and the surrounding non-capitalist world. From the
aspect both of realising the surplus value and of procuring the material
elements of constant capital, international trade is a prime necessity for the
productive forces for purposes of exploitation, ransacks the whole world, it
procures its means of production from all corners of the earth, seizing them,
if necessary by force, from all levels of civilisation and from all forms of
society. The problem of the material elements of capitalist accumulation, far
from being solved by the material form of the surplus value that has been
produced, takes on quite a different aspect. It becomes necessary for capital
progressively to dispose ever more fully of the whole globe, to acquire an
unlimited choice of means of production, with regard to both quality and
quantity, so as to find productive employment for the surplus value it has
realised.
The process of accumulation, elastic and spasmodic as it is, requires
inevitably free access to ever new areas of raw materials in case of need,
both when imports from old sources fail or when social demand suddenly
increases. When the War of Secession interfered with the import of
American cotton, causing the notorious ‘cotton famine’ in the Lancashire
district, new and immense cotton plantations sprang up in Egypt almost at
once, as if by magic. Here it was Oriental despotism, combined with an
ancient system of bondage, which had created a sphere of activity for
European capital. Only capital with its technical resources can effect such a
miraculous change in so short a time—but only on the pre-capitalist soil of
more primitive social conditions can it develop the ascendancy necessary to
achieve such miracles. Another example of the same kind is the enormous
increase in the world consumption of rubber which at present (1912)
necessitates a supply of latex to the value of £50,000,000 per annum. The
economic basis for the production of raw materials is a primitive system of
exploitation practised by European capital in the African colonies and in
America, where the institutions of slavery and bondage are combined in
various forms.[350]
Between the production of surplus value, then, and the subsequent period of
accumulation, two separate transactions take place—that of realising the
surplus value, i.e. of converting it into pure value, and that of transforming
this pure value into productive capital. They are both dealings between
capitalist production and the surrounding non-capitalist world. From the
aspect both of realising the surplus value and of procuring the material
elements of constant capital, international trade is a prime necessity for the
Page 351
historical existence of capitalism—an international trade which under actual
conditions is essentially an exchange between capitalistic and non-
capitalistic modes of production.
Hitherto we have considered accumulation solely with regard to surplus
value and constant capital. The third element of accumulation is variable
capital which increases with progressive accumulation. In Marx’s diagram,
the social product contains ever more means of subsistence for the workers
as the material form proper to this variable capital. The variable capital,
however, is not really the means of subsistence for the workers but is in fact
living labour for whose reproduction these means of subsistence are
necessary. One of the fundamental conditions of accumulation is therefore a
supply of living labour which can be mobilised by capital to meet its
demands. This supply can be increased under favourable conditions—but
only up to a certain point—by longer hours and more intensive work. Both
these methods of increasing the supply, however, do not enlarge the variable
capital, or do so only to a small extent (e.g. payment for overtime).
Moreover, they are confined to definite and rather narrow limits which they
cannot exceed owing to both natural and social causes. The increasing
growth of variable capital which accompanies accumulation must therefore
become manifest in ever greater numbers of employed labour. Where can
this additional labour be found?
In his analysis of the accumulation of individual capital, Marx gives the
following answer: ‘Now in order to allow of these elements actually
functioning as capital, the capitalist class requires additional labour. If the
exploitation of the labourers already employed does not increase, either
extensively or intensively, then additional labour-power must be found. For
this the mechanism of capitalist production provides beforehand, by
converting the working class into a class dependent on wages, a class whose
ordinary wages suffice, not only for its maintenance, but for its increase. It
is only necessary for capital to incorporate this additional labour-power,
annually supplied by the working class in the shape of labourers of all ages,
with the surplus means of production comprised in the annual produce, and
the conversion of surplus-value into capital is complete.’[351]
Thus the increase in the variable capital is directly and exclusively
attributed to the natural physical increase of a working class already
dominated by capital. This is in strict conformity with the diagram of
conditions is essentially an exchange between capitalistic and non-
capitalistic modes of production.
Hitherto we have considered accumulation solely with regard to surplus
value and constant capital. The third element of accumulation is variable
capital which increases with progressive accumulation. In Marx’s diagram,
the social product contains ever more means of subsistence for the workers
as the material form proper to this variable capital. The variable capital,
however, is not really the means of subsistence for the workers but is in fact
living labour for whose reproduction these means of subsistence are
necessary. One of the fundamental conditions of accumulation is therefore a
supply of living labour which can be mobilised by capital to meet its
demands. This supply can be increased under favourable conditions—but
only up to a certain point—by longer hours and more intensive work. Both
these methods of increasing the supply, however, do not enlarge the variable
capital, or do so only to a small extent (e.g. payment for overtime).
Moreover, they are confined to definite and rather narrow limits which they
cannot exceed owing to both natural and social causes. The increasing
growth of variable capital which accompanies accumulation must therefore
become manifest in ever greater numbers of employed labour. Where can
this additional labour be found?
In his analysis of the accumulation of individual capital, Marx gives the
following answer: ‘Now in order to allow of these elements actually
functioning as capital, the capitalist class requires additional labour. If the
exploitation of the labourers already employed does not increase, either
extensively or intensively, then additional labour-power must be found. For
this the mechanism of capitalist production provides beforehand, by
converting the working class into a class dependent on wages, a class whose
ordinary wages suffice, not only for its maintenance, but for its increase. It
is only necessary for capital to incorporate this additional labour-power,
annually supplied by the working class in the shape of labourers of all ages,
with the surplus means of production comprised in the annual produce, and
the conversion of surplus-value into capital is complete.’[351]
Thus the increase in the variable capital is directly and exclusively
attributed to the natural physical increase of a working class already
dominated by capital. This is in strict conformity with the diagram of
Page 352
enlarged reproduction which recognises only the social classes of capitalists
and workers, and regards the capitalist mode of production as exclusive and
absolute. On these assumptions, the natural increase of the working class is
the only source of extending the labour supply commanded by capital. This
view, however, is contrary to the laws governing the process of
accumulation. The natural propagation of the workers and the requirements
of accumulating capital are not correlative in respect of time or quantity.
Marx himself has most brilliantly shown that natural propagation cannot
keep up with the sudden expansive needs of capital. If natural propagation
were the only foundation for the development of capital, accumulation, in
its periodical swings from overstrain to exhaustion, could not continue, nor
could the productive sphere expand by leaps and bounds, and accumulation
itself would become impossible. The latter requires an unlimited freedom of
movement in respect of the growth of variable capital equal to that which it
enjoys with regard to the elements of constant capital—that is to say it must
needs dispose over the supply of labour power without restriction. Marx
considers that this can be achieved by an ‘industrial reserve army of
workers’. His diagram of simple reproduction admittedly does not
recognise such an army, nor could it have room for it, since the natural
propagation of the capitalist wage proletariat cannot provide an industrial
reserve army. Labour for this army is recruited from social reservoirs
outside the dominion of capital—it is drawn into the wage proletariat only
if need arises. Only the existence of non-capitalist groups and countries can
guarantee such a supply of additional labour power for capitalist
production. Yet in his analysis of the industrial reserve army[352] Marx only
allows for (a) the displacement of older workers by machinery, (b) an influx
of rural workers into the towns in consequence of the ascendancy of
capitalist production in agriculture, (c) occasional labour that has dropped
out of industry, and (d) finally the lowest residue of relative over-
population, the paupers. All these categories are cast off by the capitalist
system of production in some form or other, they constitute a wage
proletariat that is worn out and made redundant one way or another. Marx,
obviously influenced by English conditions involving a high level of
capitalist development, held that the rural workers who continually migrate
to the towns belong to the wage proletariat, since they were formerly
dominated by agricultural capital and now become subject to industrial
capital. He ignores, however, the problem which is of paramount
and workers, and regards the capitalist mode of production as exclusive and
absolute. On these assumptions, the natural increase of the working class is
the only source of extending the labour supply commanded by capital. This
view, however, is contrary to the laws governing the process of
accumulation. The natural propagation of the workers and the requirements
of accumulating capital are not correlative in respect of time or quantity.
Marx himself has most brilliantly shown that natural propagation cannot
keep up with the sudden expansive needs of capital. If natural propagation
were the only foundation for the development of capital, accumulation, in
its periodical swings from overstrain to exhaustion, could not continue, nor
could the productive sphere expand by leaps and bounds, and accumulation
itself would become impossible. The latter requires an unlimited freedom of
movement in respect of the growth of variable capital equal to that which it
enjoys with regard to the elements of constant capital—that is to say it must
needs dispose over the supply of labour power without restriction. Marx
considers that this can be achieved by an ‘industrial reserve army of
workers’. His diagram of simple reproduction admittedly does not
recognise such an army, nor could it have room for it, since the natural
propagation of the capitalist wage proletariat cannot provide an industrial
reserve army. Labour for this army is recruited from social reservoirs
outside the dominion of capital—it is drawn into the wage proletariat only
if need arises. Only the existence of non-capitalist groups and countries can
guarantee such a supply of additional labour power for capitalist
production. Yet in his analysis of the industrial reserve army[352] Marx only
allows for (a) the displacement of older workers by machinery, (b) an influx
of rural workers into the towns in consequence of the ascendancy of
capitalist production in agriculture, (c) occasional labour that has dropped
out of industry, and (d) finally the lowest residue of relative over-
population, the paupers. All these categories are cast off by the capitalist
system of production in some form or other, they constitute a wage
proletariat that is worn out and made redundant one way or another. Marx,
obviously influenced by English conditions involving a high level of
capitalist development, held that the rural workers who continually migrate
to the towns belong to the wage proletariat, since they were formerly
dominated by agricultural capital and now become subject to industrial
capital. He ignores, however, the problem which is of paramount
Page 353
importance for conditions on the continent of Europe, namely the sources
from which this urban and rural proletariat is recruited: the continual
process by which the rural and urban middle strata become proletarian with
the decay of peasant economy and of small artisan enterprises, the very
process, that is to say, of incessant transition from non-capitalist to capitalist
conditions of a labour power that is cast off by pre-capitalist, not capitalist,
modes of production in their progressive breakdown and disintegration.
Besides the decay of European peasants and artisans we must here also
mention the disintegration of the most varied primitive forms of production
and of social organisation in non-European countries.
Since capitalist production can develop fully only with complete access to
all territories and climes, it can no more confine itself to the natural
resources and productive forces of the temperate zone than it can manage
with white labour alone. Capital needs other races to exploit territories
where the white man cannot work. It must be able to mobilise world labour
power without restriction in order to utilise all productive forces of the
globe—up to the limits imposed by a system of producing surplus value.
This labour power, however, is in most cases rigidly bound by the
traditional pre-capitalist organisation of production. It must first be ‘set
free’ in order to be enrolled in the active army of capital. The emancipation
of labour power from primitive social conditions and its absorption by the
capitalist wage system is one of the indispensable historical bases of
capitalism. For the first genuinely capitalist branch of production, the
English cotton industry, not only the cotton of the Southern states of the
American Union was essential, but also the millions of African Negroes
who were shipped to America to provide the labour power for the
plantations, and who later, as a free proletariat, were incorporated in the
class of wage labourers in a capitalist system.[353] Obtaining the necessary
labour power from non-capitalist societies, the so-called ‘labour-problem’,
is ever more important for capital in the colonies. All possible methods of
‘gentle compulsion’ are applied to solving this problem, to transfer labour
from former social systems to the command of capital. This endeavour
leads to the most peculiar combinations between the modern wage system
and primitive authority in the colonial countries.[354] This is a concrete
example of the fact that capitalist production cannot manage without labour
power from other social organisations.
from which this urban and rural proletariat is recruited: the continual
process by which the rural and urban middle strata become proletarian with
the decay of peasant economy and of small artisan enterprises, the very
process, that is to say, of incessant transition from non-capitalist to capitalist
conditions of a labour power that is cast off by pre-capitalist, not capitalist,
modes of production in their progressive breakdown and disintegration.
Besides the decay of European peasants and artisans we must here also
mention the disintegration of the most varied primitive forms of production
and of social organisation in non-European countries.
Since capitalist production can develop fully only with complete access to
all territories and climes, it can no more confine itself to the natural
resources and productive forces of the temperate zone than it can manage
with white labour alone. Capital needs other races to exploit territories
where the white man cannot work. It must be able to mobilise world labour
power without restriction in order to utilise all productive forces of the
globe—up to the limits imposed by a system of producing surplus value.
This labour power, however, is in most cases rigidly bound by the
traditional pre-capitalist organisation of production. It must first be ‘set
free’ in order to be enrolled in the active army of capital. The emancipation
of labour power from primitive social conditions and its absorption by the
capitalist wage system is one of the indispensable historical bases of
capitalism. For the first genuinely capitalist branch of production, the
English cotton industry, not only the cotton of the Southern states of the
American Union was essential, but also the millions of African Negroes
who were shipped to America to provide the labour power for the
plantations, and who later, as a free proletariat, were incorporated in the
class of wage labourers in a capitalist system.[353] Obtaining the necessary
labour power from non-capitalist societies, the so-called ‘labour-problem’,
is ever more important for capital in the colonies. All possible methods of
‘gentle compulsion’ are applied to solving this problem, to transfer labour
from former social systems to the command of capital. This endeavour
leads to the most peculiar combinations between the modern wage system
and primitive authority in the colonial countries.[354] This is a concrete
example of the fact that capitalist production cannot manage without labour
power from other social organisations.
Page 354
Admittedly, Marx dealt in detail with the process of appropriating non-
capitalist means of production as well as with the transformation of the
peasants into a capitalist proletariat. Chapter xxiv of Capital, vol. i, is
devoted to describing the origin of the English proletariat, of the capitalistic
agricultural tenant class and of industrial capital, with particular emphasis
on the looting of colonial countries by European capital. Yet we must bear
in mind that all this is treated solely with a view to so-called primitive
accumulation. For Marx, these processes are incidental, illustrating merely
the genesis of capital, its first appearance in the world; they are, as it were,
travails by which the capitalist mode of production emerges from a feudal
society. As soon as he comes to analyse the capitalist process of production
and circulation, he reaffirms the universal and exclusive domination of
capitalist production.
Yet, as we have seen, capitalism in its full maturity also depends in all
respects on non-capitalist strata and social organisations existing side by
side with it. It is not merely a question of a market for the additional
product, as Sismondi and the later critics and doubters of capitalist
accumulation would have it. The interrelations of accumulating capital and
non-capitalist forms of production extend over values as well as over
material conditions, for constant capital, variable capital and surplus value
alike. The non-capitalist mode of production is the given historical setting
for this process. Since the accumulation of capital becomes impossible in
all points without non-capitalist surroundings, we cannot gain a true picture
of it by assuming the exclusive and absolute domination of the capitalist
mode of production. Sismondi and his school, when they attributed their
difficulties entirely to the problem of realising the surplus value, indeed
revealed a proper sense for the conditions vital to accumulation. Yet the
conditions for augmenting the material elements of constant and variable
capital are quite a different matter from those which govern the realisation
of surplus value. Capital needs the means of production and the labour
power of the whole globe for untrammelled accumulation; it cannot manage
without the natural resources and the labour power of all territories. Seeing
that the overwhelming majority of resources and labour power is in fact still
in the orbit of pre-capitalist production—this being the historical milieu of
accumulation—capital must go all out to obtain ascendancy over these
territories and social organisations. There is no a priori reason why rubber
plantations, say, run on capitalist lines, such as have been laid out in India,
capitalist means of production as well as with the transformation of the
peasants into a capitalist proletariat. Chapter xxiv of Capital, vol. i, is
devoted to describing the origin of the English proletariat, of the capitalistic
agricultural tenant class and of industrial capital, with particular emphasis
on the looting of colonial countries by European capital. Yet we must bear
in mind that all this is treated solely with a view to so-called primitive
accumulation. For Marx, these processes are incidental, illustrating merely
the genesis of capital, its first appearance in the world; they are, as it were,
travails by which the capitalist mode of production emerges from a feudal
society. As soon as he comes to analyse the capitalist process of production
and circulation, he reaffirms the universal and exclusive domination of
capitalist production.
Yet, as we have seen, capitalism in its full maturity also depends in all
respects on non-capitalist strata and social organisations existing side by
side with it. It is not merely a question of a market for the additional
product, as Sismondi and the later critics and doubters of capitalist
accumulation would have it. The interrelations of accumulating capital and
non-capitalist forms of production extend over values as well as over
material conditions, for constant capital, variable capital and surplus value
alike. The non-capitalist mode of production is the given historical setting
for this process. Since the accumulation of capital becomes impossible in
all points without non-capitalist surroundings, we cannot gain a true picture
of it by assuming the exclusive and absolute domination of the capitalist
mode of production. Sismondi and his school, when they attributed their
difficulties entirely to the problem of realising the surplus value, indeed
revealed a proper sense for the conditions vital to accumulation. Yet the
conditions for augmenting the material elements of constant and variable
capital are quite a different matter from those which govern the realisation
of surplus value. Capital needs the means of production and the labour
power of the whole globe for untrammelled accumulation; it cannot manage
without the natural resources and the labour power of all territories. Seeing
that the overwhelming majority of resources and labour power is in fact still
in the orbit of pre-capitalist production—this being the historical milieu of
accumulation—capital must go all out to obtain ascendancy over these
territories and social organisations. There is no a priori reason why rubber
plantations, say, run on capitalist lines, such as have been laid out in India,
Page 355
might not serve the ends of capitalist production just as well. Yet if the
countries of those branches of production are predominantly non-capitalist,
capital will endeavour to establish domination over these countries and
societies. And in fact, primitive conditions allow of a greater drive and of
far more ruthless measures than could be tolerated under purely capitalist
social conditions.
It is quite different with the realisation of the surplus value. Here outside
consumers qua other-than-capitalist are really essential. Thus the immediate
and vital conditions for capital and its accumulation is the existence of non-
capitalist buyers of the surplus value, which is decisive to this extent for the
problem of capitalist accumulation.
Whatever the theoretical aspects, the accumulation of capital, as an
historical process, depends in every respect upon non-capitalist social strata
and forms of social organisation.
The solution to this problem which for almost a century has been the bone
of contention in economic theory thus lies between the two extremes of the
petty-bourgeois scepticism preached by Sismondi, v. Kirchmann, Vorontsov
and Nicolayon, who flatly denied accumulation, and the crude optimism
advocated by Ricardo, Say and Tugan Baranovski who believed in capital’s
unlimited capacity for parthenogenesis, with the logical corollary of
capitalism-in-perpetuity. The solution envisaged by Marx lies in the
dialectical conflict that capitalism needs non-capitalist social organisations
as the setting for its development, that it proceeds by assimilating the very
conditions which alone can ensure its own existence.
At this point we should revise the conceptions of internal and external
markets which were so important in the controversy about accumulation.
They are both vital to capitalist development and yet fundamentally
different, though they must be conceived in terms of social economy rather
than of political geography. In this light, the internal market is the capitalist
market, production itself buying its own products and supplying its own
elements of production. The external market is the non-capitalist social
environment which absorbs the products of capitalism and supplies
producer goods and labour power for capitalist production. Thus, from the
point of view of economics, Germany and England traffic in commodities
chiefly on an internal, capitalist market, whilst the give and take between
countries of those branches of production are predominantly non-capitalist,
capital will endeavour to establish domination over these countries and
societies. And in fact, primitive conditions allow of a greater drive and of
far more ruthless measures than could be tolerated under purely capitalist
social conditions.
It is quite different with the realisation of the surplus value. Here outside
consumers qua other-than-capitalist are really essential. Thus the immediate
and vital conditions for capital and its accumulation is the existence of non-
capitalist buyers of the surplus value, which is decisive to this extent for the
problem of capitalist accumulation.
Whatever the theoretical aspects, the accumulation of capital, as an
historical process, depends in every respect upon non-capitalist social strata
and forms of social organisation.
The solution to this problem which for almost a century has been the bone
of contention in economic theory thus lies between the two extremes of the
petty-bourgeois scepticism preached by Sismondi, v. Kirchmann, Vorontsov
and Nicolayon, who flatly denied accumulation, and the crude optimism
advocated by Ricardo, Say and Tugan Baranovski who believed in capital’s
unlimited capacity for parthenogenesis, with the logical corollary of
capitalism-in-perpetuity. The solution envisaged by Marx lies in the
dialectical conflict that capitalism needs non-capitalist social organisations
as the setting for its development, that it proceeds by assimilating the very
conditions which alone can ensure its own existence.
At this point we should revise the conceptions of internal and external
markets which were so important in the controversy about accumulation.
They are both vital to capitalist development and yet fundamentally
different, though they must be conceived in terms of social economy rather
than of political geography. In this light, the internal market is the capitalist
market, production itself buying its own products and supplying its own
elements of production. The external market is the non-capitalist social
environment which absorbs the products of capitalism and supplies
producer goods and labour power for capitalist production. Thus, from the
point of view of economics, Germany and England traffic in commodities
chiefly on an internal, capitalist market, whilst the give and take between
Page 356
German industry and German peasants is transacted on an external market
as far as German capital is concerned. These concepts are strict and precise,
as can be seen from the diagram of reproduction. Internal capitalist trade
can at best realise only certain quantities of value contained in the social
product: the constant capital that has been used up, the variable capital, and
the consumed part of the surplus value. That part of the surplus value,
however, which is earmarked for capitalisation, must be realised elsewhere.
If capitalisation of surplus value is the real motive force and aim of
production, it must yet proceed within the limits given by the renewal of
constant and variable capital (and also of the consumed part of the surplus
value). Further, with the international development of capitalism the
capitalisation of surplus value becomes ever more urgent and precarious,
and the substratum of constant and variable capital becomes an ever-
growing mass—both absolutely and in relation to the surplus value. Hence
the contradictory phenomena that the old capitalist countries provide ever
larger markets for, and become increasingly dependent upon, one another,
yet on the other hand compete ever more ruthlessly for trade relations with
non-capitalist countries.[355] The conditions for the capitalisation of surplus
value clash increasingly with the conditions for the renewal of the aggregate
capital—a conflict which, incidentally, is merely a counterpart of the
contradictions implied in the law of a declining profit rate.
as far as German capital is concerned. These concepts are strict and precise,
as can be seen from the diagram of reproduction. Internal capitalist trade
can at best realise only certain quantities of value contained in the social
product: the constant capital that has been used up, the variable capital, and
the consumed part of the surplus value. That part of the surplus value,
however, which is earmarked for capitalisation, must be realised elsewhere.
If capitalisation of surplus value is the real motive force and aim of
production, it must yet proceed within the limits given by the renewal of
constant and variable capital (and also of the consumed part of the surplus
value). Further, with the international development of capitalism the
capitalisation of surplus value becomes ever more urgent and precarious,
and the substratum of constant and variable capital becomes an ever-
growing mass—both absolutely and in relation to the surplus value. Hence
the contradictory phenomena that the old capitalist countries provide ever
larger markets for, and become increasingly dependent upon, one another,
yet on the other hand compete ever more ruthlessly for trade relations with
non-capitalist countries.[355] The conditions for the capitalisation of surplus
value clash increasingly with the conditions for the renewal of the aggregate
capital—a conflict which, incidentally, is merely a counterpart of the
contradictions implied in the law of a declining profit rate.
Page 357
CHAPTER XXVII
Page 358
THE STRUGGLE AGAINST NATURAL
ECONOMY
Capitalism arises and develops historically amidst a non-capitalist society.
In Western Europe it is found at first in a feudal environment from which it
in fact sprang—the system of bondage in rural areas and the guild system in
the towns—and later, after having swallowed up the feudal system, it exists
mainly in an environment of peasants and artisans, that is to say in a system
of simple commodity production both in agriculture and trade. European
capitalism is further surrounded by vast territories of non-European
civilisation ranging over all levels of development, from the primitive
communist hordes of nomad herdsmen, hunters and gatherers to commodity
production by peasants and artisans. This is the setting for the accumulation
of capital.
We must distinguish three phases: the struggle of capital against natural
economy, the struggle against commodity economy, and the competitive
struggle of capital on the international stage for the remaining conditions of
accumulation.
The existence and development of capitalism requires an environment of
non-capitalist forms of production, but not every one of these forms will
serve its ends. Capitalism needs non-capitalist social strata as a market for
its surplus value, as a source of supply for its means of production and as a
reservoir of labour power for its wage system. For all these purposes, forms
of production based upon a natural economy are of no use to capital. In all
social organisations where natural economy prevails, where there are
primitive peasant communities with common ownership of the land, a
feudal system of bondage or anything of this nature, economic organisation
is essentially in response to the internal demand; and therefore there is no
demand, or very little, for foreign goods, and also, as a rule, no surplus
production, or at least no urgent need to dispose of surplus products. What
is most important, however, is that, in any natural economy, production only
goes on because both means of production and labour power are bound in
one form or another. The communist peasant community no less than the
ECONOMY
Capitalism arises and develops historically amidst a non-capitalist society.
In Western Europe it is found at first in a feudal environment from which it
in fact sprang—the system of bondage in rural areas and the guild system in
the towns—and later, after having swallowed up the feudal system, it exists
mainly in an environment of peasants and artisans, that is to say in a system
of simple commodity production both in agriculture and trade. European
capitalism is further surrounded by vast territories of non-European
civilisation ranging over all levels of development, from the primitive
communist hordes of nomad herdsmen, hunters and gatherers to commodity
production by peasants and artisans. This is the setting for the accumulation
of capital.
We must distinguish three phases: the struggle of capital against natural
economy, the struggle against commodity economy, and the competitive
struggle of capital on the international stage for the remaining conditions of
accumulation.
The existence and development of capitalism requires an environment of
non-capitalist forms of production, but not every one of these forms will
serve its ends. Capitalism needs non-capitalist social strata as a market for
its surplus value, as a source of supply for its means of production and as a
reservoir of labour power for its wage system. For all these purposes, forms
of production based upon a natural economy are of no use to capital. In all
social organisations where natural economy prevails, where there are
primitive peasant communities with common ownership of the land, a
feudal system of bondage or anything of this nature, economic organisation
is essentially in response to the internal demand; and therefore there is no
demand, or very little, for foreign goods, and also, as a rule, no surplus
production, or at least no urgent need to dispose of surplus products. What
is most important, however, is that, in any natural economy, production only
goes on because both means of production and labour power are bound in
one form or another. The communist peasant community no less than the
Page 359
feudal corvée farm and similar institutions maintain their economic
organisation by subjecting the labour power, and the most important means
of production, the land, to the rule of law and custom. A natural economy
thus confronts the requirements of capitalism at every turn with rigid
barriers. Capitalism must therefore always and everywhere fight a battle of
annihilation against every historical form of natural economy that it
encounters, whether this is slave economy, feudalism, primitive
communism, or patriarchal peasant economy. The principal methods in this
struggle are political force (revolution, war), oppressive taxation by the
state, and cheap goods; they are partly applied simultaneously, and partly
they succeed and complement one another. In Europe, force assumed
revolutionary forms in the fight against feudalism (this is the ultimate
explanation of the bourgeois revolutions in the seventeenth, eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries); in the non-European countries, where it fights more
primitive social organisations, it assumes the forms of colonial policy.
These methods, together with the systems of taxation applied in such cases,
and commercial relations also, particularly with primitive communities,
form an alliance in which political power and economic factors go hand in
hand.
In detail, capital in its struggle against societies with a natural economy
pursues the following ends:
(1) To gain immediate possession of important sources of productive forces
such as land, game in primeval forests, minerals, precious stones and ores,
products of exotic flora such as rubber, etc.
(2) To ‘liberate’ labour power and to coerce it into service.
(3) To introduce a commodity economy.
(4) To separate trade and agriculture.
At the time of primitive accumulation, i.e. at the end of the Middle Ages,
when the history of capitalism in Europe began, and right into the
nineteenth century, dispossessing the peasants in England and on the
Continent was the most striking weapon in the large-scale transformation of
means of production and labour power into capital. Yet capital in power
performs the same task even to-day, and on an even more important scale—
by modern colonial policy. It is an illusion to hope that capitalism will ever
organisation by subjecting the labour power, and the most important means
of production, the land, to the rule of law and custom. A natural economy
thus confronts the requirements of capitalism at every turn with rigid
barriers. Capitalism must therefore always and everywhere fight a battle of
annihilation against every historical form of natural economy that it
encounters, whether this is slave economy, feudalism, primitive
communism, or patriarchal peasant economy. The principal methods in this
struggle are political force (revolution, war), oppressive taxation by the
state, and cheap goods; they are partly applied simultaneously, and partly
they succeed and complement one another. In Europe, force assumed
revolutionary forms in the fight against feudalism (this is the ultimate
explanation of the bourgeois revolutions in the seventeenth, eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries); in the non-European countries, where it fights more
primitive social organisations, it assumes the forms of colonial policy.
These methods, together with the systems of taxation applied in such cases,
and commercial relations also, particularly with primitive communities,
form an alliance in which political power and economic factors go hand in
hand.
In detail, capital in its struggle against societies with a natural economy
pursues the following ends:
(1) To gain immediate possession of important sources of productive forces
such as land, game in primeval forests, minerals, precious stones and ores,
products of exotic flora such as rubber, etc.
(2) To ‘liberate’ labour power and to coerce it into service.
(3) To introduce a commodity economy.
(4) To separate trade and agriculture.
At the time of primitive accumulation, i.e. at the end of the Middle Ages,
when the history of capitalism in Europe began, and right into the
nineteenth century, dispossessing the peasants in England and on the
Continent was the most striking weapon in the large-scale transformation of
means of production and labour power into capital. Yet capital in power
performs the same task even to-day, and on an even more important scale—
by modern colonial policy. It is an illusion to hope that capitalism will ever
Page 360
be content with the means of production which it can acquire by way of
commodity exchange. In this respect already, capital is faced with
difficulties because vast tracts of the globe’s surface are in the possession of
social organisations that have no desire for commodity exchange or cannot,
because of the entire social structure and the forms of ownership, offer for
sale the productive forces in which capital is primarily interested. The most
important of these productive forces is of course the land, its hidden mineral
treasure, and its meadows, woods and water, and further the flocks of the
primitive shepherd tribes. If capital were here to rely on the process of slow
internal disintegration, it might take centuries. To wait patiently until the
most important means of production could be alienated by trading in
consequence of this process were tantamount to renouncing the productive
forces of those territories altogether. Hence derives the vital necessity for
capitalism in its relations with colonial countries to appropriate the most
important means of production. Since the primitive associations of the
natives are the strongest protection for their social organisations and for
their material bases of existence, capital must begin by planning for the
systematic destruction and annihilation of all the non-capitalist social units
which obstruct its development. With that we have passed beyond the stage
of primitive accumulation; this process is still going on. Each new colonial
expansion is accompanied, as a matter of course, by a relentless battle of
capital against the social and economic ties of the natives, who are also
forcibly robbed of their means of production and labour power. Any hope to
restrict the accumulation of capital exclusively to ‘peaceful competition’,
i.e. to regular commodity exchange such as takes place between capitalist
producer-countries, rests on the pious belief that capital can accumulate
without mediation of the productive forces and without the demand of more
primitive organisations, and that it can rely upon the slow internal process
of a disintegrating natural economy. Accumulation, with its spasmodic
expansion, can no more wait for, and be content with, a natural internal
disintegration of non-capitalist formations and their transition to commodity
economy, than it can wait for, and be content with, the natural increase of
the working population. Force is the only solution open to capital; the
accumulation of capital, seen as an historical process, employs force as a
permanent weapon, not only at its genesis, but further on down to the
present day. From the point of view of the primitive societies involved, it is
a matter of life or death; for them there can be no other attitude than
commodity exchange. In this respect already, capital is faced with
difficulties because vast tracts of the globe’s surface are in the possession of
social organisations that have no desire for commodity exchange or cannot,
because of the entire social structure and the forms of ownership, offer for
sale the productive forces in which capital is primarily interested. The most
important of these productive forces is of course the land, its hidden mineral
treasure, and its meadows, woods and water, and further the flocks of the
primitive shepherd tribes. If capital were here to rely on the process of slow
internal disintegration, it might take centuries. To wait patiently until the
most important means of production could be alienated by trading in
consequence of this process were tantamount to renouncing the productive
forces of those territories altogether. Hence derives the vital necessity for
capitalism in its relations with colonial countries to appropriate the most
important means of production. Since the primitive associations of the
natives are the strongest protection for their social organisations and for
their material bases of existence, capital must begin by planning for the
systematic destruction and annihilation of all the non-capitalist social units
which obstruct its development. With that we have passed beyond the stage
of primitive accumulation; this process is still going on. Each new colonial
expansion is accompanied, as a matter of course, by a relentless battle of
capital against the social and economic ties of the natives, who are also
forcibly robbed of their means of production and labour power. Any hope to
restrict the accumulation of capital exclusively to ‘peaceful competition’,
i.e. to regular commodity exchange such as takes place between capitalist
producer-countries, rests on the pious belief that capital can accumulate
without mediation of the productive forces and without the demand of more
primitive organisations, and that it can rely upon the slow internal process
of a disintegrating natural economy. Accumulation, with its spasmodic
expansion, can no more wait for, and be content with, a natural internal
disintegration of non-capitalist formations and their transition to commodity
economy, than it can wait for, and be content with, the natural increase of
the working population. Force is the only solution open to capital; the
accumulation of capital, seen as an historical process, employs force as a
permanent weapon, not only at its genesis, but further on down to the
present day. From the point of view of the primitive societies involved, it is
a matter of life or death; for them there can be no other attitude than
Page 361
opposition and fight to the finish—complete exhaustion and extinction.
Hence permanent occupation of the colonies by the military, native risings
and punitive expeditions are the order of the day for any colonial regime.
The method of violence, then, is the immediate consequence of the clash
between capitalism and the organisations of a natural economy which
would restrict accumulation. Their means of production and their labour
power no less than their demand for surplus products is necessary to
capitalism. Yet the latter is fully determined to undermine their
independence as social units, in order to gain possession of their means of
production and labour power and to convert them into commodity buyers.
This method is the most profitable and gets the quickest results, and so it is
also the most expedient for capital. In fact, it is invariably accompanied by
a growing militarism whose importance for accumulation will be
demonstrated below in another connection. British policy in India and
French policy in Algeria are the classical examples of the application of
these methods by capitalism.
The ancient economic organisations of the Indians—the communist village
community—had been preserved in their various forms throughout
thousands of years, in spite of all the political disturbances during their long
history. In the sixth century b.c. the Persians invaded the Indus basin and
subjected part of the country. Two centuries later the Greeks entered and left
behind them colonies, founded by Alexander on the pattern of a completely
alien civilisation. Then the savage Scythians invaded the country, and for
centuries India remained under Arab rule. Later, the Afghans swooped
down from the Iran mountains, until they, too, were expelled by the ruthless
onslaught of Tartar hordes. The Mongols’ path was marked by terror and
destruction, by the massacre of entire villages—the peaceful countryside
with the tender shoots of rice made crimson with blood. And still the Indian
village community survived. For none of the successive Mahometan
conquerors had ultimately violated the internal social life of the peasant
masses and its traditional structure. They only set up their own governors in
the provinces to supervise military organisation and to collect taxes from
the population. All conquerors pursued the aim of dominating and
exploiting the country, but none was interested in robbing the people of
their productive forces and in destroying their social organisation. In the
Moghul Empire, the peasant had to pay his annual tribute in kind to the
foreign ruler, but he could live undisturbed in his village and could cultivate
Hence permanent occupation of the colonies by the military, native risings
and punitive expeditions are the order of the day for any colonial regime.
The method of violence, then, is the immediate consequence of the clash
between capitalism and the organisations of a natural economy which
would restrict accumulation. Their means of production and their labour
power no less than their demand for surplus products is necessary to
capitalism. Yet the latter is fully determined to undermine their
independence as social units, in order to gain possession of their means of
production and labour power and to convert them into commodity buyers.
This method is the most profitable and gets the quickest results, and so it is
also the most expedient for capital. In fact, it is invariably accompanied by
a growing militarism whose importance for accumulation will be
demonstrated below in another connection. British policy in India and
French policy in Algeria are the classical examples of the application of
these methods by capitalism.
The ancient economic organisations of the Indians—the communist village
community—had been preserved in their various forms throughout
thousands of years, in spite of all the political disturbances during their long
history. In the sixth century b.c. the Persians invaded the Indus basin and
subjected part of the country. Two centuries later the Greeks entered and left
behind them colonies, founded by Alexander on the pattern of a completely
alien civilisation. Then the savage Scythians invaded the country, and for
centuries India remained under Arab rule. Later, the Afghans swooped
down from the Iran mountains, until they, too, were expelled by the ruthless
onslaught of Tartar hordes. The Mongols’ path was marked by terror and
destruction, by the massacre of entire villages—the peaceful countryside
with the tender shoots of rice made crimson with blood. And still the Indian
village community survived. For none of the successive Mahometan
conquerors had ultimately violated the internal social life of the peasant
masses and its traditional structure. They only set up their own governors in
the provinces to supervise military organisation and to collect taxes from
the population. All conquerors pursued the aim of dominating and
exploiting the country, but none was interested in robbing the people of
their productive forces and in destroying their social organisation. In the
Moghul Empire, the peasant had to pay his annual tribute in kind to the
foreign ruler, but he could live undisturbed in his village and could cultivate
Page 362
his rice on his sholgura as his father had done before him. Then came the
British—and the blight of capitalist civilisation succeeded in disrupting the
entire social organisation of the people; it achieved in a short time what
thousands of years, what the sword of the Nogaians, had failed to
accomplish. The ultimate purpose of British capital was to possess itself of
the very basis of existence of the Indian community: the land.
This end was served above all by the fiction, always popular with European
colonisers, that all the land of a colony belongs to the political ruler. In
retrospect, the British endowed the Moghul and his governors with private
ownership of the whole of India, in order to ‘legalise’ their succession.
Economic experts of the highest repute, such as James Mill, duly supported
this fiction with ‘scientific’ arguments, so in particular with the famous
conclusion given below.[356]
As early as 1793, the British in Bengal gave landed property to all the
zemindars (Mahometan tax collectors) or hereditary market superintendents
they had found in their district so as to win native support for the campaign
against the peasant masses. Later they adopted the same policy for their
new conquests in the Agram province, in Oudh, and in the Central
Provinces. Turbulent peasant risings followed in their wake, in the course of
which tax collectors were frequently driven out. In the resulting confusion
and anarchy British capitalists successfully appropriated a considerable
portion of the land.
The burden of taxation, moreover, was so ruthlessly increased that it
swallowed up nearly all the fruits of the people’s labour. This went to such
an extreme in the Delhi and Allahabad districts that, according to the
official evidence of the British tax authorities in 1854, the peasants found it
convenient to lease or pledge their shares in land for the bare amount of the
tax levied. Under the auspices of this taxation, usury came to the Indian
village, to stay and eat up the social organisation from within like a canker.
[357]
In order to accelerate this process, the British passed a law that flew in
the face of every tradition and justice known to the village community:
compulsory alienation of village land for tax arrears. In vain did the old
family associations try to protect themselves by options on their hereditary
land and that of their kindred. There was no stopping the rot. Every day
another plot of land fell under the hammer; individual members withdrew
from the family unit, and the peasants got into debt and lost their land.
British—and the blight of capitalist civilisation succeeded in disrupting the
entire social organisation of the people; it achieved in a short time what
thousands of years, what the sword of the Nogaians, had failed to
accomplish. The ultimate purpose of British capital was to possess itself of
the very basis of existence of the Indian community: the land.
This end was served above all by the fiction, always popular with European
colonisers, that all the land of a colony belongs to the political ruler. In
retrospect, the British endowed the Moghul and his governors with private
ownership of the whole of India, in order to ‘legalise’ their succession.
Economic experts of the highest repute, such as James Mill, duly supported
this fiction with ‘scientific’ arguments, so in particular with the famous
conclusion given below.[356]
As early as 1793, the British in Bengal gave landed property to all the
zemindars (Mahometan tax collectors) or hereditary market superintendents
they had found in their district so as to win native support for the campaign
against the peasant masses. Later they adopted the same policy for their
new conquests in the Agram province, in Oudh, and in the Central
Provinces. Turbulent peasant risings followed in their wake, in the course of
which tax collectors were frequently driven out. In the resulting confusion
and anarchy British capitalists successfully appropriated a considerable
portion of the land.
The burden of taxation, moreover, was so ruthlessly increased that it
swallowed up nearly all the fruits of the people’s labour. This went to such
an extreme in the Delhi and Allahabad districts that, according to the
official evidence of the British tax authorities in 1854, the peasants found it
convenient to lease or pledge their shares in land for the bare amount of the
tax levied. Under the auspices of this taxation, usury came to the Indian
village, to stay and eat up the social organisation from within like a canker.
[357]
In order to accelerate this process, the British passed a law that flew in
the face of every tradition and justice known to the village community:
compulsory alienation of village land for tax arrears. In vain did the old
family associations try to protect themselves by options on their hereditary
land and that of their kindred. There was no stopping the rot. Every day
another plot of land fell under the hammer; individual members withdrew
from the family unit, and the peasants got into debt and lost their land.
Page 363
The British, with their wonted colonial stratagems, tried to make it appear
as if their power policy, which had in fact undermined the traditional forms
of landownership and brought about the collapse of the Hindu peasant
economy, had been dictated by the need to protect the peasants against
native oppression and exploitation and served to safeguard their own
interests.[358] Britain artificially created a landed aristocracy at the expense
of the ancient property-rights of the peasant communities, and then
proceeded to ‘protect’ the peasants against these alleged oppressors, and to
bring this illegally usurped land into the possession of British capitalists.
Thus large estates developed in India in a short time, while over large areas
the peasants in their masses were turned into impoverished small tenants
with a short-term lease.
Lastly, one more striking fact shows the typically capitalist method of
colonisation. The British were the first conquerors of India who showed
gross indifference to public utilities. Arabs, Afghans and Mongols had
organised and maintained magnificent works of canalisation in India, they
had given the country a network of roads, spanned the rivers with bridges
and seen to the sinking of wells. Timur or Tamerlane, the founder of the
Mongol dynasty in India, had a care for the cultivation of the soil, for
irrigation, for the safety of the roads and the provision of food for travellers.
[359]
The primitive Indian Rajahs, the Afghan or Mongol conquerors, at any
rate, in spite of occasional cruelty against individuals, made their mark with
the marvellous constructions we can find to-day at every step and which
seem to be the work of a giant race. ‘The (East India) Company which ruled
India until 1858 did not make one spring accessible, did not sink a single
well, nor build a bridge for the benefit of the Indians.’[360]
Another witness, the Englishman James Wilson, says: ‘In the Madras
Province, no-one can help being impressed by the magnificent ancient
irrigation systems, traces of which have been preserved until our time.
Locks and weirs dam the rivers into great lakes, from which canals
distribute the water for an area of 60 or 70 miles around. On the large
rivers, there are 30 to 40 of such weirs.... The rain water from the mountains
was collected in artificial ponds, many of which still remain and boast
circumferences of between 15 and 25 miles. Nearly all these gigantic
constructions were completed before the year 1750. During the war
as if their power policy, which had in fact undermined the traditional forms
of landownership and brought about the collapse of the Hindu peasant
economy, had been dictated by the need to protect the peasants against
native oppression and exploitation and served to safeguard their own
interests.[358] Britain artificially created a landed aristocracy at the expense
of the ancient property-rights of the peasant communities, and then
proceeded to ‘protect’ the peasants against these alleged oppressors, and to
bring this illegally usurped land into the possession of British capitalists.
Thus large estates developed in India in a short time, while over large areas
the peasants in their masses were turned into impoverished small tenants
with a short-term lease.
Lastly, one more striking fact shows the typically capitalist method of
colonisation. The British were the first conquerors of India who showed
gross indifference to public utilities. Arabs, Afghans and Mongols had
organised and maintained magnificent works of canalisation in India, they
had given the country a network of roads, spanned the rivers with bridges
and seen to the sinking of wells. Timur or Tamerlane, the founder of the
Mongol dynasty in India, had a care for the cultivation of the soil, for
irrigation, for the safety of the roads and the provision of food for travellers.
[359]
The primitive Indian Rajahs, the Afghan or Mongol conquerors, at any
rate, in spite of occasional cruelty against individuals, made their mark with
the marvellous constructions we can find to-day at every step and which
seem to be the work of a giant race. ‘The (East India) Company which ruled
India until 1858 did not make one spring accessible, did not sink a single
well, nor build a bridge for the benefit of the Indians.’[360]
Another witness, the Englishman James Wilson, says: ‘In the Madras
Province, no-one can help being impressed by the magnificent ancient
irrigation systems, traces of which have been preserved until our time.
Locks and weirs dam the rivers into great lakes, from which canals
distribute the water for an area of 60 or 70 miles around. On the large
rivers, there are 30 to 40 of such weirs.... The rain water from the mountains
was collected in artificial ponds, many of which still remain and boast
circumferences of between 15 and 25 miles. Nearly all these gigantic
constructions were completed before the year 1750. During the war
Page 364
between the Company and the Mongol rulers—and, be it said, during the
entire period of our rule in India—they have sadly decayed.’[361]
No wonder! British capital had no object in giving the Indian communities
economic support or helping them to survive. Quite the reverse, it aimed to
destroy them and to deprive them of their productive forces. The unbridled
greed, the acquisitive instinct of accumulation must by its very nature take
every advantage of the ‘conditions of the market’ and can have no thought
for the morrow. It is incapable of seeing far enough to recognise the value
of the economic monuments of an older civilisation. (Recently British
engineers in Egypt feverishly tried to discover traces of an ancient irrigation
system rather like the one a stupid lack of vision had allowed to decay in
India, when they were charged with damming the Nile on a grand scale in
furtherance of capitalist enterprise.) Not until 1867 was England able to
appreciate the results of her noble efforts in this respect. In the terrible
famine of that year a million people were killed in the Orissa district alone;
and Parliament was shocked into investigating the causes of the emergency.
The British government has now introduced administrative measures in an
attempt to save the peasant from usury. The Punjab Alienation Act of 1900
made it illegal to sell or mortgage peasant lands to persons other than of the
peasant caste, though exceptions can be made in individual cases, subject to
the tax collector’s approval.[362] Having deliberately disrupted the
protecting ties of the ancient Hindu social associations, after having
nurtured a system of usury where nothing is thought of a 15 per cent charge
of interest, the British now entrust the ruined Indian peasant to the tender
care of the Exchequer and its officials, under the ‘protection’, that is to say,
of those draining him of his livelihood.
Next to tormented British India, Algeria under French rule claims pride of
place in the annals of capitalist colonisation. When the French conquered
Algeria, ancient social and economic institutions prevailed among the Arab-
Kabyle population. These had been preserved until the nineteenth century,
and in spite of the long and turbulent history of the country they survive in
part even to the present day.
Private property may have existed no doubt in the towns, among the Moors
and Jews, among merchants, artisans and usurers. Large rural areas may
have been seized by the State under Turkish suzerainty—yet nearly half of
the productive land is jointly held by Arab and Kabyle tribes who still keep
entire period of our rule in India—they have sadly decayed.’[361]
No wonder! British capital had no object in giving the Indian communities
economic support or helping them to survive. Quite the reverse, it aimed to
destroy them and to deprive them of their productive forces. The unbridled
greed, the acquisitive instinct of accumulation must by its very nature take
every advantage of the ‘conditions of the market’ and can have no thought
for the morrow. It is incapable of seeing far enough to recognise the value
of the economic monuments of an older civilisation. (Recently British
engineers in Egypt feverishly tried to discover traces of an ancient irrigation
system rather like the one a stupid lack of vision had allowed to decay in
India, when they were charged with damming the Nile on a grand scale in
furtherance of capitalist enterprise.) Not until 1867 was England able to
appreciate the results of her noble efforts in this respect. In the terrible
famine of that year a million people were killed in the Orissa district alone;
and Parliament was shocked into investigating the causes of the emergency.
The British government has now introduced administrative measures in an
attempt to save the peasant from usury. The Punjab Alienation Act of 1900
made it illegal to sell or mortgage peasant lands to persons other than of the
peasant caste, though exceptions can be made in individual cases, subject to
the tax collector’s approval.[362] Having deliberately disrupted the
protecting ties of the ancient Hindu social associations, after having
nurtured a system of usury where nothing is thought of a 15 per cent charge
of interest, the British now entrust the ruined Indian peasant to the tender
care of the Exchequer and its officials, under the ‘protection’, that is to say,
of those draining him of his livelihood.
Next to tormented British India, Algeria under French rule claims pride of
place in the annals of capitalist colonisation. When the French conquered
Algeria, ancient social and economic institutions prevailed among the Arab-
Kabyle population. These had been preserved until the nineteenth century,
and in spite of the long and turbulent history of the country they survive in
part even to the present day.
Private property may have existed no doubt in the towns, among the Moors
and Jews, among merchants, artisans and usurers. Large rural areas may
have been seized by the State under Turkish suzerainty—yet nearly half of
the productive land is jointly held by Arab and Kabyle tribes who still keep
Page 365
up the ancient patriarchal customs. Many Arab families led the same kind of
nomad life in the nineteenth century as they had done since time
immemorial, an existence that appears restless and irregular only to the
superficial observer, but one that is in fact strictly regulated and extremely
monotonous. In summer they were wont, man, woman and child, to take
their herds and tents and migrate to the sea-swept shores of the Tell district;
and in the winter they would move back again to the protective warmth of
the desert. They travelled along definite routes, and the summer and winter
stations were fixed for every tribe and family. The fields of those Arabs who
had settled on the land were in most cases the joint property of the clans,
and the great Kabyle family associations also lived according to old
traditional rules under the patriarchal guidance of their elected heads.
The women would take turns for household duties; a matriarch, again
elected by the family, being in complete charge of the clan’s domestic
affairs, or else the women taking turns of duty. This organisation of the
Kabyle clans on the fringe of the African desert bears a startling
resemblance to that of the famous Southern Slavonic Zadruga—not only
the fields but all the tools, weapons and monies, all that the members
acquire or need for their work, are communal property of the clan. Personal
property is confined to one suit of clothing, and in the case of a woman to
the dresses and ornaments of her dowry. More valuable attire and jewels,
however, are considered common property, and individuals were allowed to
use them only if the whole family approved. If the clan was not too
numerous, meals were taken at a common table; the women took it in turns
to cook, but the eldest were entrusted with the dishing out. If a family circle
was too large, the head of the family would each month ration out strictly
proportionate quantities of uncooked food to the individual families who
then prepared them. These communities were bound together by close ties
of kinship, mutual assistance and equality, and a patriarch would implore
his sons on his deathbed to remain faithful to the family.[363]
These social relations were already seriously impaired by the rule of the
Turks, established in Algeria in the sixteenth century. Yet the Turkish
exchequer had by no means confiscated all the land. That is a legend
invented by the French at a much later date. Indeed, only a European mind
is capable of such a flight of fancy which is contrary to the entire economic
foundation of Islam both in theory and practice. In truth, the facts were
nomad life in the nineteenth century as they had done since time
immemorial, an existence that appears restless and irregular only to the
superficial observer, but one that is in fact strictly regulated and extremely
monotonous. In summer they were wont, man, woman and child, to take
their herds and tents and migrate to the sea-swept shores of the Tell district;
and in the winter they would move back again to the protective warmth of
the desert. They travelled along definite routes, and the summer and winter
stations were fixed for every tribe and family. The fields of those Arabs who
had settled on the land were in most cases the joint property of the clans,
and the great Kabyle family associations also lived according to old
traditional rules under the patriarchal guidance of their elected heads.
The women would take turns for household duties; a matriarch, again
elected by the family, being in complete charge of the clan’s domestic
affairs, or else the women taking turns of duty. This organisation of the
Kabyle clans on the fringe of the African desert bears a startling
resemblance to that of the famous Southern Slavonic Zadruga—not only
the fields but all the tools, weapons and monies, all that the members
acquire or need for their work, are communal property of the clan. Personal
property is confined to one suit of clothing, and in the case of a woman to
the dresses and ornaments of her dowry. More valuable attire and jewels,
however, are considered common property, and individuals were allowed to
use them only if the whole family approved. If the clan was not too
numerous, meals were taken at a common table; the women took it in turns
to cook, but the eldest were entrusted with the dishing out. If a family circle
was too large, the head of the family would each month ration out strictly
proportionate quantities of uncooked food to the individual families who
then prepared them. These communities were bound together by close ties
of kinship, mutual assistance and equality, and a patriarch would implore
his sons on his deathbed to remain faithful to the family.[363]
These social relations were already seriously impaired by the rule of the
Turks, established in Algeria in the sixteenth century. Yet the Turkish
exchequer had by no means confiscated all the land. That is a legend
invented by the French at a much later date. Indeed, only a European mind
is capable of such a flight of fancy which is contrary to the entire economic
foundation of Islam both in theory and practice. In truth, the facts were
Page 366
quite different. The Turks did not touch the communal fields of the village
communities. They merely confiscated a great part of uncultivated land
from the clans and converted it into crownland under Turkish local
administrators (Beyliks). The state worked these lands in part with native
labour, and in part they were leased out on rent or against payment in kind.
Further the Turks took advantage of every revolt of the subjected families
and of every disturbance in the country to add to their possessions by large-
scale confiscation of land, either for military establishments or for public
auction, when most of it went to Turkish or other usurers. To escape from
the burden of taxation and confiscation, many peasants placed themselves
under the protection of the Church, just as they had done in medieval
Germany. Hence considerable areas became Church-property. All these
changes finally resulted in the following distribution of Algerian land at the
time of the French conquest: crownlands occupied nearly 3,750,000 acres,
and a further 7,500,000 acres of uncultivated land as common property of
All the Faithful (Bled-el-Islam). 7,500,000 acres had been privately owned
by the Berbers since Roman times, and under Turkish rule a further
3,750,000 acres had come into private ownership, a mere 12,500,000 acres
remaining communal property of individual Arab clans. In the Sahara, some
of the 7,500,000 acres fertile land near the Sahara Oases was communally
owned by the clans and some belonged to private owners. The remaining
57,000,000 acres were mainly waste land.
With their conquest of Algeria, the French made a great ado about their
work of civilisation, since the country, having shaken off the Turkish yoke
at the beginning of the eighteenth century, was harbouring the pirates who
infested the Mediterranean and trafficked in Christian slaves. Spain and the
North American Union in particular, themselves at that time slave traders on
no mean scale, declared relentless war on this Moslem iniquity. France, in
the very throes of the Great Revolution, proclaimed a crusade against
Algerian anarchy. Her subjection of that country was carried through under
the slogans of ‘combating slavery’ and ‘instituting orderly and civilised
conditions’. Yet practice was soon to show what was at the bottom of it all.
It is common knowledge that in the forty years following the subjection of
Algeria, no European state suffered so many changes in its political system
as France: the restoration of the monarchy was followed by the July
Revolution and the reign of the ‘Citizen King’, and this was succeeded by
the February Revolution, the Second Republic, the Second Empire, and
communities. They merely confiscated a great part of uncultivated land
from the clans and converted it into crownland under Turkish local
administrators (Beyliks). The state worked these lands in part with native
labour, and in part they were leased out on rent or against payment in kind.
Further the Turks took advantage of every revolt of the subjected families
and of every disturbance in the country to add to their possessions by large-
scale confiscation of land, either for military establishments or for public
auction, when most of it went to Turkish or other usurers. To escape from
the burden of taxation and confiscation, many peasants placed themselves
under the protection of the Church, just as they had done in medieval
Germany. Hence considerable areas became Church-property. All these
changes finally resulted in the following distribution of Algerian land at the
time of the French conquest: crownlands occupied nearly 3,750,000 acres,
and a further 7,500,000 acres of uncultivated land as common property of
All the Faithful (Bled-el-Islam). 7,500,000 acres had been privately owned
by the Berbers since Roman times, and under Turkish rule a further
3,750,000 acres had come into private ownership, a mere 12,500,000 acres
remaining communal property of individual Arab clans. In the Sahara, some
of the 7,500,000 acres fertile land near the Sahara Oases was communally
owned by the clans and some belonged to private owners. The remaining
57,000,000 acres were mainly waste land.
With their conquest of Algeria, the French made a great ado about their
work of civilisation, since the country, having shaken off the Turkish yoke
at the beginning of the eighteenth century, was harbouring the pirates who
infested the Mediterranean and trafficked in Christian slaves. Spain and the
North American Union in particular, themselves at that time slave traders on
no mean scale, declared relentless war on this Moslem iniquity. France, in
the very throes of the Great Revolution, proclaimed a crusade against
Algerian anarchy. Her subjection of that country was carried through under
the slogans of ‘combating slavery’ and ‘instituting orderly and civilised
conditions’. Yet practice was soon to show what was at the bottom of it all.
It is common knowledge that in the forty years following the subjection of
Algeria, no European state suffered so many changes in its political system
as France: the restoration of the monarchy was followed by the July
Revolution and the reign of the ‘Citizen King’, and this was succeeded by
the February Revolution, the Second Republic, the Second Empire, and
Page 367
finally, after the disaster of 1870, by the Third Republic. In turn, the
aristocracy, high finance, petty bourgeoisie and the large middle classes in
general gained political ascendancy. Yet French policy in Algeria remained
undeflected by this succession of events; it pursued a single aim from
beginning to end; at the fringe of the African desert, it demonstrated plainly
that all the political revolutions in nineteenth-century France centred in a
single basic interest: the rule of a capitalist bourgeoisie and its institutions
of ownership.
‘The bill submitted for your consideration’, said Deputy Humbert on June
30, 1873, in the Session of the French National Assembly as spokesman for
the Commission for Regulating Agrarian Conditions in Algeria, ‘is but the
crowning touch to an edifice well-founded on a whole series of ordinances,
edicts, laws and decrees of the Senate which together and severally have as
the same object: the establishment of private property among the Arabs.’
In spite of the ups and downs of internal French politics French colonial
policy persevered for fifty years in its systematic and deliberate efforts to
destroy and disrupt communal property. It served two distinct purposes: The
break-up of communal property was primarily intended to smash the social
power of the Arab family associations and to quell their stubborn resistance
against the French yoke, in the course of which there were innumerable
risings so that, in spite of France’s military superiority, the country was in a
continual state of war.[364] Secondly, communal property had to be
disrupted in order to gain the economic assets of the conquered country; the
Arabs, that is to say, had to be deprived of the land they had owned for a
thousand years, so that French capitalists could get it. Once again the fiction
we know so well, that under Moslem law all land belongs to the ruler, was
brought into play. Just as the English had done in British India, so Louis
Philippe’s governors in Algeria declared the existence of communal
property owned by the clan to be ‘impossible’. This fiction served as an
excuse to claim for the state most of the uncultivated areas, and especially
the commons, woods and meadows, and to use them for purposes of
colonisation. A complete system of settlement developed, the so-called
cantonments which settled French colonists on the clan land and herded the
tribes into a small area. Under the decrees of 1830, 1831, 1840, 1844, 1845
and 1846 these thefts of Arab family land were legalised. Yet this system of
settlement did not actually further colonisation; it only bred wild
aristocracy, high finance, petty bourgeoisie and the large middle classes in
general gained political ascendancy. Yet French policy in Algeria remained
undeflected by this succession of events; it pursued a single aim from
beginning to end; at the fringe of the African desert, it demonstrated plainly
that all the political revolutions in nineteenth-century France centred in a
single basic interest: the rule of a capitalist bourgeoisie and its institutions
of ownership.
‘The bill submitted for your consideration’, said Deputy Humbert on June
30, 1873, in the Session of the French National Assembly as spokesman for
the Commission for Regulating Agrarian Conditions in Algeria, ‘is but the
crowning touch to an edifice well-founded on a whole series of ordinances,
edicts, laws and decrees of the Senate which together and severally have as
the same object: the establishment of private property among the Arabs.’
In spite of the ups and downs of internal French politics French colonial
policy persevered for fifty years in its systematic and deliberate efforts to
destroy and disrupt communal property. It served two distinct purposes: The
break-up of communal property was primarily intended to smash the social
power of the Arab family associations and to quell their stubborn resistance
against the French yoke, in the course of which there were innumerable
risings so that, in spite of France’s military superiority, the country was in a
continual state of war.[364] Secondly, communal property had to be
disrupted in order to gain the economic assets of the conquered country; the
Arabs, that is to say, had to be deprived of the land they had owned for a
thousand years, so that French capitalists could get it. Once again the fiction
we know so well, that under Moslem law all land belongs to the ruler, was
brought into play. Just as the English had done in British India, so Louis
Philippe’s governors in Algeria declared the existence of communal
property owned by the clan to be ‘impossible’. This fiction served as an
excuse to claim for the state most of the uncultivated areas, and especially
the commons, woods and meadows, and to use them for purposes of
colonisation. A complete system of settlement developed, the so-called
cantonments which settled French colonists on the clan land and herded the
tribes into a small area. Under the decrees of 1830, 1831, 1840, 1844, 1845
and 1846 these thefts of Arab family land were legalised. Yet this system of
settlement did not actually further colonisation; it only bred wild
Page 368
speculation and usury. In most instances the Arabs managed to buy back the
land that had been taken from them, although they were thus incurring
heavy debts. French methods of oppressive taxation had the same tendency,
in particular the law of June 16, 1851, proclaiming all forests to be state
property, which robbed the natives of 6,000,000 acres of pasture and
brushwood, and took away the prime essential for animal husbandry. This
spate of laws, ordinances and regulations wrought havoc with the
ownership of land in the country. Under the prevailing condition of feverish
speculation in land, many natives sold their estates to the French in the hope
of ultimately recovering them. Quite often they sold the same plot to two or
three buyers at a time, and what is more, it was quite often inalienable
family land and did not even belong to them. A company of speculators
from Rouen, e.g., believed that they had bought 50,000 acres, but in fact
they had only acquired a disputed title to 3,425 acres. There followed an
infinite number of lawsuits in which the French courts supported on
principle all partitions and claims of the buyers. In these uncertain
conditions, speculation, usury and anarchy were rife. But although the
introduction of French colonists in large numbers among the Arab
population had aimed at securing support for the French government, this
scheme failed miserably. Thus, under the Second Empire, French policy
tried another tack. The government, with its European lack of vision, had
stubbornly denied the existence of communal property for thirty years, but
it had learned better at last. By a single stroke of the pen, joint family
property was officially recognised and condemned to be broken up. This is
the double significance of the decree of the Senate dated April 22, 1864.
General Allard declared in the Senate:
‘The government does not lose sight of the fact that the general aim of its
policy is to weaken the influence of the tribal chieftains and to dissolve the
family associations. By this means, it will sweep away the last remnants of
feudalism [sic!] defended by the opponents of the government bill.... The
surest method of accelerating the process of dissolving the family
associations will be to institute private property and to settle European
colonists among the Arab families.’[365]
The law of 1863 created special Commissions for cutting up the landed
estates, consisting of the Chairman, either a Brigadier-General or Colonel,
one sous-préfet, one representative of the Arab military authorities and an
land that had been taken from them, although they were thus incurring
heavy debts. French methods of oppressive taxation had the same tendency,
in particular the law of June 16, 1851, proclaiming all forests to be state
property, which robbed the natives of 6,000,000 acres of pasture and
brushwood, and took away the prime essential for animal husbandry. This
spate of laws, ordinances and regulations wrought havoc with the
ownership of land in the country. Under the prevailing condition of feverish
speculation in land, many natives sold their estates to the French in the hope
of ultimately recovering them. Quite often they sold the same plot to two or
three buyers at a time, and what is more, it was quite often inalienable
family land and did not even belong to them. A company of speculators
from Rouen, e.g., believed that they had bought 50,000 acres, but in fact
they had only acquired a disputed title to 3,425 acres. There followed an
infinite number of lawsuits in which the French courts supported on
principle all partitions and claims of the buyers. In these uncertain
conditions, speculation, usury and anarchy were rife. But although the
introduction of French colonists in large numbers among the Arab
population had aimed at securing support for the French government, this
scheme failed miserably. Thus, under the Second Empire, French policy
tried another tack. The government, with its European lack of vision, had
stubbornly denied the existence of communal property for thirty years, but
it had learned better at last. By a single stroke of the pen, joint family
property was officially recognised and condemned to be broken up. This is
the double significance of the decree of the Senate dated April 22, 1864.
General Allard declared in the Senate:
‘The government does not lose sight of the fact that the general aim of its
policy is to weaken the influence of the tribal chieftains and to dissolve the
family associations. By this means, it will sweep away the last remnants of
feudalism [sic!] defended by the opponents of the government bill.... The
surest method of accelerating the process of dissolving the family
associations will be to institute private property and to settle European
colonists among the Arab families.’[365]
The law of 1863 created special Commissions for cutting up the landed
estates, consisting of the Chairman, either a Brigadier-General or Colonel,
one sous-préfet, one representative of the Arab military authorities and an
Page 369
official bailiff. These natural experts on African economics and social
conditions were faced with the threefold task, first of determining the
precise boundaries of the great family estates, secondly to distribute the
estates of each clan among its various branches, and finally to break up this
family land into separate private allotments. This expedition of the
Brigadiers into the interior of Africa duly took place. The Commissions
proceeded to their destinations. They were to combine the office of judge in
all land disputes with that of surveyor and land distributor, the final
decision resting with the Governor-General of Algeria. Ten years’ valiant
efforts by the Commissions yielded the following result: between 1863 and
1873, of 700 hereditary estates, 400 were shared out among the branches of
each clan, and the foundations for future inequalities between great landed
estates and small allotments were thus laid. One family, in fact, might
receive between 2·5 and 10 acres, while another might get as much as 250
or even 450 acres, depending on the size of the estate and the number of
collaterals within the clan. Partition, however, stopped at that point. Arab
customs presented unsurmountable difficulties to a further division of
family land. In spite of Colonels and Brigadiers, French policy had again
failed in its object to create private property for transfer to the French.
But the Third Republic, an undisguised regime of the bourgeoisie, had the
courage and the cynicism to go straight for its goal and to attack the
problem from the other end, disdaining the preliminaries of the Second
Empire. In 1873, the National Assembly worked out a law with the avowed
intention immediately to split up the entire estates of all the 700 Arab clans,
and forcibly to institute private property in the shortest possible time.
Desperate conditions in the colony were the pretext for this measure. It had
taken the great Indian famine of 1866 to awaken the British public to the
marvellous exploits of British colonial policy and to call for a parliamentary
investigation; and similarly, Europe was alarmed at the end of the sixties by
the crying needs of Algeria where more than forty years of French rule
culminated in wide-spread famine and a disastrous mortality rate among the
Arabs. A commission of inquiry was set up to recommend new legislation
with which to bless the Arabs: it was unanimously resolved that there was
only one life-buoy for them—the institution of private property; that alone
could save the Arab from destitution, since he would then always be able to
sell or mortgage his land. It was decided therefore, that the only means of
alleviating the distress of the Arabs, deeply involved in debts as they were
conditions were faced with the threefold task, first of determining the
precise boundaries of the great family estates, secondly to distribute the
estates of each clan among its various branches, and finally to break up this
family land into separate private allotments. This expedition of the
Brigadiers into the interior of Africa duly took place. The Commissions
proceeded to their destinations. They were to combine the office of judge in
all land disputes with that of surveyor and land distributor, the final
decision resting with the Governor-General of Algeria. Ten years’ valiant
efforts by the Commissions yielded the following result: between 1863 and
1873, of 700 hereditary estates, 400 were shared out among the branches of
each clan, and the foundations for future inequalities between great landed
estates and small allotments were thus laid. One family, in fact, might
receive between 2·5 and 10 acres, while another might get as much as 250
or even 450 acres, depending on the size of the estate and the number of
collaterals within the clan. Partition, however, stopped at that point. Arab
customs presented unsurmountable difficulties to a further division of
family land. In spite of Colonels and Brigadiers, French policy had again
failed in its object to create private property for transfer to the French.
But the Third Republic, an undisguised regime of the bourgeoisie, had the
courage and the cynicism to go straight for its goal and to attack the
problem from the other end, disdaining the preliminaries of the Second
Empire. In 1873, the National Assembly worked out a law with the avowed
intention immediately to split up the entire estates of all the 700 Arab clans,
and forcibly to institute private property in the shortest possible time.
Desperate conditions in the colony were the pretext for this measure. It had
taken the great Indian famine of 1866 to awaken the British public to the
marvellous exploits of British colonial policy and to call for a parliamentary
investigation; and similarly, Europe was alarmed at the end of the sixties by
the crying needs of Algeria where more than forty years of French rule
culminated in wide-spread famine and a disastrous mortality rate among the
Arabs. A commission of inquiry was set up to recommend new legislation
with which to bless the Arabs: it was unanimously resolved that there was
only one life-buoy for them—the institution of private property; that alone
could save the Arab from destitution, since he would then always be able to
sell or mortgage his land. It was decided therefore, that the only means of
alleviating the distress of the Arabs, deeply involved in debts as they were
Page 370
because of the French land robberies and oppressive taxation, was to deliver
them completely into the hands of the usurers. This farce was expounded in
all seriousness before the National Assembly and was accepted with equal
gravity by that worthy body. The ‘victors’ of the Paris Commune flaunted
their brazenness.
In the National Assembly, two arguments in particular served to support the
new law: those in favour of the bill emphasised over and over again that the
Arabs themselves urgently desired the introduction of private property. And
so they did, or rather the Algerian land speculators and usurers did, since
they were vitally interested in ‘liberating’ their victims from the protection
of the family ties. As long as Moslem law prevailed in Algeria, hereditary
clan and family lands were inalienable, which laid insuperable difficulties
in the way of anyone who wished to mortgage his land. The law of 1863
had merely made a breach in these obstacles, and the issue now at stake was
their complete abolition so as to give a free hand to the usurers. The second
argument was ‘scientific’, part of the same intellectual equipment from
which that worthy, James Mill, had drawn for his abstruse conclusions
regarding Indian relations of ownership: English classical economics.
Thoroughly versed in their masters’ teachings, the disciples of Smith and
Ricardo impressively declaimed that private property is indispensable for
the prevention of famines in Algeria, for more intensive and better
cultivation of the land, since obviously no one would be prepared to invest
capital or intensive labour in a piece of land which does not belong to him
and whose produce is not his own to enjoy. But the facts spoke a different
language. They proved that the French speculators employed the private
property they had created in Algeria for anything but the more intensive and
improved cultivation of the soil. In 1873, 1,000,000 acres were French
property. But the capitalist companies, the Algerian and Setif Company
which owned 300,000 acres, did not cultivate the land at all but leased it to
the natives who tilled it in the traditional manner, nor were 25 per cent of
the other French owners engaged in agriculture. It was simply impossible to
conjure up capitalist investments and intensive agriculture overnight, just as
capitalist conditions in general could not be created out of nothing. They
existed only in the imagination of profit-seeking French speculators, and in
the benighted doctrinaire visions of their scientific economists. The
essential point, shorn of all pretexts and flourishes which seem to justify the
law of 1873, was simply the desire to deprive the Arabs of their land, their
them completely into the hands of the usurers. This farce was expounded in
all seriousness before the National Assembly and was accepted with equal
gravity by that worthy body. The ‘victors’ of the Paris Commune flaunted
their brazenness.
In the National Assembly, two arguments in particular served to support the
new law: those in favour of the bill emphasised over and over again that the
Arabs themselves urgently desired the introduction of private property. And
so they did, or rather the Algerian land speculators and usurers did, since
they were vitally interested in ‘liberating’ their victims from the protection
of the family ties. As long as Moslem law prevailed in Algeria, hereditary
clan and family lands were inalienable, which laid insuperable difficulties
in the way of anyone who wished to mortgage his land. The law of 1863
had merely made a breach in these obstacles, and the issue now at stake was
their complete abolition so as to give a free hand to the usurers. The second
argument was ‘scientific’, part of the same intellectual equipment from
which that worthy, James Mill, had drawn for his abstruse conclusions
regarding Indian relations of ownership: English classical economics.
Thoroughly versed in their masters’ teachings, the disciples of Smith and
Ricardo impressively declaimed that private property is indispensable for
the prevention of famines in Algeria, for more intensive and better
cultivation of the land, since obviously no one would be prepared to invest
capital or intensive labour in a piece of land which does not belong to him
and whose produce is not his own to enjoy. But the facts spoke a different
language. They proved that the French speculators employed the private
property they had created in Algeria for anything but the more intensive and
improved cultivation of the soil. In 1873, 1,000,000 acres were French
property. But the capitalist companies, the Algerian and Setif Company
which owned 300,000 acres, did not cultivate the land at all but leased it to
the natives who tilled it in the traditional manner, nor were 25 per cent of
the other French owners engaged in agriculture. It was simply impossible to
conjure up capitalist investments and intensive agriculture overnight, just as
capitalist conditions in general could not be created out of nothing. They
existed only in the imagination of profit-seeking French speculators, and in
the benighted doctrinaire visions of their scientific economists. The
essential point, shorn of all pretexts and flourishes which seem to justify the
law of 1873, was simply the desire to deprive the Arabs of their land, their
Page 371
livelihood. And although these arguments had worn threadbare and were
evidently insincere, this law which was to put paid to the Algerian
population and their material prosperity, was passed unanimously on July
26, 1873.
But even this master-stroke soon proved a failure. The policy of the Third
Republic miscarried because of the difficulties in substituting at one stroke
bourgeois private property for the ancient clan communism, just as the
policy of the Second Empire had come to grief over the same issue. In
1890, when the law of July 26, 1873, supplemented by a second law on
April 28, 1887, had been in force for seventeen years, 14,000,000 francs
had been spent on dealing with 40,000,000 acres. It was estimated that the
process would not be completed before 1950 and would require a further
60,000,000 francs. And still abolition of clan communism, the ultimate
purpose, had not been accomplished. What had really been attained was all
too evident: reckless speculation in land, thriving usury and the economic
ruin of the natives.
Since it had been impossible to institute private property by force, a new
experiment was undertaken. The laws of 1873 and 1887 had been
condemned by a commission appointed for their revision by the Algerian
government in 1890. It was another seven years before the legislators on the
Seine made the effort to consider reforms for the ruined country. The new
decree of the Senate refrained in principle from instituting private property
by compulsion or administrative measures. The laws of February 2, 1897,
and the edict of the Governor-General of Algeria (March 3, 1898) both
provided chiefly for the introduction of private property following a
voluntary application by the prospective purchaser or owner.[366] But there
were clauses to permit a single owner, without the consent of the others, to
claim private property; further, such a ‘voluntary’ application can be
extorted at any convenient moment if the owner is in debt and the usurer
exerts pressure. And so the new law left the doors wide open for French and
native capitalists further to disrupt and exploit the hereditary and clan lands.
Of recent years, this mutilation of Algeria which had been going on for
eight decades meets with even less opposition, since the Arabs, surrounded
as they are by French capital following the subjection of Tunisia (1881) and
the recent conquest of Morocco, have been rendered more and more
evidently insincere, this law which was to put paid to the Algerian
population and their material prosperity, was passed unanimously on July
26, 1873.
But even this master-stroke soon proved a failure. The policy of the Third
Republic miscarried because of the difficulties in substituting at one stroke
bourgeois private property for the ancient clan communism, just as the
policy of the Second Empire had come to grief over the same issue. In
1890, when the law of July 26, 1873, supplemented by a second law on
April 28, 1887, had been in force for seventeen years, 14,000,000 francs
had been spent on dealing with 40,000,000 acres. It was estimated that the
process would not be completed before 1950 and would require a further
60,000,000 francs. And still abolition of clan communism, the ultimate
purpose, had not been accomplished. What had really been attained was all
too evident: reckless speculation in land, thriving usury and the economic
ruin of the natives.
Since it had been impossible to institute private property by force, a new
experiment was undertaken. The laws of 1873 and 1887 had been
condemned by a commission appointed for their revision by the Algerian
government in 1890. It was another seven years before the legislators on the
Seine made the effort to consider reforms for the ruined country. The new
decree of the Senate refrained in principle from instituting private property
by compulsion or administrative measures. The laws of February 2, 1897,
and the edict of the Governor-General of Algeria (March 3, 1898) both
provided chiefly for the introduction of private property following a
voluntary application by the prospective purchaser or owner.[366] But there
were clauses to permit a single owner, without the consent of the others, to
claim private property; further, such a ‘voluntary’ application can be
extorted at any convenient moment if the owner is in debt and the usurer
exerts pressure. And so the new law left the doors wide open for French and
native capitalists further to disrupt and exploit the hereditary and clan lands.
Of recent years, this mutilation of Algeria which had been going on for
eight decades meets with even less opposition, since the Arabs, surrounded
as they are by French capital following the subjection of Tunisia (1881) and
the recent conquest of Morocco, have been rendered more and more
Page 372
helpless. The latest result of the French regime in Algeria is an Arab exodus
into Turkey.[367]
into Turkey.[367]
Page 373
CHAPTER XXVIII
Page 374
THE INTRODUCTION OF COMMODITY
ECONOMY
The second condition of importance for acquiring means of production and
realising the surplus value is that commodity exchange and commodity
economy should be introduced in societies based on natural economy as
soon as their independence has been abrogated, or rather in the course of
this disruptive process. Capital requires to buy the products of, and sell its
commodities to, all non-capitalist strata and societies. Here at last we seem
to find the beginnings of that ‘peace’ and ‘equality’, the do ut des, mutual
interest, ‘peaceful competition’ and the ‘influences of civilisation’. For
capital can indeed deprive alien social associations of their means of
production by force, it can compel the workers to submit to capitalist
exploitation, but it cannot force them to buy its commodities or to realise its
surplus value. In districts where natural economy formerly prevailed, the
introduction of means of transport—railways, navigation, canals—is vital
for the spreading of commodity economy, a further hopeful sign. The
triumphant march of commodity economy thus begins in most cases with
magnificent constructions of modern transport, such as railway lines which
cross primeval forests and tunnel through the mountains, telegraph wires
which bridge the deserts, and ocean liners which call at the most outlying
ports. But it is a mere illusion that these are peaceful changes. Under the
standard of commerce, the relations between the East India Company and
the spice-producing countries were quite as piratical, extortionate and
blatantly fraudulent as present-day relations between American capitalists
and the Red Indians of Canada whose furs they buy, or between German
merchants and the Negroes of Africa. Modern China presents a classical
example of the ‘gentle’, ‘peace-loving’ practices of commodity exchange
with backward countries. Throughout the nineteenth century, beginning
with the early forties, her history has been punctuated by wars with the
object of opening her up to trade by brute force. Missionaries provoked
persecutions of Christians, Europeans instigated risings, and in periodical
massacres a completely helpless and peaceful agrarian population was
forced to match arms with the most modern capitalist military technique of
ECONOMY
The second condition of importance for acquiring means of production and
realising the surplus value is that commodity exchange and commodity
economy should be introduced in societies based on natural economy as
soon as their independence has been abrogated, or rather in the course of
this disruptive process. Capital requires to buy the products of, and sell its
commodities to, all non-capitalist strata and societies. Here at last we seem
to find the beginnings of that ‘peace’ and ‘equality’, the do ut des, mutual
interest, ‘peaceful competition’ and the ‘influences of civilisation’. For
capital can indeed deprive alien social associations of their means of
production by force, it can compel the workers to submit to capitalist
exploitation, but it cannot force them to buy its commodities or to realise its
surplus value. In districts where natural economy formerly prevailed, the
introduction of means of transport—railways, navigation, canals—is vital
for the spreading of commodity economy, a further hopeful sign. The
triumphant march of commodity economy thus begins in most cases with
magnificent constructions of modern transport, such as railway lines which
cross primeval forests and tunnel through the mountains, telegraph wires
which bridge the deserts, and ocean liners which call at the most outlying
ports. But it is a mere illusion that these are peaceful changes. Under the
standard of commerce, the relations between the East India Company and
the spice-producing countries were quite as piratical, extortionate and
blatantly fraudulent as present-day relations between American capitalists
and the Red Indians of Canada whose furs they buy, or between German
merchants and the Negroes of Africa. Modern China presents a classical
example of the ‘gentle’, ‘peace-loving’ practices of commodity exchange
with backward countries. Throughout the nineteenth century, beginning
with the early forties, her history has been punctuated by wars with the
object of opening her up to trade by brute force. Missionaries provoked
persecutions of Christians, Europeans instigated risings, and in periodical
massacres a completely helpless and peaceful agrarian population was
forced to match arms with the most modern capitalist military technique of
Page 375
all the Great Powers of Europe. Heavy war contributions necessitated a
public debt, China taking up European loans, resulting in European control
over her finances and occupation of her fortifications; the opening of free
ports was enforced, railway concessions to European capitalists extorted.
By all these measures commodity exchange was fostered in China, from the
early thirties of the last century until the beginning of the Chinese
revolution.
European civilisation, that is to say commodity exchange with European
capital, made its first impact on China with the Opium Wars when she was
compelled to buy the drug from Indian plantations in order to make money
for British capitalists. In the seventeenth century, the East India Company
had introduced the cultivation of poppies in Bengal; the use of the drug was
disseminated in China by its Canton branch. At the beginning of the
nineteenth century, opium fell so considerably in price that it rapidly
became the ‘luxury of the people’. In 1821, 4,628 chests of opium were
imported to China at an average price of £265; then the price fell by 50 per
cent, and Chinese imports rose to 9,621 chests in 1825, and to 26,670 chests
in 1830.[368] The deadly effects of the drug, especially of the cheaper kinds
used by the poorer population, became a public calamity and made it
necessary for China to lay an embargo on imports, as an emergency
measure. Already in 1828, the viceroy of Canton had prohibited imports of
opium, only to deflect the trade to other ports. One of the Peking censors
commanded to investigate the question gave the following report:
‘I have learnt that people who smoke opium have developed such a craving
for this noxious drug that they make every effort to obtain this gratification.
If they do not get their opium at the usual hour, their limbs begin to tremble,
they break out in sweat, and they cannot perform the slightest tasks. But as
soon as they are given the pipe, they inhale a few puffs and are cured
immediately.
‘Opium has therefore become a necessity for all who smoke it, and it is not
surprising that under cross-examination by the local authorities they will
submit to every punishment rather than reveal the names of their suppliers.
Local authorities are also in some cases given presents to tolerate the evil or
to delay any investigation already under way. Most merchants who bring
goods for sale into Canton also deal in smuggled opium.
public debt, China taking up European loans, resulting in European control
over her finances and occupation of her fortifications; the opening of free
ports was enforced, railway concessions to European capitalists extorted.
By all these measures commodity exchange was fostered in China, from the
early thirties of the last century until the beginning of the Chinese
revolution.
European civilisation, that is to say commodity exchange with European
capital, made its first impact on China with the Opium Wars when she was
compelled to buy the drug from Indian plantations in order to make money
for British capitalists. In the seventeenth century, the East India Company
had introduced the cultivation of poppies in Bengal; the use of the drug was
disseminated in China by its Canton branch. At the beginning of the
nineteenth century, opium fell so considerably in price that it rapidly
became the ‘luxury of the people’. In 1821, 4,628 chests of opium were
imported to China at an average price of £265; then the price fell by 50 per
cent, and Chinese imports rose to 9,621 chests in 1825, and to 26,670 chests
in 1830.[368] The deadly effects of the drug, especially of the cheaper kinds
used by the poorer population, became a public calamity and made it
necessary for China to lay an embargo on imports, as an emergency
measure. Already in 1828, the viceroy of Canton had prohibited imports of
opium, only to deflect the trade to other ports. One of the Peking censors
commanded to investigate the question gave the following report:
‘I have learnt that people who smoke opium have developed such a craving
for this noxious drug that they make every effort to obtain this gratification.
If they do not get their opium at the usual hour, their limbs begin to tremble,
they break out in sweat, and they cannot perform the slightest tasks. But as
soon as they are given the pipe, they inhale a few puffs and are cured
immediately.
‘Opium has therefore become a necessity for all who smoke it, and it is not
surprising that under cross-examination by the local authorities they will
submit to every punishment rather than reveal the names of their suppliers.
Local authorities are also in some cases given presents to tolerate the evil or
to delay any investigation already under way. Most merchants who bring
goods for sale into Canton also deal in smuggled opium.
Page 376
‘I am of the opinion that opium is by far a greater evil than gambling, and
that opium smokers should therefore be punished no less than gamblers.’
The censor suggested that every convicted opium smoker should be
sentenced to eighty strokes of the bamboo, and anybody refusing to give the
name of his supplier to a hundred strokes and three years of exile. The
pigtailed Cato of Peking concludes his report with a frankness staggering to
any European official: ‘Apparently opium is mostly introduced from abroad
by dishonest officials in connivance with profit-seeking merchants who
transport it into the interior of the country. Then the first to indulge are
people of good family, wealthy private persons and merchants, but
ultimately the drug habit spreads among the common people. I have learnt
that in all provinces opium is smoked not only in the civil service but also
in the army. The officials of the various districts indeed enjoin the legal
prohibition of sale by special edicts. But at the same time, their parents,
families, dependants and servants simply go on smoking opium, and the
merchants profit from the ban by increased prices. Even the police have
been won over; they buy the stuff instead of helping to suppress it, and this
is an additional reason for the disregard in which all prohibitions and
ordinances are held.’[369]
Consequently, a stricter law was passed in 1833 which made every opium
smoker liable to a hundred strokes and two months in the stocks, and
provincial governors were ordered to report annually on their progress in
the battle against opium. But there were two sequels to this campaign: on
the one hand large-scale poppy plantations sprang up in the interior,
particularly in the Honan, Setchuan, and Kueitchan provinces, and on the
other, England declared war on China to get her to lift the embargo. These
were the splendid beginnings of ‘opening China’ to European civilisation—
by the opium pipe.
Canton was the first objective. The fortifications of the town at the main
arm of the Perl estuary could not have been more primitive. Every day at
sunset a barrier of iron chains was attached to wooden rafts anchored at
various distances, and this was the main defence. Moreover, the Chinese
guns could only fire at a certain angle and were therefore completely
ineffectual. With such primitive defences, just adequate to prevent a few
merchant ships from landing, did the Chinese meet the British attack. A
couple of British cruisers, then, sufficed to effect an entry on September 7,
that opium smokers should therefore be punished no less than gamblers.’
The censor suggested that every convicted opium smoker should be
sentenced to eighty strokes of the bamboo, and anybody refusing to give the
name of his supplier to a hundred strokes and three years of exile. The
pigtailed Cato of Peking concludes his report with a frankness staggering to
any European official: ‘Apparently opium is mostly introduced from abroad
by dishonest officials in connivance with profit-seeking merchants who
transport it into the interior of the country. Then the first to indulge are
people of good family, wealthy private persons and merchants, but
ultimately the drug habit spreads among the common people. I have learnt
that in all provinces opium is smoked not only in the civil service but also
in the army. The officials of the various districts indeed enjoin the legal
prohibition of sale by special edicts. But at the same time, their parents,
families, dependants and servants simply go on smoking opium, and the
merchants profit from the ban by increased prices. Even the police have
been won over; they buy the stuff instead of helping to suppress it, and this
is an additional reason for the disregard in which all prohibitions and
ordinances are held.’[369]
Consequently, a stricter law was passed in 1833 which made every opium
smoker liable to a hundred strokes and two months in the stocks, and
provincial governors were ordered to report annually on their progress in
the battle against opium. But there were two sequels to this campaign: on
the one hand large-scale poppy plantations sprang up in the interior,
particularly in the Honan, Setchuan, and Kueitchan provinces, and on the
other, England declared war on China to get her to lift the embargo. These
were the splendid beginnings of ‘opening China’ to European civilisation—
by the opium pipe.
Canton was the first objective. The fortifications of the town at the main
arm of the Perl estuary could not have been more primitive. Every day at
sunset a barrier of iron chains was attached to wooden rafts anchored at
various distances, and this was the main defence. Moreover, the Chinese
guns could only fire at a certain angle and were therefore completely
ineffectual. With such primitive defences, just adequate to prevent a few
merchant ships from landing, did the Chinese meet the British attack. A
couple of British cruisers, then, sufficed to effect an entry on September 7,
Page 377
1839. The sixteen battle-junks and thirteen fire-ships which the Chinese put
up for resistance were shot up or dispersed in a matter of forty-five minutes.
After this initial victory, the British renewed the attack in the beginning of
1841 with a considerably reinforced fleet. This time the fleet, consisting in a
number of battle-junks, and the forts were attacked simultaneously. The first
incendiary rocket that was fired penetrated through the armour casing of a
junk into the powder chamber and blew the ship with the entire crew sky-
high. In a short time eleven junks, including the flag-ship, were destroyed,
and the remainder precipitately made for safety. The action on land took a
little longer. Since the Chinese guns were quite useless, the British walked
right through the fortifications, climbed to a strategic position—which was
not even guarded—and proceeded to slaughter the helpless Chinese from
above. The casualty list of the battle was: for the Chinese 600 dead, and for
the British, 1 dead and 30 wounded, more than half of the latter having been
injured by the accidental explosion of a powder magazine. A few weeks
later, there followed another British exploit. The forts of Anung-Hoy and
North Wantong were to be taken. No less than twelve fully equipped
cruisers were available for this task. What is more, the Chinese, once again
forgetful of the most important thing, had omitted to fortify the island of
South Wantong. Thus the British calmly landed a battery of howitzers to
bombard the fort from one side, the cruisers shelling it from the other. After
that, the Chinese were driven from the forts in a matter of minutes, and the
landing met with no resistance. The ensuing display of inhumanity—an
English report says—will be for ever deeply deplored by the British staff.
The Chinese, trying to escape from the barricades, had fallen into a moat
which was soon literally filled to the brim with helpless soldiers begging for
mercy. Into this mass of prostrate human bodies, the sepoys—acting against
orders, it is claimed—fired again and again. This is the way in which
Canton was made receptive to commodity exchange.
Nor did the other ports fare better. On July 4, 1841, three British cruisers
with 120 cannon appeared off the islands in the entrance to the town of
Ningpo. More cruisers arrived the following day. In the evening the British
admiral sent a message to the Chinese governor, demanding the capitulation
of the island. The governor explained that he had no power to resist but
could not surrender without orders from Peking. He therefore asked for a
delay. This was refused, and at half-past two in the morning the British
stormed the defenceless island. Within eight minutes, the fort and the
up for resistance were shot up or dispersed in a matter of forty-five minutes.
After this initial victory, the British renewed the attack in the beginning of
1841 with a considerably reinforced fleet. This time the fleet, consisting in a
number of battle-junks, and the forts were attacked simultaneously. The first
incendiary rocket that was fired penetrated through the armour casing of a
junk into the powder chamber and blew the ship with the entire crew sky-
high. In a short time eleven junks, including the flag-ship, were destroyed,
and the remainder precipitately made for safety. The action on land took a
little longer. Since the Chinese guns were quite useless, the British walked
right through the fortifications, climbed to a strategic position—which was
not even guarded—and proceeded to slaughter the helpless Chinese from
above. The casualty list of the battle was: for the Chinese 600 dead, and for
the British, 1 dead and 30 wounded, more than half of the latter having been
injured by the accidental explosion of a powder magazine. A few weeks
later, there followed another British exploit. The forts of Anung-Hoy and
North Wantong were to be taken. No less than twelve fully equipped
cruisers were available for this task. What is more, the Chinese, once again
forgetful of the most important thing, had omitted to fortify the island of
South Wantong. Thus the British calmly landed a battery of howitzers to
bombard the fort from one side, the cruisers shelling it from the other. After
that, the Chinese were driven from the forts in a matter of minutes, and the
landing met with no resistance. The ensuing display of inhumanity—an
English report says—will be for ever deeply deplored by the British staff.
The Chinese, trying to escape from the barricades, had fallen into a moat
which was soon literally filled to the brim with helpless soldiers begging for
mercy. Into this mass of prostrate human bodies, the sepoys—acting against
orders, it is claimed—fired again and again. This is the way in which
Canton was made receptive to commodity exchange.
Nor did the other ports fare better. On July 4, 1841, three British cruisers
with 120 cannon appeared off the islands in the entrance to the town of
Ningpo. More cruisers arrived the following day. In the evening the British
admiral sent a message to the Chinese governor, demanding the capitulation
of the island. The governor explained that he had no power to resist but
could not surrender without orders from Peking. He therefore asked for a
delay. This was refused, and at half-past two in the morning the British
stormed the defenceless island. Within eight minutes, the fort and the
Page 378
houses on the shore were reduced to smouldering rubble. Having landed on
the deserted coast littered with broken spears, sabres, shields, rifles and a
few dead bodies, the troops advanced on the walls of the island town of
Tinghai. With daybreak, reinforced by the crews of other ships which had
meanwhile arrived, they proceeded to put scaling-ladders to the scarcely
defended ramparts. A few more minutes gave them mastery of the town.
This splendid victory was announced with becoming modesty in an Order
of the Day: ‘Fate has decreed that the morning of July 5, 1841, should be
the historic date on which Her Majesty’s flag was first raised over the most
beautiful island of the Celestial Empire, the first European flag to fly
triumphantly above this lovely countryside.’[370]
On August 25, 1841, the British approached the town of Amoy, whose forts
were armed with a hundred of the heaviest Chinese guns. These guns being
almost useless, and the commanders lacking in resource, the capture of the
harbour was child’s play. Under cover of a heavy barrage, British ships
drew near the walls of Kulangau, landed their marines, and after a short
stand the Chinese troops were driven out. The twenty-six battle-junks with
128 guns in the harbour were also captured, their crews having fled. One
battery, manned by Tartars, heroically held out against the combined fire of
three British ships, but a British landing was effected in their rear and the
post wiped out.
This was the finale of the notorious Opium War. By the peace treaty of
August 27, 1842, the island of Hongkong was ceded to Britain. In addition,
the towns of Canton, Amoy, Futchou, Ningpo and Shanghai were to open
their ports to foreign commerce. But within fifteen years, there was a
further war against China. This time, Britain had joined forces with the
French. In 1857, the allied navies captured Canton with a heroism equal to
that of the first war. By the peace of Tientsin (1858), the opium traffic,
European commerce and Christian missions were admitted into the interior.
Already in 1859, however, the British resumed hostilities and attempted to
destroy the Chinese fortifications on the Peiho river, but were driven off
after a fierce battle in which 464 people were wounded or killed.[371]
After that, Britain and France again joined forces. At the end of August
1860, 12,600 English and 7,500 French troops under General Cousin-
Montauban first captured the Taku forts without a single shot having been
fired. Then they proceeded towards Tientsin and on towards Peking. A
the deserted coast littered with broken spears, sabres, shields, rifles and a
few dead bodies, the troops advanced on the walls of the island town of
Tinghai. With daybreak, reinforced by the crews of other ships which had
meanwhile arrived, they proceeded to put scaling-ladders to the scarcely
defended ramparts. A few more minutes gave them mastery of the town.
This splendid victory was announced with becoming modesty in an Order
of the Day: ‘Fate has decreed that the morning of July 5, 1841, should be
the historic date on which Her Majesty’s flag was first raised over the most
beautiful island of the Celestial Empire, the first European flag to fly
triumphantly above this lovely countryside.’[370]
On August 25, 1841, the British approached the town of Amoy, whose forts
were armed with a hundred of the heaviest Chinese guns. These guns being
almost useless, and the commanders lacking in resource, the capture of the
harbour was child’s play. Under cover of a heavy barrage, British ships
drew near the walls of Kulangau, landed their marines, and after a short
stand the Chinese troops were driven out. The twenty-six battle-junks with
128 guns in the harbour were also captured, their crews having fled. One
battery, manned by Tartars, heroically held out against the combined fire of
three British ships, but a British landing was effected in their rear and the
post wiped out.
This was the finale of the notorious Opium War. By the peace treaty of
August 27, 1842, the island of Hongkong was ceded to Britain. In addition,
the towns of Canton, Amoy, Futchou, Ningpo and Shanghai were to open
their ports to foreign commerce. But within fifteen years, there was a
further war against China. This time, Britain had joined forces with the
French. In 1857, the allied navies captured Canton with a heroism equal to
that of the first war. By the peace of Tientsin (1858), the opium traffic,
European commerce and Christian missions were admitted into the interior.
Already in 1859, however, the British resumed hostilities and attempted to
destroy the Chinese fortifications on the Peiho river, but were driven off
after a fierce battle in which 464 people were wounded or killed.[371]
After that, Britain and France again joined forces. At the end of August
1860, 12,600 English and 7,500 French troops under General Cousin-
Montauban first captured the Taku forts without a single shot having been
fired. Then they proceeded towards Tientsin and on towards Peking. A
Page 379
bloody battle was joined at Palikao, and Peking fell to the European
Powers. Entering the almost depopulated and completely undefended city,
the victors began by pillaging the Imperial Palace, manfully helped by
General Cousin himself, who was later to become field marshal and Count
of Palikao. Then the Palace went up in flames, fired on Lord Elgin’s order
as an imposed penance.[372]
The European Powers now obtained concessions to set up embassies in
Peking, and to start trading with Tientsin and other towns. The Tchi-fu
Convention of 1876 guaranteed full facilities for importing opium into
China—at a time when the Anti-Opium League in England agitated against
the spreading of the drug habit in London, Manchester and other industrial
districts, when a parliamentary commission declared the consumption of
opium to be harmful in the extreme. By all treaties made at that time
between China and the Great Powers any European, whether merchant or
missionary, was guaranteed the right to acquire land, to which end the
legitimate arguments were ably supported by deliberate fraud.
First and foremost the ambiguity of the treaty texts made a convenient
excuse for European capital to encroach beyond the Treaty Ports. It used
every loophole in the wording of the treaties to begin with, and
subsequently blackmailed the Chinese government into permitting the
missions to acquire land not alone in the Treaty Ports but in all the
provinces of the realm. Their claim was based upon the notorious bare-
faced distortion of the Chinese original in Abbé Delamarre’s official
translation of the supplementary convention with France. French
diplomacy, and the Protestant missions in particular, unanimously
condemned the crafty swindle of the Catholic padre, but nevertheless they
were firm that the rights of French missions obtained by this fraud should
be explicitly extended to the Protestant missions as well.[373]
China’s entry into commodity exchange, having begun with the Opium
Wars, was finally accomplished with a series of ‘leases’ and the China
campaign of 1900, when the commercial interests of European capital sank
to a brazen international dogfight over Chinese land. The description of the
Dowager Empress, who wrote to Queen Victoria after the capture of the
Taku forts, subtly underlines this contrast between the initial theory and the
ultimate practice of the ‘agents of European civilisation’:
Powers. Entering the almost depopulated and completely undefended city,
the victors began by pillaging the Imperial Palace, manfully helped by
General Cousin himself, who was later to become field marshal and Count
of Palikao. Then the Palace went up in flames, fired on Lord Elgin’s order
as an imposed penance.[372]
The European Powers now obtained concessions to set up embassies in
Peking, and to start trading with Tientsin and other towns. The Tchi-fu
Convention of 1876 guaranteed full facilities for importing opium into
China—at a time when the Anti-Opium League in England agitated against
the spreading of the drug habit in London, Manchester and other industrial
districts, when a parliamentary commission declared the consumption of
opium to be harmful in the extreme. By all treaties made at that time
between China and the Great Powers any European, whether merchant or
missionary, was guaranteed the right to acquire land, to which end the
legitimate arguments were ably supported by deliberate fraud.
First and foremost the ambiguity of the treaty texts made a convenient
excuse for European capital to encroach beyond the Treaty Ports. It used
every loophole in the wording of the treaties to begin with, and
subsequently blackmailed the Chinese government into permitting the
missions to acquire land not alone in the Treaty Ports but in all the
provinces of the realm. Their claim was based upon the notorious bare-
faced distortion of the Chinese original in Abbé Delamarre’s official
translation of the supplementary convention with France. French
diplomacy, and the Protestant missions in particular, unanimously
condemned the crafty swindle of the Catholic padre, but nevertheless they
were firm that the rights of French missions obtained by this fraud should
be explicitly extended to the Protestant missions as well.[373]
China’s entry into commodity exchange, having begun with the Opium
Wars, was finally accomplished with a series of ‘leases’ and the China
campaign of 1900, when the commercial interests of European capital sank
to a brazen international dogfight over Chinese land. The description of the
Dowager Empress, who wrote to Queen Victoria after the capture of the
Taku forts, subtly underlines this contrast between the initial theory and the
ultimate practice of the ‘agents of European civilisation’:
Page 380
‘To your Majesty, greeting!—In all the dealings of England with the Empire
of China, since first relations were established between us, there has never
been any idea of territorial aggrandisement on the part of Great Britain, but
only a keen desire to promote the interests of her trade. Reflecting upon the
fact that our country is now plunged into a dreadful condition of warfare,
we bear in mind that a large proportion of China’s trade, seventy or eighty
per cent, is done with England; moreover, your Customs duties are the
lightest in the world, and few restrictions are made at your sea-ports in the
matter of foreign importations; for these reasons our amiable relations with
British merchants at our Treaty Ports have continued unbroken for the last
half century, to our mutual benefit.—But a sudden change has now occurred
and general suspicion has been created against us. We would therefore ask
you now to consider that if, by any conceivable combination of
circumstances, the independence of our Empire should be lost, and the
Powers unite to carry out their long-plotted schemes to possess themselves
of our territory’—(in a simultaneous message to the Emperor of Japan, the
impulsive Tzu Hsi openly refers to ‘The earth-hungry Powers of the West,
whose tigerish eyes of greed are fixed in our direction’[374] )—‘the results
to your country’s interests would be disastrous and fatal to your trade. At
this moment our Empire is striving to the utmost to raise an army and funds
sufficient for its protection; in the meanwhile we rely on your good services
to act as mediator, and now anxiously await your decision.’[375]
Both during the wars and in the interim periods, European civilisation was
busy looting and thieving on a grand scale in the Chinese Imperial Palaces,
in the public buildings and in the monuments of ancient civilisation, not
only in 1860, when the French pillaged the Emperor’s Palace with its
legendary treasures, or in 1900, ‘when all the nations vied with each other
to steal public and private property’. Every European advance was marked
not only with the progress of commodity exchange, but by the smouldering
ruins of the largest and most venerable towns, by the decay of agriculture
over large rural areas, and by intolerably oppressive taxation for war
contributions. There are more than 40 Chinese Treaty Ports—and every one
of them has been paid for with streams of blood, with massacre and ruin.
of China, since first relations were established between us, there has never
been any idea of territorial aggrandisement on the part of Great Britain, but
only a keen desire to promote the interests of her trade. Reflecting upon the
fact that our country is now plunged into a dreadful condition of warfare,
we bear in mind that a large proportion of China’s trade, seventy or eighty
per cent, is done with England; moreover, your Customs duties are the
lightest in the world, and few restrictions are made at your sea-ports in the
matter of foreign importations; for these reasons our amiable relations with
British merchants at our Treaty Ports have continued unbroken for the last
half century, to our mutual benefit.—But a sudden change has now occurred
and general suspicion has been created against us. We would therefore ask
you now to consider that if, by any conceivable combination of
circumstances, the independence of our Empire should be lost, and the
Powers unite to carry out their long-plotted schemes to possess themselves
of our territory’—(in a simultaneous message to the Emperor of Japan, the
impulsive Tzu Hsi openly refers to ‘The earth-hungry Powers of the West,
whose tigerish eyes of greed are fixed in our direction’[374] )—‘the results
to your country’s interests would be disastrous and fatal to your trade. At
this moment our Empire is striving to the utmost to raise an army and funds
sufficient for its protection; in the meanwhile we rely on your good services
to act as mediator, and now anxiously await your decision.’[375]
Both during the wars and in the interim periods, European civilisation was
busy looting and thieving on a grand scale in the Chinese Imperial Palaces,
in the public buildings and in the monuments of ancient civilisation, not
only in 1860, when the French pillaged the Emperor’s Palace with its
legendary treasures, or in 1900, ‘when all the nations vied with each other
to steal public and private property’. Every European advance was marked
not only with the progress of commodity exchange, but by the smouldering
ruins of the largest and most venerable towns, by the decay of agriculture
over large rural areas, and by intolerably oppressive taxation for war
contributions. There are more than 40 Chinese Treaty Ports—and every one
of them has been paid for with streams of blood, with massacre and ruin.
Page 381
CHAPTER XXIX
Page 382
THE STRUGGLE AGAINST PEASANT
ECONOMY
An important final phase in the campaign against natural economy is to
separate industry from agriculture, to eradicate rural industries altogether
from peasant economy. Handicraft in its historical beginnings was a
subsidiary occupation, a mere appendage to agriculture in civilised and
settled societies. In medieval Europe it became gradually independent of the
corvée farm and agriculture, it developed into specialised occupations, i.e.
production of commodities by urban guilds. In industrial districts,
production had progressed from home craft by way of primitive
manufacture to the capitalist factory of the staple industries, but in the rural
areas, under peasant economy, home crafts persisted as an intrinsic part of
agriculture. Every hour that could be spared from cultivating the soil was
devoted to handicrafts which, as an auxiliary domestic industry, played an
important part in providing for personal needs.[376]
It is a recurrent phenomenon in the development of capitalist production
that one branch of industry after the other is singled out, isolated from
agriculture and concentrated in factories for mass production. The textile
industry provides the textbook example, but the same thing has happened,
though less obviously, in the case of other rural industries. Capital must get
the peasants to buy its commodities and will therefore begin by restricting
peasant economy to a single sphere—that of agriculture—which will not
immediately and, under European conditions of ownership, only with great
difficulty submit to capitalist domination.[377] To all outward appearance,
this process is quite peaceful. It is scarcely noticeable and seemingly caused
by purely economic factors. There can be no doubt that mass production in
the factories is technically superior to primitive peasant industry, owing to a
higher degree of specialisation, scientific analysis and management of the
productive process, improved machinery and access to international
resources of raw materials. In reality, however, the process of separating
agriculture and industry is determined by factors such as oppressive
taxation, war, or squandering and monopolisation of the nation’s land, and
ECONOMY
An important final phase in the campaign against natural economy is to
separate industry from agriculture, to eradicate rural industries altogether
from peasant economy. Handicraft in its historical beginnings was a
subsidiary occupation, a mere appendage to agriculture in civilised and
settled societies. In medieval Europe it became gradually independent of the
corvée farm and agriculture, it developed into specialised occupations, i.e.
production of commodities by urban guilds. In industrial districts,
production had progressed from home craft by way of primitive
manufacture to the capitalist factory of the staple industries, but in the rural
areas, under peasant economy, home crafts persisted as an intrinsic part of
agriculture. Every hour that could be spared from cultivating the soil was
devoted to handicrafts which, as an auxiliary domestic industry, played an
important part in providing for personal needs.[376]
It is a recurrent phenomenon in the development of capitalist production
that one branch of industry after the other is singled out, isolated from
agriculture and concentrated in factories for mass production. The textile
industry provides the textbook example, but the same thing has happened,
though less obviously, in the case of other rural industries. Capital must get
the peasants to buy its commodities and will therefore begin by restricting
peasant economy to a single sphere—that of agriculture—which will not
immediately and, under European conditions of ownership, only with great
difficulty submit to capitalist domination.[377] To all outward appearance,
this process is quite peaceful. It is scarcely noticeable and seemingly caused
by purely economic factors. There can be no doubt that mass production in
the factories is technically superior to primitive peasant industry, owing to a
higher degree of specialisation, scientific analysis and management of the
productive process, improved machinery and access to international
resources of raw materials. In reality, however, the process of separating
agriculture and industry is determined by factors such as oppressive
taxation, war, or squandering and monopolisation of the nation’s land, and
Page 383
thus belongs to the spheres of political power and criminal law no less than
with economics.
Nowhere has this process been brought to such perfection as in the United
States. In the wake of the railways, financed by European and in particular
British capital, the American farmer crossed the Union from East to West
and in his progress over vast areas killed off the Red Indians with fire-arms
and blood-hounds, liquor and venereal disease, pushing the survivors to the
West, in order to appropriate the land they had ‘vacated’, to clear it and
bring it under the plough. The American farmer, the ‘backwoodsman’ of the
good old times before the War of Secession, was very different indeed from
his modern counterpart. There was hardly anything he could not do, and he
led a practically self-sufficient life on his isolated farm.
In the beginning of the nineties, one of the leaders of the Farmers’ Alliance,
Senator Peffer, wrote as follows: ‘The American farmer of to-day is
altogether a different sort of man from his ancestor of fifty or a hundred
years ago. A great many men and women now living remember when
farmers were largely manufacturers; that is to say, they made a great many
implements for their own use. Every farmer had an assortment of tools with
which he made wooden implements, as forks and rakes, handles for his
hoes and ploughs, spokes for his wagon, and various other implements
made wholly out of wood. Then the farmer produced flax and hemp and
wool and cotton. These fibres were prepared upon the farm; they were spun
into yarn, woven into cloth, made into garments, and worn at home. Every
farm had upon it a little shop for wood and iron work, and in the dwelling
were cards and looms; carpets were woven, bed-clothing of different sorts
was prepared; upon every farm geese were kept, their feathers used for
supplying the home demand with beds and pillows, the surplus being
disposed of at the nearest market town. During the winter season wheat and
flour and corn meal were carried in large wagons drawn by teams of six to
eight horses a hundred or two hundred miles to market, and traded for farm
supplies for the next year—groceries and dry goods. Besides this,
mechanics were scattered among the farmers. The farm wagon was in
process of building a year or two; the material was found near the shop; the
character of the timber to be used was stated in the contract; it had to be
procured in a certain season and kept in the drying process a length of time
specified, so that when the material was brought together in proper form
with economics.
Nowhere has this process been brought to such perfection as in the United
States. In the wake of the railways, financed by European and in particular
British capital, the American farmer crossed the Union from East to West
and in his progress over vast areas killed off the Red Indians with fire-arms
and blood-hounds, liquor and venereal disease, pushing the survivors to the
West, in order to appropriate the land they had ‘vacated’, to clear it and
bring it under the plough. The American farmer, the ‘backwoodsman’ of the
good old times before the War of Secession, was very different indeed from
his modern counterpart. There was hardly anything he could not do, and he
led a practically self-sufficient life on his isolated farm.
In the beginning of the nineties, one of the leaders of the Farmers’ Alliance,
Senator Peffer, wrote as follows: ‘The American farmer of to-day is
altogether a different sort of man from his ancestor of fifty or a hundred
years ago. A great many men and women now living remember when
farmers were largely manufacturers; that is to say, they made a great many
implements for their own use. Every farmer had an assortment of tools with
which he made wooden implements, as forks and rakes, handles for his
hoes and ploughs, spokes for his wagon, and various other implements
made wholly out of wood. Then the farmer produced flax and hemp and
wool and cotton. These fibres were prepared upon the farm; they were spun
into yarn, woven into cloth, made into garments, and worn at home. Every
farm had upon it a little shop for wood and iron work, and in the dwelling
were cards and looms; carpets were woven, bed-clothing of different sorts
was prepared; upon every farm geese were kept, their feathers used for
supplying the home demand with beds and pillows, the surplus being
disposed of at the nearest market town. During the winter season wheat and
flour and corn meal were carried in large wagons drawn by teams of six to
eight horses a hundred or two hundred miles to market, and traded for farm
supplies for the next year—groceries and dry goods. Besides this,
mechanics were scattered among the farmers. The farm wagon was in
process of building a year or two; the material was found near the shop; the
character of the timber to be used was stated in the contract; it had to be
procured in a certain season and kept in the drying process a length of time
specified, so that when the material was brought together in proper form
Page 384
and the wagon made, both parties to the contract knew where every stick of
it came from, and how long it had been in seasoning. During winter time
the neighbourhood carpenter prepared sashes and blinds and doors and
moulding and cornices for the next season’s building. When the frosts of
autumn came the shoemaker repaired to the dwellings of the farmers and
there, in a corner set apart to him, he made up shoes for the family during
the winter. All these things were done among the farmers, and a large part
of the expense was paid with products of the farm. When winter
approached, the butchering season was at hand; meat for family use during
the next year was prepared and preserved in the smoke house. The orchards
supplied fruit for cider, for apple butter, and for preserves of different kinds,
amply sufficient to supply the wants of the family during the year, with
some to spare. Wheat was threshed, a little at a time, just enough to supply
the needs of the family for ready money, and not enough to make it
necessary to waste one stalk of straw. Everything was saved and put to use.
One of the results of that sort of economy was that comparatively a very
small amount of money was required to conduct the business of farming. A
hundred dollars average probably was as much as the largest farmers of that
day needed in the way of cash to meet the demands of their farm work,
paying for hired help, repairs of tools, and all other incidental
expenses.’[378]
This Arcadian life was to come to a sudden end after the War of Secession.
The war had burdened the Union with an enormous National Debt,
amounting to £1,200,000, and in consequence the taxes were considerably
increased. On the other hand, a feverish development of modern traffic and
industry, machine-building in particular, was encouraged by the imposition
of higher protective tariffs. The railway companies were endowed with
public lands on an imposing scale, in order to promote railroad construction
and farm-settlements: in 1867 alone, they were given more than
192,500,000 acres, and so the permanent way grew at an unprecedented
rate. In 1860 it amounted to less than 31,000 miles, in 1870 it had grown to
more than 53,000 miles and in 1880 to more than 93,000 miles. (During the
same period—1870-1880—the permanent way in Europe had grown from
80,000 miles to 100,000 miles.) The railways and speculations in land made
for mass emigration from Europe to the United States, and more than 41⁄2
million people immigrated in the twenty-three years from 1869 to 1892. In
it came from, and how long it had been in seasoning. During winter time
the neighbourhood carpenter prepared sashes and blinds and doors and
moulding and cornices for the next season’s building. When the frosts of
autumn came the shoemaker repaired to the dwellings of the farmers and
there, in a corner set apart to him, he made up shoes for the family during
the winter. All these things were done among the farmers, and a large part
of the expense was paid with products of the farm. When winter
approached, the butchering season was at hand; meat for family use during
the next year was prepared and preserved in the smoke house. The orchards
supplied fruit for cider, for apple butter, and for preserves of different kinds,
amply sufficient to supply the wants of the family during the year, with
some to spare. Wheat was threshed, a little at a time, just enough to supply
the needs of the family for ready money, and not enough to make it
necessary to waste one stalk of straw. Everything was saved and put to use.
One of the results of that sort of economy was that comparatively a very
small amount of money was required to conduct the business of farming. A
hundred dollars average probably was as much as the largest farmers of that
day needed in the way of cash to meet the demands of their farm work,
paying for hired help, repairs of tools, and all other incidental
expenses.’[378]
This Arcadian life was to come to a sudden end after the War of Secession.
The war had burdened the Union with an enormous National Debt,
amounting to £1,200,000, and in consequence the taxes were considerably
increased. On the other hand, a feverish development of modern traffic and
industry, machine-building in particular, was encouraged by the imposition
of higher protective tariffs. The railway companies were endowed with
public lands on an imposing scale, in order to promote railroad construction
and farm-settlements: in 1867 alone, they were given more than
192,500,000 acres, and so the permanent way grew at an unprecedented
rate. In 1860 it amounted to less than 31,000 miles, in 1870 it had grown to
more than 53,000 miles and in 1880 to more than 93,000 miles. (During the
same period—1870-1880—the permanent way in Europe had grown from
80,000 miles to 100,000 miles.) The railways and speculations in land made
for mass emigration from Europe to the United States, and more than 41⁄2
million people immigrated in the twenty-three years from 1869 to 1892. In
Page 385
this way, the Union gradually became emancipated from European, and in
particular from British, industry; factories were set up in the States and
home industries developed for the production of textiles, iron, steel and
machinery. The process of revolutionary transformation was most rapid in
agriculture. The emancipation of the slaves had compelled the Southern
planters to introduce the steam plough shortly after the Civil War, and new
farms had sprung up in the West in the wake of the railways, which from
the very beginning employed the most modern machinery and technique.
‘The improvements are rapidly revolutionising the agriculture of the West,
and reducing to the lowest minimum ever attained, the proportion of
manual labour employed in its operations.... Coincident with this
application of mechanics to agriculture, systematic and enlarged business
aptitudes have also sought alliance with this noble art. Farms of thousands
of acres have been managed with greater skill, a more economical
adaptation of means to ends, and with a larger margin of real profit than
many others of 80 acres.’[379]
During this time, direct and indirect taxation had increased enormously. On
June 30, 1864, during the Civil War, a new finance bill was passed which is
the basis of the present system of taxation, and which raised taxes on
consumption and income to a staggering degree. This heavy war levy
served as a pretext for a real orgy of protective tariffs in order to offset the
tax on home production by customs duties.[380] Messrs. Morrill, Stevens
and the other gentlemen who advanced the war as a lever for enforcing their
protectionist programme, initiated the practice of wielding the implement of
a customs policy quite openly and cynically to further private profiteering
interests of all descriptions. Any home producer who appeared before the
legislative assembly with a request for any kind of special tariff to fill his
own pocket saw his demands readily granted, and the tariff rates were made
as high as any interested party might wish.
‘The war’, writes the American Taussig, ‘had in many ways a bracing and
ennobling influence on our national life; but its immediate effect on
business affairs, and on all legislation affecting moneyed interests, was
demoralising. The line between public duty and private interests was often
lost sight of by legislators. Great fortunes were made by changes in
legislation urged and brought about by those who were benefited by them,
particular from British, industry; factories were set up in the States and
home industries developed for the production of textiles, iron, steel and
machinery. The process of revolutionary transformation was most rapid in
agriculture. The emancipation of the slaves had compelled the Southern
planters to introduce the steam plough shortly after the Civil War, and new
farms had sprung up in the West in the wake of the railways, which from
the very beginning employed the most modern machinery and technique.
‘The improvements are rapidly revolutionising the agriculture of the West,
and reducing to the lowest minimum ever attained, the proportion of
manual labour employed in its operations.... Coincident with this
application of mechanics to agriculture, systematic and enlarged business
aptitudes have also sought alliance with this noble art. Farms of thousands
of acres have been managed with greater skill, a more economical
adaptation of means to ends, and with a larger margin of real profit than
many others of 80 acres.’[379]
During this time, direct and indirect taxation had increased enormously. On
June 30, 1864, during the Civil War, a new finance bill was passed which is
the basis of the present system of taxation, and which raised taxes on
consumption and income to a staggering degree. This heavy war levy
served as a pretext for a real orgy of protective tariffs in order to offset the
tax on home production by customs duties.[380] Messrs. Morrill, Stevens
and the other gentlemen who advanced the war as a lever for enforcing their
protectionist programme, initiated the practice of wielding the implement of
a customs policy quite openly and cynically to further private profiteering
interests of all descriptions. Any home producer who appeared before the
legislative assembly with a request for any kind of special tariff to fill his
own pocket saw his demands readily granted, and the tariff rates were made
as high as any interested party might wish.
‘The war’, writes the American Taussig, ‘had in many ways a bracing and
ennobling influence on our national life; but its immediate effect on
business affairs, and on all legislation affecting moneyed interests, was
demoralising. The line between public duty and private interests was often
lost sight of by legislators. Great fortunes were made by changes in
legislation urged and brought about by those who were benefited by them,
Page 386
and the country has seen with sorrow that the honour and honesty of public
men did not remain undefiled.’[381]
This customs bill which completely revolutionised the country’s economic
life, and remained in force unchanged for twenty years, was literally pushed
through Congress in three days, and through the Senate in two, without
criticism, without debate, without any opposition whatever.[382] Down to
the present day it forms the basis of U.S. customs legislation.
This shift in U.S. fiscal policy ushered in an era of the most brazen
parliamentary log-rolling and of undisguised and unrestrained corruption of
elections, of the legislature and the press to satisfy the greed of Big
Business. ‘Enrichissez-vous’ became the catchword of public life after the
‘noble war’ to liberate mankind from the ‘blot of slavery’. On the stock
exchange, the Yankee negro-liberator sought his fortunes in orgies of
speculation; in Congress, he endowed himself with public lands, enriched
himself by customs and taxes, by monopolies, fraudulent shares and theft of
public funds. Industry prospered. Gone were the times when the small or
medium farmer required hardly any money, when he could thresh and turn
into cash his wheat reserves as the need arose. Now he was chronically in
need of money, a lot of money, to pay his taxes. Soon he was forced to sell
all his produce and to buy his requirements from the manufacturers in the
form of ready-made goods. As Peffer puts it:
‘Coming from that time to the present, we find that everything nearly has
been changed. All over the West particularly the farmer threshes his wheat
all at one time, he disposes of it all at one time, and in a great many
instances the straw is wasted. He sells his hogs, and buys bacon and pork;
he sells his cattle, and buys fresh beef and canned beef or corned beef, as
the case may be; he sells his fruit, and buys it back in cans. If he raises flax
at all, instead of putting it into yarn and making gowns for his children, as
he did fifty years or more ago, he threshes his flax, sells the seed, and burns
the straw. Not more than one farmer in fifty now keeps sheep at all; he
relies upon the large sheep farmer for the wool, which is put into cloth or
clothing ready for his use. Instead of having clothing made up on the farm
in his own house or by a neighbour woman or country tailor a mile away, he
either purchases his clothing ready made at the nearest town, or he buys the
cloth and has a city tailor make it up for him. Instead of making implements
which he uses about the farm—forks, rakes, etc.—he goes to town to
men did not remain undefiled.’[381]
This customs bill which completely revolutionised the country’s economic
life, and remained in force unchanged for twenty years, was literally pushed
through Congress in three days, and through the Senate in two, without
criticism, without debate, without any opposition whatever.[382] Down to
the present day it forms the basis of U.S. customs legislation.
This shift in U.S. fiscal policy ushered in an era of the most brazen
parliamentary log-rolling and of undisguised and unrestrained corruption of
elections, of the legislature and the press to satisfy the greed of Big
Business. ‘Enrichissez-vous’ became the catchword of public life after the
‘noble war’ to liberate mankind from the ‘blot of slavery’. On the stock
exchange, the Yankee negro-liberator sought his fortunes in orgies of
speculation; in Congress, he endowed himself with public lands, enriched
himself by customs and taxes, by monopolies, fraudulent shares and theft of
public funds. Industry prospered. Gone were the times when the small or
medium farmer required hardly any money, when he could thresh and turn
into cash his wheat reserves as the need arose. Now he was chronically in
need of money, a lot of money, to pay his taxes. Soon he was forced to sell
all his produce and to buy his requirements from the manufacturers in the
form of ready-made goods. As Peffer puts it:
‘Coming from that time to the present, we find that everything nearly has
been changed. All over the West particularly the farmer threshes his wheat
all at one time, he disposes of it all at one time, and in a great many
instances the straw is wasted. He sells his hogs, and buys bacon and pork;
he sells his cattle, and buys fresh beef and canned beef or corned beef, as
the case may be; he sells his fruit, and buys it back in cans. If he raises flax
at all, instead of putting it into yarn and making gowns for his children, as
he did fifty years or more ago, he threshes his flax, sells the seed, and burns
the straw. Not more than one farmer in fifty now keeps sheep at all; he
relies upon the large sheep farmer for the wool, which is put into cloth or
clothing ready for his use. Instead of having clothing made up on the farm
in his own house or by a neighbour woman or country tailor a mile away, he
either purchases his clothing ready made at the nearest town, or he buys the
cloth and has a city tailor make it up for him. Instead of making implements
which he uses about the farm—forks, rakes, etc.—he goes to town to
Page 387
purchase even a handle for his axe or his mallet; he purchases twine and
rope and all sorts of needed material made of fibres; he buys his cloth and
his clothing; he buys his canned fruit and preserved fruit; he buys hams and
shoulders and mess pork and mess beef; indeed, he buys nearly everything
now that he produced at one time himself, and these things all cost money.
Besides all this, and what seems stranger than anything else, whereas in the
earlier time the American home was a free home, unencumbered, not one
case in a thousand where a home was mortgaged to secure the payment of
borrowed money, and whereas but a small amount of money was then
needed for actual use in conducting the business of farming, there was
always enough of it among the farmers to supply the demand. Now, when at
least ten times as much is needed, there is little or none to be obtained,
nearly half the farms are mortgaged for as much as they are worth, and
interest rates are exorbitant. As to the cause of such wonderful changes ...
the manufacturer came with his woollen mill, his carding mill, his broom
factory, his rope factory, his wooden-ware factory, his cotton factory, his
pork-packing establishment, his canning factory and fruit preserving
houses; the little shop on the farm has given place to the large shop in town;
the wagon-maker’s shop in the neighbourhood has given way to the large
establishment in the city where ... a hundred or two hundred wagons are
made in a week; the shoemaker’s shop has given way to large
establishments in the cities where most of the work is done by
machines.’[383]
Finally, the agricultural labour of the farmer himself has become machine
work: ‘He ploughs and sows and reaps with machines. A machine cuts his
wheat and puts it in a sheaf, and steam drives his threshers. He may read the
morning paper while he ploughs and sit under an awning while he
reaps.’[384]
Sering estimated in the middle eighties that the necessary cash ‘for a very
modest beginning’ of the smallest farm in the North West is £240 to £280.
[385]
This revolution of American agriculture after the ‘Great War’ was not the
end. It was only the beginning of the whirlpool in which the farmer was
caught. His history brings us automatically to the second phase of the
development of capitalist accumulation of which it is an excellent
rope and all sorts of needed material made of fibres; he buys his cloth and
his clothing; he buys his canned fruit and preserved fruit; he buys hams and
shoulders and mess pork and mess beef; indeed, he buys nearly everything
now that he produced at one time himself, and these things all cost money.
Besides all this, and what seems stranger than anything else, whereas in the
earlier time the American home was a free home, unencumbered, not one
case in a thousand where a home was mortgaged to secure the payment of
borrowed money, and whereas but a small amount of money was then
needed for actual use in conducting the business of farming, there was
always enough of it among the farmers to supply the demand. Now, when at
least ten times as much is needed, there is little or none to be obtained,
nearly half the farms are mortgaged for as much as they are worth, and
interest rates are exorbitant. As to the cause of such wonderful changes ...
the manufacturer came with his woollen mill, his carding mill, his broom
factory, his rope factory, his wooden-ware factory, his cotton factory, his
pork-packing establishment, his canning factory and fruit preserving
houses; the little shop on the farm has given place to the large shop in town;
the wagon-maker’s shop in the neighbourhood has given way to the large
establishment in the city where ... a hundred or two hundred wagons are
made in a week; the shoemaker’s shop has given way to large
establishments in the cities where most of the work is done by
machines.’[383]
Finally, the agricultural labour of the farmer himself has become machine
work: ‘He ploughs and sows and reaps with machines. A machine cuts his
wheat and puts it in a sheaf, and steam drives his threshers. He may read the
morning paper while he ploughs and sit under an awning while he
reaps.’[384]
Sering estimated in the middle eighties that the necessary cash ‘for a very
modest beginning’ of the smallest farm in the North West is £240 to £280.
[385]
This revolution of American agriculture after the ‘Great War’ was not the
end. It was only the beginning of the whirlpool in which the farmer was
caught. His history brings us automatically to the second phase of the
development of capitalist accumulation of which it is an excellent
Page 388
illustration.—Natural economy, the production for personal needs and the
close connection between industry and agriculture must be ousted and a
simple commodity economy substituted for them. Capitalism needs the
medium of commodity production for its development, as a market for its
surplus value. But as soon as simple commodity production has superseded
natural economy, capital must turn against it. No sooner has capital called it
to life, than the two must compete for means of production, labour power,
and markets. The first aim of capitalism is to isolate the producer, to sever
the community ties which protect him, and the next task is to take the
means of production away from the small manufacturer.
In the American Union, as we have seen, the ‘Great War’ inaugurated an era
of large-scale seizure of public lands by monopolist capitalist companies
and individual speculators. Feverish railroad building and ever more
speculation in railway shares led to a mad gamble in land, where individual
soldiers of fortune and companies netted immense fortunes and even entire
counties. In addition a veritable swarm of agents lured the vast flow of
emigrants from Europe to the U.S.A. by blatant and unscrupulous
advertising, deceptions and pretences of every description. These
immigrants first settled in the Eastern States along the Atlantic seaboard,
and, with the growth of industry in these states, agriculture was driven
westward. The ‘wheat centre’ which had been near Columbus, Ohio, in
1850, in the course of the subsequent fifty years shifted to a position 99
miles further North and 680 miles further West. Whereas in 1850 51·4 per
cent of the total wheat crop had been supplied by the Eastern States, in 1880
they produced only 13·6 per cent, 71·7 per cent being supplied by the
Northern Central and 9 per cent by the Western States.
In 1825, the Congress of the Union under Monroe had decided to transplant
the Red Indians from the East to the West of the Mississippi. The redskins
put up a desperate resistance; but all who survived the slaughter of forty
Red Indian campaigns were swept away like so much rubbish and driven
like cattle to the West to be folded in reservations like so many sheep. The
Red Indian had been forced to make room for the farmer—and now the
farmer in his turn was driven beyond the Mississippi to make way for
capital.
Following the railway tracks, the American farmer moved West and North-
West into the land of promise which the great land speculators’ agents had
close connection between industry and agriculture must be ousted and a
simple commodity economy substituted for them. Capitalism needs the
medium of commodity production for its development, as a market for its
surplus value. But as soon as simple commodity production has superseded
natural economy, capital must turn against it. No sooner has capital called it
to life, than the two must compete for means of production, labour power,
and markets. The first aim of capitalism is to isolate the producer, to sever
the community ties which protect him, and the next task is to take the
means of production away from the small manufacturer.
In the American Union, as we have seen, the ‘Great War’ inaugurated an era
of large-scale seizure of public lands by monopolist capitalist companies
and individual speculators. Feverish railroad building and ever more
speculation in railway shares led to a mad gamble in land, where individual
soldiers of fortune and companies netted immense fortunes and even entire
counties. In addition a veritable swarm of agents lured the vast flow of
emigrants from Europe to the U.S.A. by blatant and unscrupulous
advertising, deceptions and pretences of every description. These
immigrants first settled in the Eastern States along the Atlantic seaboard,
and, with the growth of industry in these states, agriculture was driven
westward. The ‘wheat centre’ which had been near Columbus, Ohio, in
1850, in the course of the subsequent fifty years shifted to a position 99
miles further North and 680 miles further West. Whereas in 1850 51·4 per
cent of the total wheat crop had been supplied by the Eastern States, in 1880
they produced only 13·6 per cent, 71·7 per cent being supplied by the
Northern Central and 9 per cent by the Western States.
In 1825, the Congress of the Union under Monroe had decided to transplant
the Red Indians from the East to the West of the Mississippi. The redskins
put up a desperate resistance; but all who survived the slaughter of forty
Red Indian campaigns were swept away like so much rubbish and driven
like cattle to the West to be folded in reservations like so many sheep. The
Red Indian had been forced to make room for the farmer—and now the
farmer in his turn was driven beyond the Mississippi to make way for
capital.
Following the railway tracks, the American farmer moved West and North-
West into the land of promise which the great land speculators’ agents had
Page 389
painted for him in glowing colours. Yet the most fertile and most favourably
situated lands were retained by the companies who farmed them extensively
on completely capitalistic lines. All around the farmer who had been exiled
into the wilderness, a dangerous competitor and deadly enemy sprang up—
the ‘bonanza farms’, the great capitalist agricultural concerns which neither
the Old World nor the New had known before. Here surplus value was
produced with the application of all the resources known to modern science
and technology.
‘As the foremost representative of financial agriculture we may consider
Oliver Dalrymple, whose name is to-day known on both sides of the
Atlantic. Since 1874 he has simultaneously managed a line of steamers on
the Red River and six farms owned by a company of financiers and
comprising some 75,000 acres. Each one is divided into departments of
2,000 acres, and every department is again subdivided into three sections of
667 acres which are run by foremen and gangleaders. Barracks to shelter 50
men and stable as many horses and mules, are built on each section, and
similarly kitchens, machine sheds and workshops for blacksmiths and
locksmiths. Each section is completely equipped with 20 pairs of horses, 8
double ploughs, 12 horse-drawn drill-ploughs, 12 steel-toothed harrows, 12
cutters and binders, 2 threshers and 16 wagons. Everything is done to
ensure that the machines and the living labour (men, horses and mules) are
in good condition and able to do the greatest possible amount of work.
There is a telephone line connecting all sections and the central
management.
‘The six farms of 75,000 acres are cultivated by an army of 600 workers,
organised on military lines. During the harvest, the management hires
another 500 to 600 auxiliary workers, assigning them to the various
sections. After the work is completed in the fall, the workers are dismissed
with the exception of the foreman and 10 men per section. In some farms in
Dakota and Minnesota, horses and mules do not spend the winter at the
place of work. As soon as the stubble has been ploughed in, they are driven
in teams of a hundred or two hundred pairs 900 miles to the South, to return
only the following spring.
‘Mechanics on horseback follow the ploughing, sowing and harvesting
machines when they are at work. If anything goes wrong, they gallop to the
machine in question, repair it and get it moving again without delay. The
situated lands were retained by the companies who farmed them extensively
on completely capitalistic lines. All around the farmer who had been exiled
into the wilderness, a dangerous competitor and deadly enemy sprang up—
the ‘bonanza farms’, the great capitalist agricultural concerns which neither
the Old World nor the New had known before. Here surplus value was
produced with the application of all the resources known to modern science
and technology.
‘As the foremost representative of financial agriculture we may consider
Oliver Dalrymple, whose name is to-day known on both sides of the
Atlantic. Since 1874 he has simultaneously managed a line of steamers on
the Red River and six farms owned by a company of financiers and
comprising some 75,000 acres. Each one is divided into departments of
2,000 acres, and every department is again subdivided into three sections of
667 acres which are run by foremen and gangleaders. Barracks to shelter 50
men and stable as many horses and mules, are built on each section, and
similarly kitchens, machine sheds and workshops for blacksmiths and
locksmiths. Each section is completely equipped with 20 pairs of horses, 8
double ploughs, 12 horse-drawn drill-ploughs, 12 steel-toothed harrows, 12
cutters and binders, 2 threshers and 16 wagons. Everything is done to
ensure that the machines and the living labour (men, horses and mules) are
in good condition and able to do the greatest possible amount of work.
There is a telephone line connecting all sections and the central
management.
‘The six farms of 75,000 acres are cultivated by an army of 600 workers,
organised on military lines. During the harvest, the management hires
another 500 to 600 auxiliary workers, assigning them to the various
sections. After the work is completed in the fall, the workers are dismissed
with the exception of the foreman and 10 men per section. In some farms in
Dakota and Minnesota, horses and mules do not spend the winter at the
place of work. As soon as the stubble has been ploughed in, they are driven
in teams of a hundred or two hundred pairs 900 miles to the South, to return
only the following spring.
‘Mechanics on horseback follow the ploughing, sowing and harvesting
machines when they are at work. If anything goes wrong, they gallop to the
machine in question, repair it and get it moving again without delay. The
Page 390
harvested corn is carried to the threshing machines which work day and
night without interruption. They are stoked with bundles of straw fed into
the stokehold through pipes of sheet-iron. The corn is threshed, winnowed,
weighed and filled into sacks by machinery, then it is put into railway
trucks which run alongside the farm, and goes to Duluth or Buffalo. Every
year, Dalrymple increases his land under seed by 5,800 acres. In 1880 it
amounted to 25,000 acres.[386]
In the late seventies, there were already individual capitalists and
companies who owned 35,000-45,000 acres of wheat land. Since the time
of Lafargue’s writing, extensive capitalist agriculture in America has made
great strides in technique and the employment of machinery.[387]
The American farmer could not successfully compete with such capitalist
enterprises. At a time when the general revolution in the conditions of
finance, production and transport compelled him to give up production for
personal needs and to produce exclusively for the market, the great
spreading of agriculture caused a heavy fall in the prices of agricultural
products. And at the precise moment when farming became dependent on
the market, the agricultural market of the Union was suddenly turned from a
local one into a world market, and became a prey to the wild speculations of
a few capitalist mammoth concerns.
In 1879, a notable year for the history of agricultural conditions in Europe
as well as in America, there began the mass export of wheat from the
U.S.A. to Europe.[388]
Big Business was of course the only one to profit from this expanding
market. The small farmer was crushed by the competition of an increasing
number of extensive farms and became the prey of speculators who bought
up his corn to exert pressure on the world market. Helpless in the face of
the immense capitalist powers, the farmer got into debt—a phenomenon
typical for a declining peasant economy. In 1890, Secretary Rusk of the
U.S. Department of Agriculture sent out a circular letter with reference to
the desperate position of the farmers, saying:
‘The burden of mortgages upon farms, homes, and land, is unquestionably
discouraging in the extreme, and while in some cases no doubt this load
may have been too readily assumed, still in the majority of cases the
mortgage has been the result of necessity.... These mortgages ... drawing
night without interruption. They are stoked with bundles of straw fed into
the stokehold through pipes of sheet-iron. The corn is threshed, winnowed,
weighed and filled into sacks by machinery, then it is put into railway
trucks which run alongside the farm, and goes to Duluth or Buffalo. Every
year, Dalrymple increases his land under seed by 5,800 acres. In 1880 it
amounted to 25,000 acres.[386]
In the late seventies, there were already individual capitalists and
companies who owned 35,000-45,000 acres of wheat land. Since the time
of Lafargue’s writing, extensive capitalist agriculture in America has made
great strides in technique and the employment of machinery.[387]
The American farmer could not successfully compete with such capitalist
enterprises. At a time when the general revolution in the conditions of
finance, production and transport compelled him to give up production for
personal needs and to produce exclusively for the market, the great
spreading of agriculture caused a heavy fall in the prices of agricultural
products. And at the precise moment when farming became dependent on
the market, the agricultural market of the Union was suddenly turned from a
local one into a world market, and became a prey to the wild speculations of
a few capitalist mammoth concerns.
In 1879, a notable year for the history of agricultural conditions in Europe
as well as in America, there began the mass export of wheat from the
U.S.A. to Europe.[388]
Big Business was of course the only one to profit from this expanding
market. The small farmer was crushed by the competition of an increasing
number of extensive farms and became the prey of speculators who bought
up his corn to exert pressure on the world market. Helpless in the face of
the immense capitalist powers, the farmer got into debt—a phenomenon
typical for a declining peasant economy. In 1890, Secretary Rusk of the
U.S. Department of Agriculture sent out a circular letter with reference to
the desperate position of the farmers, saying:
‘The burden of mortgages upon farms, homes, and land, is unquestionably
discouraging in the extreme, and while in some cases no doubt this load
may have been too readily assumed, still in the majority of cases the
mortgage has been the result of necessity.... These mortgages ... drawing
Page 391
high rates of interest ... have to-day, in the face of continued depression of
the prices of staple products, become very irksome, and in many cases
threaten the farmer with loss of home and land. It is a question of grave
difficulty to all those who seek to remedy the ills from which our farmers
are suffering. At present prices the farmer finds that it takes more of his
products to get a dollar wherewith to buy back the dollar which he
borrowed than it did when he borrowed it. The interest accumulates, while
the payment of the principal seems utterly hopeless, and the very depression
which we are discussing makes the renewal of the mortgage most
difficult.’[389]
According to the census of May 29, 1891, 2·5 million farms were deep in
debt; two-thirds of them were managed by the owners whose obligations
amounted to nearly £440,000.
‘The situation is this: farmers are passing through the “valley and shadow
of death”; farming as a business is profitless; values of farm products have
fallen 50 per cent since the great war, and farm values have depreciated 25
to 50 per cent during the last ten years; farmers are overwhelmed with debts
secured by mortgages on their homes, unable in many instances to pay even
the interest as it falls due, and unable to renew the loans because securities
are weakening by reason of the general depression; many farmers are losing
their homes under this dreadful blight, and the mortgage mill still grinds.
We are in the hands of a merciless power; the people’s homes are at
stake.’[390]
Encumbered with debts and close to ruin, the farmer had no option but to
supplement his earnings by working for a wage, or else to abandon his farm
altogether. Provided it had not yet fallen into the clutches of his creditors
like so many thousands of farms, he could shake from off his feet the dust
of the ‘land of promise’ that had become an inferno for him. In the middle
eighties, abandoned and decaying farms could be seen everywhere. In 1887,
Sering wrote:
‘If the farmer cannot pay his debts to date, the interest he has to pay is
increased to 12, 15 or even 20 per cent. He is pressed by the banker, the
machine salesman and the grocer who rob him of the fruits of his hard
work.... He can either remain on the farm as a tenant or move further West,
to try his fortunes elsewhere. Nowhere in North America have I found so
the prices of staple products, become very irksome, and in many cases
threaten the farmer with loss of home and land. It is a question of grave
difficulty to all those who seek to remedy the ills from which our farmers
are suffering. At present prices the farmer finds that it takes more of his
products to get a dollar wherewith to buy back the dollar which he
borrowed than it did when he borrowed it. The interest accumulates, while
the payment of the principal seems utterly hopeless, and the very depression
which we are discussing makes the renewal of the mortgage most
difficult.’[389]
According to the census of May 29, 1891, 2·5 million farms were deep in
debt; two-thirds of them were managed by the owners whose obligations
amounted to nearly £440,000.
‘The situation is this: farmers are passing through the “valley and shadow
of death”; farming as a business is profitless; values of farm products have
fallen 50 per cent since the great war, and farm values have depreciated 25
to 50 per cent during the last ten years; farmers are overwhelmed with debts
secured by mortgages on their homes, unable in many instances to pay even
the interest as it falls due, and unable to renew the loans because securities
are weakening by reason of the general depression; many farmers are losing
their homes under this dreadful blight, and the mortgage mill still grinds.
We are in the hands of a merciless power; the people’s homes are at
stake.’[390]
Encumbered with debts and close to ruin, the farmer had no option but to
supplement his earnings by working for a wage, or else to abandon his farm
altogether. Provided it had not yet fallen into the clutches of his creditors
like so many thousands of farms, he could shake from off his feet the dust
of the ‘land of promise’ that had become an inferno for him. In the middle
eighties, abandoned and decaying farms could be seen everywhere. In 1887,
Sering wrote:
‘If the farmer cannot pay his debts to date, the interest he has to pay is
increased to 12, 15 or even 20 per cent. He is pressed by the banker, the
machine salesman and the grocer who rob him of the fruits of his hard
work.... He can either remain on the farm as a tenant or move further West,
to try his fortunes elsewhere. Nowhere in North America have I found so
Page 392
many indebted, disappointed and depressed farmers as in the wheat regions
of the North Western prairies. I have not spoken to a single farmer in
Dakota who would not have been prepared to sell his farm.[391]
‘The Commissioner of Agriculture of Vermont in 1889 reported a wide-
spread desertion of farm-lands of that state. He wrote: “... there appears to
be no doubt about there being in this state large tracts of tillable unoccupied
lands, which can be bought at a price approximating the price of Western
lands, situated near school and church, and not far from railroad facilities.
The Commissioner has not visited all of the counties in the State where
these lands are reported, but he has visited enough to satisfy him that, while
much of the unoccupied and formerly cultivated land is now practically
worthless for cultivation, yet very much of it can be made to yield a liberal
reward to intelligent labour.”’[392]
The Commissioner of the State of New Hampshire issued a pamphlet in
1890, devoting 67 pages to the description of farms for sale at the lowest
figures. He describes 1442 farms with tenantable buildings, abandoned only
recently. The same has happened in other districts. Thousands of acres once
raising corn and wheat are left untilled and run to brush and wood.
In order to resettle the deserted land, speculators engaged in advertising
campaigns and attracted crowds of new immigrants—new victims who
were to suffer their predecessors’ fate even more speedily.
A private letter says: ‘In the neighbourhood of railroads and markets, there
remains no common land. It is all in the hands of the speculators. A settler
takes over vacant land and counts for a farmer; but the management of his
farm hardly assures his livelihood, and he cannot possibly compete with the
big farmer. He tills as much of his land as the law compels him to do, but to
make a comfortable living, he must look for additional sources of income
outside agriculture. In Oregon, for instance, I have met a settler who owned
160 acres for five years, but every summer, until the end of July, he worked
twelve hours a day for a dollar a day at road-making. This man, of course,
also counts as one of the five million farmers in the 1890 census. Again, in
the County of Eldorado, I saw many farmers who cultivated their land only
to feed their cattle and themselves. There would have been no profit in
producing for the market, and their chief income derives from gold-digging,
the felling and selling of timber, etc. These people are prosperous, but it is
of the North Western prairies. I have not spoken to a single farmer in
Dakota who would not have been prepared to sell his farm.[391]
‘The Commissioner of Agriculture of Vermont in 1889 reported a wide-
spread desertion of farm-lands of that state. He wrote: “... there appears to
be no doubt about there being in this state large tracts of tillable unoccupied
lands, which can be bought at a price approximating the price of Western
lands, situated near school and church, and not far from railroad facilities.
The Commissioner has not visited all of the counties in the State where
these lands are reported, but he has visited enough to satisfy him that, while
much of the unoccupied and formerly cultivated land is now practically
worthless for cultivation, yet very much of it can be made to yield a liberal
reward to intelligent labour.”’[392]
The Commissioner of the State of New Hampshire issued a pamphlet in
1890, devoting 67 pages to the description of farms for sale at the lowest
figures. He describes 1442 farms with tenantable buildings, abandoned only
recently. The same has happened in other districts. Thousands of acres once
raising corn and wheat are left untilled and run to brush and wood.
In order to resettle the deserted land, speculators engaged in advertising
campaigns and attracted crowds of new immigrants—new victims who
were to suffer their predecessors’ fate even more speedily.
A private letter says: ‘In the neighbourhood of railroads and markets, there
remains no common land. It is all in the hands of the speculators. A settler
takes over vacant land and counts for a farmer; but the management of his
farm hardly assures his livelihood, and he cannot possibly compete with the
big farmer. He tills as much of his land as the law compels him to do, but to
make a comfortable living, he must look for additional sources of income
outside agriculture. In Oregon, for instance, I have met a settler who owned
160 acres for five years, but every summer, until the end of July, he worked
twelve hours a day for a dollar a day at road-making. This man, of course,
also counts as one of the five million farmers in the 1890 census. Again, in
the County of Eldorado, I saw many farmers who cultivated their land only
to feed their cattle and themselves. There would have been no profit in
producing for the market, and their chief income derives from gold-digging,
the felling and selling of timber, etc. These people are prosperous, but it is
Page 393
not agriculture which makes them so. Two years ago, we worked in Long
Cañon, Eldorado County, living in a cabin on an allotment. The owner of
this allotment came home only once a year for a couple of days, and worked
the rest of the time on the railway in Sacramento. Some years ago, a small
part of the allotment was cultivated, to comply with the law, but now it is
left completely untilled. A few acres are fenced off with wire, and there is a
log cabin and a shed. But during the last years all this stands empty; a
neighbour has the key and he made us free of the hut. In the course of our
journey, we saw many deserted allotments, where attempts at farming had
been made. Three years ago I was offered a farm with dwelling house for a
hundred dollars, but in a short time the unoccupied house collapsed under
the snow. In Oregon, we saw many derelict farms with small dwelling
houses and vegetable gardens. One we visited was beautifully made: a
sturdy block house, fashioned by a master-builder, and some equipment; but
the farmer had abandoned it all. You were welcome to take it all without
charge.’[393]
Where could the ruined American farmer turn? He set out on a pilgrimage
to follow the wheat centre and the railways. The former had shifted in the
main to Canada, the Saskatchewan and the Mackenzie River where wheat
can still thrive on the 62nd parallel. A number of American farmers
followed—and after some time in Canada, they suffered the old fate.[394]
During recent years, Canada has entered the world market as a wheat-
exporting country, but her agriculture is dominated to an even greater extent
by big capital than elsewhere.[395]
In Canada, public lands were lavished upon private capitalist companies on
an even more monstrous scale than in the United States. Under the Charter
of the Canadian Pacific Railway Company with its grant of land, private
capital perpetrated an unprecedented act of robbing the public. Not only
that the company was guaranteed a twenty years’ monopoly of railway-
building, not only that it got a building site of about 713 miles free of
charge, not only that it got a 100 years’ state guarantee of the 3 per cent
interest on the share capital of £m. 20—to crown it all, the company was
given the choice of 25 million acres out of the most fertile and favourably
situated lands, not necessarily in the immediate vicinity of the permanent
way, as a free gift. All future settlers on this vast area were thus at the mercy
of railway capital from the very outset. The railway company, in its turn,
Cañon, Eldorado County, living in a cabin on an allotment. The owner of
this allotment came home only once a year for a couple of days, and worked
the rest of the time on the railway in Sacramento. Some years ago, a small
part of the allotment was cultivated, to comply with the law, but now it is
left completely untilled. A few acres are fenced off with wire, and there is a
log cabin and a shed. But during the last years all this stands empty; a
neighbour has the key and he made us free of the hut. In the course of our
journey, we saw many deserted allotments, where attempts at farming had
been made. Three years ago I was offered a farm with dwelling house for a
hundred dollars, but in a short time the unoccupied house collapsed under
the snow. In Oregon, we saw many derelict farms with small dwelling
houses and vegetable gardens. One we visited was beautifully made: a
sturdy block house, fashioned by a master-builder, and some equipment; but
the farmer had abandoned it all. You were welcome to take it all without
charge.’[393]
Where could the ruined American farmer turn? He set out on a pilgrimage
to follow the wheat centre and the railways. The former had shifted in the
main to Canada, the Saskatchewan and the Mackenzie River where wheat
can still thrive on the 62nd parallel. A number of American farmers
followed—and after some time in Canada, they suffered the old fate.[394]
During recent years, Canada has entered the world market as a wheat-
exporting country, but her agriculture is dominated to an even greater extent
by big capital than elsewhere.[395]
In Canada, public lands were lavished upon private capitalist companies on
an even more monstrous scale than in the United States. Under the Charter
of the Canadian Pacific Railway Company with its grant of land, private
capital perpetrated an unprecedented act of robbing the public. Not only
that the company was guaranteed a twenty years’ monopoly of railway-
building, not only that it got a building site of about 713 miles free of
charge, not only that it got a 100 years’ state guarantee of the 3 per cent
interest on the share capital of £m. 20—to crown it all, the company was
given the choice of 25 million acres out of the most fertile and favourably
situated lands, not necessarily in the immediate vicinity of the permanent
way, as a free gift. All future settlers on this vast area were thus at the mercy
of railway capital from the very outset. The railway company, in its turn,
Page 394
immediately proceeded to sell off 5 million acres for ready cash to the
North-West Land Company, an association of British capitalists under the
chairmanship of the Duke of Manchester. The second group of capitalists
which was liberally endowed with public lands was the Hudson Bay
Company, which was given a title to no less than one-twentieth of all the
lands between Lake Winnipeg, the U.S. border, the Rocky Mountains, and
Northern Saskatchewan, for renouncing their privileges in the North-West.
Between them, these two capitalist groups had gained possession of five-
ninths of all the land that could be settled. A considerable part of the other
lands was assigned by the State to 26 capitalist ‘colonising companies’.[396]
Thus the Canadian farmer was practically everywhere ensnared by capital
and capitalist speculation. And still mass immigration continued—not only
from Europe, but also from the United States!
These are the characteristics of capitalist domination on an international
scale. Having evicted the peasant from his soil, it drives him from England
to the East of the United States, and from there to the West, and on the ruins
of the Red Indians’ economy it transforms him back into a small commodity
producer. Then, when he is ruined once more, he is driven from the West to
the North. With the railways in the van, and ruin in the rear—capital leads
the way, its passage is marked with universal destruction. The great fall of
prices in the nineties is again succeeded by higher prices for agricultural
products, but this is of no more avail to the small American farmer than to
the European peasant.
North-West Land Company, an association of British capitalists under the
chairmanship of the Duke of Manchester. The second group of capitalists
which was liberally endowed with public lands was the Hudson Bay
Company, which was given a title to no less than one-twentieth of all the
lands between Lake Winnipeg, the U.S. border, the Rocky Mountains, and
Northern Saskatchewan, for renouncing their privileges in the North-West.
Between them, these two capitalist groups had gained possession of five-
ninths of all the land that could be settled. A considerable part of the other
lands was assigned by the State to 26 capitalist ‘colonising companies’.[396]
Thus the Canadian farmer was practically everywhere ensnared by capital
and capitalist speculation. And still mass immigration continued—not only
from Europe, but also from the United States!
These are the characteristics of capitalist domination on an international
scale. Having evicted the peasant from his soil, it drives him from England
to the East of the United States, and from there to the West, and on the ruins
of the Red Indians’ economy it transforms him back into a small commodity
producer. Then, when he is ruined once more, he is driven from the West to
the North. With the railways in the van, and ruin in the rear—capital leads
the way, its passage is marked with universal destruction. The great fall of
prices in the nineties is again succeeded by higher prices for agricultural
products, but this is of no more avail to the small American farmer than to
the European peasant.
Page 395
Yet the numbers of farmers are constantly swelling. In the last decade of the
nineteenth century they had grown from 4,600,000 to 5,700,000, and the
following ten years still saw an absolute increase. The aggregate value of
farms had during the same period risen from £150,240,000 to
£330,360,000.[397] We might have expected the general increase in the price
of farm produce to have helped the farmer to come into his own. But that is
not so; we see that the growing numbers of tenant farmers outstrip the
increase in the farming population as a whole. In 1880, the proportion of
tenant farmers amounted to 25·5 per cent of the total number of farmers in
the Union, in 1890 it was 28·4 per cent, in 1900 35·3 per cent, and in 1910
37·2 per cent.
Though prices for farm produce were rising, the tenant farmer was more
and more rapidly stepping into the shoes of the independent farmer. And
although much more than one-third of all farmers in the Union are now
tenant farmers, their social status in the United States is that of the
agricultural labourer in Europe. Constantly fluctuating, they are indeed
wage-slaves of capital; they work very hard to create wealth for capital,
getting nothing in return but a miserable and precarious existence.
In quite a different historical setting, in South Africa, the same process
shows up even more clearly the ‘peaceful methods’ by which capital
competes with the small commodity producer.
In the Cape Colony and the Boer Republics, pure peasant economy
prevailed until the sixties of the last century. For a long time the Boers had
led the life of animal-tending nomads; they had killed off or driven out the
Hottentots and Kaffirs with a will in order to deprive them of their most
valuable pastures. In the eighteenth century they were given invaluable
assistance by the plague, imported by ships of the East India Company,
which frequently did away with entire Hottentot tribes whose lands then fell
to the Dutch immigrants. When the Boers spread further East, they came in
conflict with the Bantu tribes and initiated the long period of the terrible
Kaffir wars. These god-fearing Dutchmen regarded themselves as the
Chosen People and took no small pride in their old-fashioned Puritan
morals and their intimate knowledge of the Old Testament; yet, not content
with robbing the natives of their land, they built their peasant economy like
parasites on the backs of the Negroes, compelling them to do slave-labour
nineteenth century they had grown from 4,600,000 to 5,700,000, and the
following ten years still saw an absolute increase. The aggregate value of
farms had during the same period risen from £150,240,000 to
£330,360,000.[397] We might have expected the general increase in the price
of farm produce to have helped the farmer to come into his own. But that is
not so; we see that the growing numbers of tenant farmers outstrip the
increase in the farming population as a whole. In 1880, the proportion of
tenant farmers amounted to 25·5 per cent of the total number of farmers in
the Union, in 1890 it was 28·4 per cent, in 1900 35·3 per cent, and in 1910
37·2 per cent.
Though prices for farm produce were rising, the tenant farmer was more
and more rapidly stepping into the shoes of the independent farmer. And
although much more than one-third of all farmers in the Union are now
tenant farmers, their social status in the United States is that of the
agricultural labourer in Europe. Constantly fluctuating, they are indeed
wage-slaves of capital; they work very hard to create wealth for capital,
getting nothing in return but a miserable and precarious existence.
In quite a different historical setting, in South Africa, the same process
shows up even more clearly the ‘peaceful methods’ by which capital
competes with the small commodity producer.
In the Cape Colony and the Boer Republics, pure peasant economy
prevailed until the sixties of the last century. For a long time the Boers had
led the life of animal-tending nomads; they had killed off or driven out the
Hottentots and Kaffirs with a will in order to deprive them of their most
valuable pastures. In the eighteenth century they were given invaluable
assistance by the plague, imported by ships of the East India Company,
which frequently did away with entire Hottentot tribes whose lands then fell
to the Dutch immigrants. When the Boers spread further East, they came in
conflict with the Bantu tribes and initiated the long period of the terrible
Kaffir wars. These god-fearing Dutchmen regarded themselves as the
Chosen People and took no small pride in their old-fashioned Puritan
morals and their intimate knowledge of the Old Testament; yet, not content
with robbing the natives of their land, they built their peasant economy like
parasites on the backs of the Negroes, compelling them to do slave-labour
Page 396
for them and corrupting and enervating them deliberately and
systematically. Liquor played such an important part in this process, that the
prohibition of spirits in the Cape Colony could not be carried through by the
English government because of Puritan opposition. There were no railways
until 1859, and Boer economy in general and on the whole remained
patriarchal and based on natural economy until the sixties. But their
patriarchal attitude did not deter the Boers from extreme brutality and
harshness. It is well known that Livingstone complained much more about
the Boers than about the Kaffirs. The Boers considered the Negroes an
object, destined by God and Nature to slave for them, and as such an
indispensable foundation of their peasant economy. So much so that their
answer to the abolition of slavery in the English colonies in 1836 was the
‘Great Trek’, although there the owners had been compensated with
£3,000,000. By way of the Orange River and Vaal, the Boers emigrated
from the Cape Colony, and in the process they drove the Matabele to the
North, across the Limpopo, setting them against the Makalakas. Just as the
American farmer had driven the Red Indian West before him under the
impact of capitalist economy, so the Boer drove the Negro to the North. The
‘Free Republics’ between the Orange River and the Limpopo thus were
created as a protest against the designs of the English bourgeoisie on the
sacred right of slavery. The tiny peasant republics were in constant guerilla
warfare against the Bantu Negroes. And it was on the backs of the Negroes
that the battle between the Boers and the English government, which went
on for decades, was fought. The Negro question, i.e. the emancipation of
the Negroes, ostensibly aimed at by the English bourgeoisie, served as a
pretext for the conflict between England and the republics. In fact, peasant
economy and great capitalist colonial policy were here competing for the
Hottentots and Kaffirs, that is to say for their land and their labour power.
Both competitors had precisely the same aim: to subject, expel or destroy
the coloured peoples, to appropriate their land and press them into service
by the abolition of their social organisations. Only their methods of
exploitation were fundamentally different. While the Boers stood for out-
dated slavery on a petty scale, on which their patriarchal peasant economy
was founded, the British bourgeoisie represented modern large-scale
capitalist exploitation of the land and the natives. The Constitution of the
Transvaal (South African) Republic declared with crude prejudice: ‘The
systematically. Liquor played such an important part in this process, that the
prohibition of spirits in the Cape Colony could not be carried through by the
English government because of Puritan opposition. There were no railways
until 1859, and Boer economy in general and on the whole remained
patriarchal and based on natural economy until the sixties. But their
patriarchal attitude did not deter the Boers from extreme brutality and
harshness. It is well known that Livingstone complained much more about
the Boers than about the Kaffirs. The Boers considered the Negroes an
object, destined by God and Nature to slave for them, and as such an
indispensable foundation of their peasant economy. So much so that their
answer to the abolition of slavery in the English colonies in 1836 was the
‘Great Trek’, although there the owners had been compensated with
£3,000,000. By way of the Orange River and Vaal, the Boers emigrated
from the Cape Colony, and in the process they drove the Matabele to the
North, across the Limpopo, setting them against the Makalakas. Just as the
American farmer had driven the Red Indian West before him under the
impact of capitalist economy, so the Boer drove the Negro to the North. The
‘Free Republics’ between the Orange River and the Limpopo thus were
created as a protest against the designs of the English bourgeoisie on the
sacred right of slavery. The tiny peasant republics were in constant guerilla
warfare against the Bantu Negroes. And it was on the backs of the Negroes
that the battle between the Boers and the English government, which went
on for decades, was fought. The Negro question, i.e. the emancipation of
the Negroes, ostensibly aimed at by the English bourgeoisie, served as a
pretext for the conflict between England and the republics. In fact, peasant
economy and great capitalist colonial policy were here competing for the
Hottentots and Kaffirs, that is to say for their land and their labour power.
Both competitors had precisely the same aim: to subject, expel or destroy
the coloured peoples, to appropriate their land and press them into service
by the abolition of their social organisations. Only their methods of
exploitation were fundamentally different. While the Boers stood for out-
dated slavery on a petty scale, on which their patriarchal peasant economy
was founded, the British bourgeoisie represented modern large-scale
capitalist exploitation of the land and the natives. The Constitution of the
Transvaal (South African) Republic declared with crude prejudice: ‘The
Page 397
People shall not permit any equality of coloured persons with white
inhabitants, neither in the Church nor in the State.’[398]
In the Orange Free State and in the Transvaal no Negro was allowed to own
land, to travel without papers or to walk abroad after sunset. Bryce tells us
of a case where a farmer, an Englishman as it happened, in the Eastern Cape
Colony had flogged his Kaffir slave to death. When he was acquitted in
open court, his neighbours escorted him home to the strains of music. The
white man frequently maltreated his free native labourers after they had
done their work—to such an extent that they would take to flight, thus
saving the master their wages.
The British government employed precisely the opposite tactics. For a long
time it appeared as protector of the natives; flattering the chieftains in
particular, it supported their authority and tried to make them claim a right
of disposal over their land. Wherever it was possible, it gave them
ownership of tribal land, according to well-tried methods, although this
flew in the face of tradition and of the actual social organisation of the
Negroes. All tribes in fact held their land communally, and even the most
cruel and despotic rulers such as the Matabele Chieftain Lobengula merely
had the right as well as the duty to allot every family a piece of land which
they could only retain so long as they cultivated it. The ultimate purpose of
the British government was clear: long in advance it was preparing for land
robbery on a grand scale, using the native chieftains themselves as tools.
But in the beginning it was content with the ‘pacification’ of the Negroes by
extensive military actions. Up to 1879 were fought 9 bloody Kaffir wars to
break the resistance of the Bantus.
British capital revealed its real intentions only after two important events
had taken place: the discovery of the Kimberley diamond fields in 1869-70,
and the discovery of the gold mines in the Transvaal in 1882-5, which
initiated a new epoch in the history of South Africa. Then the British South
Africa Company, that is to say Cecil Rhodes, went into action. Public
opinion in England rapidly swung over, and the greed for the treasures of
South Africa urged the British government on to drastic measures. South
Africa was suddenly flooded with immigrants who had hitherto only
appeared in small numbers—immigration having been deflected to the
United States. But with the discovery of the diamond and gold fields, the
numbers of white people in the South African colonies grew by leaps and
inhabitants, neither in the Church nor in the State.’[398]
In the Orange Free State and in the Transvaal no Negro was allowed to own
land, to travel without papers or to walk abroad after sunset. Bryce tells us
of a case where a farmer, an Englishman as it happened, in the Eastern Cape
Colony had flogged his Kaffir slave to death. When he was acquitted in
open court, his neighbours escorted him home to the strains of music. The
white man frequently maltreated his free native labourers after they had
done their work—to such an extent that they would take to flight, thus
saving the master their wages.
The British government employed precisely the opposite tactics. For a long
time it appeared as protector of the natives; flattering the chieftains in
particular, it supported their authority and tried to make them claim a right
of disposal over their land. Wherever it was possible, it gave them
ownership of tribal land, according to well-tried methods, although this
flew in the face of tradition and of the actual social organisation of the
Negroes. All tribes in fact held their land communally, and even the most
cruel and despotic rulers such as the Matabele Chieftain Lobengula merely
had the right as well as the duty to allot every family a piece of land which
they could only retain so long as they cultivated it. The ultimate purpose of
the British government was clear: long in advance it was preparing for land
robbery on a grand scale, using the native chieftains themselves as tools.
But in the beginning it was content with the ‘pacification’ of the Negroes by
extensive military actions. Up to 1879 were fought 9 bloody Kaffir wars to
break the resistance of the Bantus.
British capital revealed its real intentions only after two important events
had taken place: the discovery of the Kimberley diamond fields in 1869-70,
and the discovery of the gold mines in the Transvaal in 1882-5, which
initiated a new epoch in the history of South Africa. Then the British South
Africa Company, that is to say Cecil Rhodes, went into action. Public
opinion in England rapidly swung over, and the greed for the treasures of
South Africa urged the British government on to drastic measures. South
Africa was suddenly flooded with immigrants who had hitherto only
appeared in small numbers—immigration having been deflected to the
United States. But with the discovery of the diamond and gold fields, the
numbers of white people in the South African colonies grew by leaps and
Page 398
bounds: between 1885 and 1895, 100,000 British had immigrated into
Witwatersrand alone. The modest peasant economy was forthwith pushed
into the background—the mines, and thus the mining capital, coming to the
fore. The policy of the British government veered round abruptly. Great
Britain had recognised the Boer Republics by the Sand River Agreement
and the Treaty of Bloemfontein in the fifties. Now her political might
advanced upon the tiny republics from every side, occupying all
neighbouring districts and cutting off all possibility of expansion. At the
same time the Negroes, no longer protected favourites, were sacrificed.
British capital was steadily forging ahead. In 1868, Britain took over the
rule of Basutoland—only, of course, because the natives had ‘repeatedly
implored’ her to do so.[399] In 1871, the Witwatersrand diamond fields, or
West Griqualand, were seized from the Orange Free State and turned into a
Crown Colony. In 1879, Zululand was subjected, later to become part of the
Natal Colony; in 1885 followed the subjection of Bechuanaland, to be
joined to the Cape Colony. In 1888 Britain took over Matabele and
Mashonaland, and in 1889 the British South Africa Company was given a
Charter for both these districts, again, of course, only to oblige the natives
and at their request.[400] Between 1884 and 1887, Britain annexed St. Lucia
Bay and the entire East Coast as far as the Portuguese possessions. In 1894,
she subjected Tongaland. With their last strength, the Matabele and
Mashona fought one more desperate battle, but the Company, with Rhodes
at the head, first liquidated the rising in blood and at once proceeded to the
well-tried measure for civilising and pacifying the natives: two large
railways were built in the rebellious district.
The Boer Republics were feeling increasingly uncomfortable in this sudden
stranglehold, and their internal affairs as well were becoming completely
disorganised. The overwhelming influx of immigrants and the rising tides
of the frenzied new capitalist economy now threatened to burst the barriers
of the small peasant states. There was indeed a blatant conflict between
agricultural and political peasant economy on the one hand, and the
demands and requirements of the accumulation of capital on the other. In all
respects, the republics were quite unable to cope with these new problems.
The constant danger from the Kaffirs, no doubt regarded favourably by the
British, the unwieldy, primitive administration, the gradual corruption of the
volksraad in which the great capitalists got their way by bribery, lack of a
Witwatersrand alone. The modest peasant economy was forthwith pushed
into the background—the mines, and thus the mining capital, coming to the
fore. The policy of the British government veered round abruptly. Great
Britain had recognised the Boer Republics by the Sand River Agreement
and the Treaty of Bloemfontein in the fifties. Now her political might
advanced upon the tiny republics from every side, occupying all
neighbouring districts and cutting off all possibility of expansion. At the
same time the Negroes, no longer protected favourites, were sacrificed.
British capital was steadily forging ahead. In 1868, Britain took over the
rule of Basutoland—only, of course, because the natives had ‘repeatedly
implored’ her to do so.[399] In 1871, the Witwatersrand diamond fields, or
West Griqualand, were seized from the Orange Free State and turned into a
Crown Colony. In 1879, Zululand was subjected, later to become part of the
Natal Colony; in 1885 followed the subjection of Bechuanaland, to be
joined to the Cape Colony. In 1888 Britain took over Matabele and
Mashonaland, and in 1889 the British South Africa Company was given a
Charter for both these districts, again, of course, only to oblige the natives
and at their request.[400] Between 1884 and 1887, Britain annexed St. Lucia
Bay and the entire East Coast as far as the Portuguese possessions. In 1894,
she subjected Tongaland. With their last strength, the Matabele and
Mashona fought one more desperate battle, but the Company, with Rhodes
at the head, first liquidated the rising in blood and at once proceeded to the
well-tried measure for civilising and pacifying the natives: two large
railways were built in the rebellious district.
The Boer Republics were feeling increasingly uncomfortable in this sudden
stranglehold, and their internal affairs as well were becoming completely
disorganised. The overwhelming influx of immigrants and the rising tides
of the frenzied new capitalist economy now threatened to burst the barriers
of the small peasant states. There was indeed a blatant conflict between
agricultural and political peasant economy on the one hand, and the
demands and requirements of the accumulation of capital on the other. In all
respects, the republics were quite unable to cope with these new problems.
The constant danger from the Kaffirs, no doubt regarded favourably by the
British, the unwieldy, primitive administration, the gradual corruption of the
volksraad in which the great capitalists got their way by bribery, lack of a
Page 399
police force to keep the undisciplined crowds of adventurers in some
semblance of order, the absence of labour legislation for regulating and
securing the exploitation of the Negroes in the mines, lack of water supplies
and transport to provide for the colony of 100,000 immigrants that had
suddenly sprung up, high protective tariffs which increased the cost of
labour for the capitalists, and high freights for coal—all these factors
combined towards the sudden and stunning bankruptcy of the peasant
republics.
They tried, obstinately and unimaginatively, to defend themselves against
the sudden eruption of capitalism which engulfed them, with an incredibly
crude measure, such as only a stubborn and hide-bound peasant brain could
have devised: they denied all civic rights to the uitlanders who
outnumbered them by far and who stood for capital, power, and the trend of
the time. In those critical times it was an ill-omened trick. The
mismanagement of the peasant republics caused a considerable reduction of
dividends, on no account to be put up with. Mining capital had come to the
end of its tether. The British South Africa Company built railroads, put
down the Kaffirs, organised revolts of the uitlanders and finally provoked
the Boer War. The bell had tolled for peasant economy. In the United States,
the economic revolution had begun with a war, in South Africa war put the
period to this chapter. Yet in both instances, the outcome was the same:
capital triumphed over the small peasant economy which had in its turn
come into being on the ruins of natural economy, represented by the
natives’ primitive organisations. The domination of capital was a foregone
conclusion, and it was just as hopeless for the Boer Republics to resist as it
had been for the American farmer. Capital officially took over the reins in
the new South African Union which replaced the small peasant republics by
a great modern state, as envisaged by Cecil Rhodes’ imperialist programme.
The new conflict between capital and labour had superseded the old one
between British and Dutch. One million white exploiters of both nations
sealed their touching fraternal alliance within the Union with the civil and
political disfranchisement of five million coloured workers. Not only the
Negroes of the Boer Republics came away empty-handed, but the natives of
the Cape Colony, whom the British government had at one time granted
political equality, were also deprived of some of their rights. And this noble
work, culminating under the imperialist policy of the Conservatives in open
oppression, was actually to be finished by the Liberal Party itself, amid
semblance of order, the absence of labour legislation for regulating and
securing the exploitation of the Negroes in the mines, lack of water supplies
and transport to provide for the colony of 100,000 immigrants that had
suddenly sprung up, high protective tariffs which increased the cost of
labour for the capitalists, and high freights for coal—all these factors
combined towards the sudden and stunning bankruptcy of the peasant
republics.
They tried, obstinately and unimaginatively, to defend themselves against
the sudden eruption of capitalism which engulfed them, with an incredibly
crude measure, such as only a stubborn and hide-bound peasant brain could
have devised: they denied all civic rights to the uitlanders who
outnumbered them by far and who stood for capital, power, and the trend of
the time. In those critical times it was an ill-omened trick. The
mismanagement of the peasant republics caused a considerable reduction of
dividends, on no account to be put up with. Mining capital had come to the
end of its tether. The British South Africa Company built railroads, put
down the Kaffirs, organised revolts of the uitlanders and finally provoked
the Boer War. The bell had tolled for peasant economy. In the United States,
the economic revolution had begun with a war, in South Africa war put the
period to this chapter. Yet in both instances, the outcome was the same:
capital triumphed over the small peasant economy which had in its turn
come into being on the ruins of natural economy, represented by the
natives’ primitive organisations. The domination of capital was a foregone
conclusion, and it was just as hopeless for the Boer Republics to resist as it
had been for the American farmer. Capital officially took over the reins in
the new South African Union which replaced the small peasant republics by
a great modern state, as envisaged by Cecil Rhodes’ imperialist programme.
The new conflict between capital and labour had superseded the old one
between British and Dutch. One million white exploiters of both nations
sealed their touching fraternal alliance within the Union with the civil and
political disfranchisement of five million coloured workers. Not only the
Negroes of the Boer Republics came away empty-handed, but the natives of
the Cape Colony, whom the British government had at one time granted
political equality, were also deprived of some of their rights. And this noble
work, culminating under the imperialist policy of the Conservatives in open
oppression, was actually to be finished by the Liberal Party itself, amid
Page 400
frenzied applause from the ‘liberal cretins of Europe’ who with sentimental
pride took as proof of the still continuing creative vigour and greatness of
English liberalism the fact that Britain had granted complete self-
government and freedom to a handful of whites in South Africa.
The ruin of independent craftsmanship by capitalist competition, no less
painful for being soft-pedalled, deserves by rights a chapter to itself. The
most sinister part of such a chapter would be out-work under capitalism;—
but we need not dwell on these phenomena here.
The general result of the struggle between capitalism and simple
commodity production is this: after substituting commodity economy for
natural economy, capital takes the place of simple commodity economy.
Non-capitalist organisations provide a fertile soil for capitalism; more
strictly: capital feeds on the ruins of such organisations, and although this
non-capitalist milieu is indispensable for accumulation, the latter proceeds
at the cost of this medium nevertheless, by eating it up. Historically, the
accumulation of capital is a kind of metabolism between capitalist economy
and those pre-capitalist methods of production without which it cannot go
on and which, in this light, it corrodes and assimilates. Thus capital cannot
accumulate without the aid of non-capitalist organisations, nor, on the other
hand, can it tolerate their continued existence side by side with itself. Only
the continuous and progressive disintegration of non-capitalist organisations
makes accumulation of capital possible.
The premises which are postulated in Marx’s diagram of accumulation
accordingly represent no more than the historical tendency of the movement
of accumulation and its logical conclusion. The accumulative process
endeavours everywhere to substitute simple commodity economy for
natural economy. Its ultimate aim, that is to say, is to establish the exclusive
and universal domination of capitalist production in all countries and for all
branches of industry.
Yet this argument does not lead anywhere. As soon as this final result is
achieved—in theory, of course, because it can never actually happen—
accumulation must come to a stop. The realisation and capitalisation of
surplus value become impossible to accomplish. Just as soon as reality
begins to correspond to Marx’s diagram of enlarged reproduction, the end
of accumulation is in sight, it has reached its limits, and capitalist
pride took as proof of the still continuing creative vigour and greatness of
English liberalism the fact that Britain had granted complete self-
government and freedom to a handful of whites in South Africa.
The ruin of independent craftsmanship by capitalist competition, no less
painful for being soft-pedalled, deserves by rights a chapter to itself. The
most sinister part of such a chapter would be out-work under capitalism;—
but we need not dwell on these phenomena here.
The general result of the struggle between capitalism and simple
commodity production is this: after substituting commodity economy for
natural economy, capital takes the place of simple commodity economy.
Non-capitalist organisations provide a fertile soil for capitalism; more
strictly: capital feeds on the ruins of such organisations, and although this
non-capitalist milieu is indispensable for accumulation, the latter proceeds
at the cost of this medium nevertheless, by eating it up. Historically, the
accumulation of capital is a kind of metabolism between capitalist economy
and those pre-capitalist methods of production without which it cannot go
on and which, in this light, it corrodes and assimilates. Thus capital cannot
accumulate without the aid of non-capitalist organisations, nor, on the other
hand, can it tolerate their continued existence side by side with itself. Only
the continuous and progressive disintegration of non-capitalist organisations
makes accumulation of capital possible.
The premises which are postulated in Marx’s diagram of accumulation
accordingly represent no more than the historical tendency of the movement
of accumulation and its logical conclusion. The accumulative process
endeavours everywhere to substitute simple commodity economy for
natural economy. Its ultimate aim, that is to say, is to establish the exclusive
and universal domination of capitalist production in all countries and for all
branches of industry.
Yet this argument does not lead anywhere. As soon as this final result is
achieved—in theory, of course, because it can never actually happen—
accumulation must come to a stop. The realisation and capitalisation of
surplus value become impossible to accomplish. Just as soon as reality
begins to correspond to Marx’s diagram of enlarged reproduction, the end
of accumulation is in sight, it has reached its limits, and capitalist
Page 401
production is in extremis. For capital, the standstill of accumulation means
that the development of the productive forces is arrested, and the collapse of
capitalism follows inevitably, as an objective historical necessity. This is the
reason for the contradictory behaviour of capitalism in the final stage of its
historical career: imperialism.
Marx’s diagram of enlarged reproduction thus does not conform to the
conditions of an accumulation in actual progress. Progressive accumulation
cannot be reduced to static interrelations and interdependence between the
two great departments of social production (the departments of producer
and consumer goods), as the diagram would have it. Accumulation is more
than an internal relationship between the branches of capitalist economy; it
is primarily a relationship between capital and a non-capitalist environment,
where the two great departments of production sometimes perform the
accumulative process on their own, independently of each other, but even
then at every step the movements overlap and intersect. From this we get
most complicated relations, divergencies in the speed and direction of
accumulation for the two departments, different relations with non-capitalist
modes of production as regards both material elements and elements of
value, which we cannot possibly lay down in rigid formulæ. Marx’s
diagram of accumulation is only the theoretical reflection of the precise
moment when the domination of capital has reached its limits, and thus it is
no less a fiction than his diagram of simple reproduction, which gives the
theoretical formulation for the point of departure of capitalist accumulation.
The precise definition of capitalist accumulation and its laws lies
somewhere in between these two fictions.
that the development of the productive forces is arrested, and the collapse of
capitalism follows inevitably, as an objective historical necessity. This is the
reason for the contradictory behaviour of capitalism in the final stage of its
historical career: imperialism.
Marx’s diagram of enlarged reproduction thus does not conform to the
conditions of an accumulation in actual progress. Progressive accumulation
cannot be reduced to static interrelations and interdependence between the
two great departments of social production (the departments of producer
and consumer goods), as the diagram would have it. Accumulation is more
than an internal relationship between the branches of capitalist economy; it
is primarily a relationship between capital and a non-capitalist environment,
where the two great departments of production sometimes perform the
accumulative process on their own, independently of each other, but even
then at every step the movements overlap and intersect. From this we get
most complicated relations, divergencies in the speed and direction of
accumulation for the two departments, different relations with non-capitalist
modes of production as regards both material elements and elements of
value, which we cannot possibly lay down in rigid formulæ. Marx’s
diagram of accumulation is only the theoretical reflection of the precise
moment when the domination of capital has reached its limits, and thus it is
no less a fiction than his diagram of simple reproduction, which gives the
theoretical formulation for the point of departure of capitalist accumulation.
The precise definition of capitalist accumulation and its laws lies
somewhere in between these two fictions.
Page 402
CHAPTER XXX
Page 403
INTERNATIONAL LOANS
The imperialist phase of capitalist accumulation which implies universal
competition comprises the industrialisation and capitalist emancipation of
the hinterland where capital formerly realised its surplus value.
Characteristic of this phase are: lending abroad, railroad constructions,
revolutions, and wars. The last decade, from 1900 to 1910, shows in
particular the world-wide movement of capital, especially in Asia and
neighbouring Europe: in Russia, Turkey, Persia, India, Japan, China, and
also in North Africa. Just as the substitution of commodity economy for a
natural economy and that of capitalist production for a simple commodity
production was achieved by wars, social crises and the destruction of entire
social systems, so at present the achievement of capitalist autonomy in the
hinterland and backward colonies is attained amidst wars and revolutions.
Revolution is an essential for the process of capitalist emancipation. The
backward communities must shed their obsolete political organisations,
relics of natural and simple commodity economy, and create a modern state
machinery adapted to the purposes of capitalist production. The revolutions
in Turkey, Russia, and China fall under this heading. The last two, in
particular, do not exclusively serve the immediate political requirements of
capitalism; to some extent they carry over outmoded pre-capitalist claims
while on the other hand they already embody new conflicts which run
counter to the domination of capital. These factors account for their
immense drive, but at the same time impede and delay the ultimate victory
of the revolutionary forces. A young state will usually sever the leading
strings of older capitalist states by wars, which temper and test the modern
state’s capitalist independence in a baptism by fire. That is why military
together with financial reforms invariably herald the bid for economic
independence.
The forward-thrusts of capital are approximately reflected in the
development of the railway network. The permanent way grew most
quickly in Europe during the forties, in America in the fifties, in Asia in the
sixties, in Australia during the seventies and eighties, and during the
nineties in Africa.[401]
The imperialist phase of capitalist accumulation which implies universal
competition comprises the industrialisation and capitalist emancipation of
the hinterland where capital formerly realised its surplus value.
Characteristic of this phase are: lending abroad, railroad constructions,
revolutions, and wars. The last decade, from 1900 to 1910, shows in
particular the world-wide movement of capital, especially in Asia and
neighbouring Europe: in Russia, Turkey, Persia, India, Japan, China, and
also in North Africa. Just as the substitution of commodity economy for a
natural economy and that of capitalist production for a simple commodity
production was achieved by wars, social crises and the destruction of entire
social systems, so at present the achievement of capitalist autonomy in the
hinterland and backward colonies is attained amidst wars and revolutions.
Revolution is an essential for the process of capitalist emancipation. The
backward communities must shed their obsolete political organisations,
relics of natural and simple commodity economy, and create a modern state
machinery adapted to the purposes of capitalist production. The revolutions
in Turkey, Russia, and China fall under this heading. The last two, in
particular, do not exclusively serve the immediate political requirements of
capitalism; to some extent they carry over outmoded pre-capitalist claims
while on the other hand they already embody new conflicts which run
counter to the domination of capital. These factors account for their
immense drive, but at the same time impede and delay the ultimate victory
of the revolutionary forces. A young state will usually sever the leading
strings of older capitalist states by wars, which temper and test the modern
state’s capitalist independence in a baptism by fire. That is why military
together with financial reforms invariably herald the bid for economic
independence.
The forward-thrusts of capital are approximately reflected in the
development of the railway network. The permanent way grew most
quickly in Europe during the forties, in America in the fifties, in Asia in the
sixties, in Australia during the seventies and eighties, and during the
nineties in Africa.[401]
Page 404
Public loans for railroad building and armaments accompany all stages of
the accumulation of capital: the introduction of commodity economy,
industrialisation of countries, capitalist revolutionisation of agriculture as
well as the emancipation of young capitalist states. For the accumulation of
capital, the loan has various functions: (a) it serves to convert the money of
non-capitalist groups into capital, i.e. money both as a commodity
equivalent (lower middle-class savings) and as fund of consumption for the
hangers-on of the capitalist class; (b) it serves to transform money capital
into productive capital by means of state enterprise—railroad building and
military supplies; (c) it serves to divert accumulated capital from the old
capitalist countries to young ones. In the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, the loan transferred capital from the Italian cities to England, in
the eighteenth century from Holland to England, in the nineteenth century
from England to the American Republics and Australia, from France,
Germany and Belgium to Russia, and at the present time [1912] from
Germany to Turkey, from England, Germany and France to China, and, via
Russia, to Persia.
In the Imperialist Era, the foreign loan played an outstanding part as a
means for young capitalist states to acquire independence. The
contradictions inherent in the modern system of foreign loans are the
concrete expression of those which characterise the imperialist phase.
Though foreign loans are indispensable for the emancipation of the rising
capitalist states, they are yet the surest ties by which the old capitalist states
maintain their influence, exercise financial control and exert pressure on the
customs, foreign and commercial policy of the young capitalist states. Pre-
eminently channels for the investment in new spheres of capital
accumulated in the old countries, such loans widen the scope for the
accumulation of capital; but at the same time they restrict it by creating new
competition for the investing countries.
These inherent conflicts of the international loan system are a classic
example of spatio-temporal divergencies between the conditions for the
realisation of surplus value and the capitalisation thereof. While realisation
of the surplus value requires only the general spreading of commodity
production, its capitalisation demands the progressive supercession of
simple commodity production by capitalist economy, with the corollary that
the limits to both the realisation and the capitalisation of surplus value keep
the accumulation of capital: the introduction of commodity economy,
industrialisation of countries, capitalist revolutionisation of agriculture as
well as the emancipation of young capitalist states. For the accumulation of
capital, the loan has various functions: (a) it serves to convert the money of
non-capitalist groups into capital, i.e. money both as a commodity
equivalent (lower middle-class savings) and as fund of consumption for the
hangers-on of the capitalist class; (b) it serves to transform money capital
into productive capital by means of state enterprise—railroad building and
military supplies; (c) it serves to divert accumulated capital from the old
capitalist countries to young ones. In the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, the loan transferred capital from the Italian cities to England, in
the eighteenth century from Holland to England, in the nineteenth century
from England to the American Republics and Australia, from France,
Germany and Belgium to Russia, and at the present time [1912] from
Germany to Turkey, from England, Germany and France to China, and, via
Russia, to Persia.
In the Imperialist Era, the foreign loan played an outstanding part as a
means for young capitalist states to acquire independence. The
contradictions inherent in the modern system of foreign loans are the
concrete expression of those which characterise the imperialist phase.
Though foreign loans are indispensable for the emancipation of the rising
capitalist states, they are yet the surest ties by which the old capitalist states
maintain their influence, exercise financial control and exert pressure on the
customs, foreign and commercial policy of the young capitalist states. Pre-
eminently channels for the investment in new spheres of capital
accumulated in the old countries, such loans widen the scope for the
accumulation of capital; but at the same time they restrict it by creating new
competition for the investing countries.
These inherent conflicts of the international loan system are a classic
example of spatio-temporal divergencies between the conditions for the
realisation of surplus value and the capitalisation thereof. While realisation
of the surplus value requires only the general spreading of commodity
production, its capitalisation demands the progressive supercession of
simple commodity production by capitalist economy, with the corollary that
the limits to both the realisation and the capitalisation of surplus value keep
Page 405
contracting ever more. Employment of international capital in the
construction of the international railway network reflects this disparity.
Between the thirties and the sixties of the nineteenth century, railway
building and the loans necessary for it mainly served to oust natural
economy, and to spread commodity economy—as in the case of the Russian
railway loans in the sixties, or in that of the American railways which were
built with European capital. Railway construction in Africa and Asia during
the last twenty years, on the other hand, almost exclusively served the
purposes of an imperialist policy, of economic monopolisation and
economic subjugation of the backward communities. As regards Russia’s
railroad construction in Eastern Asia, for instance, it is common knowledge
that Russia had paved the way for the military occupation of Manchuria by
sending troops to protect her engineers working on the Manchurian railway.
With the same object in view, Russia obtained railway concessions in
Persia, Germany in Asia Minor and Mesopotamia, and Britain and Germany
in Africa.
In this connection, we must deal with a misunderstanding concerning the
capital investments in foreign countries and the demand of these countries
for capital imports. Already in the early twenties of the last century, the
export of British capital to America played an important part, being largely
responsible for the first genuine industrial and commercial crises in
England in 1825. Since 1824, the London stock exchange had been flooded
with South American stocks and shares. During the following year, the
newly created states of South and Central America raised loans in London
alone for more than £20,000,000, and in addition, enormous quantities of
South American industrial shares and similar bonds were sold. This sudden
prosperity and the opening up of the South American markets in their turn
called forth greatly increased exports of British commodities to the Latin
Americas. British commodity exports to these countries amounted to
£2,900,000 in 1821 which had risen to £6,400,000 by 1825.
Cotton textiles formed the most important item of these exports; this
powerful demand was the impetus for a rapid expansion of British cotton
production, and many new factories were opened. In 1821, raw cotton to the
value of £m. 129 was made up in England, and in 1826 the amount had
risen to £m. 167.
construction of the international railway network reflects this disparity.
Between the thirties and the sixties of the nineteenth century, railway
building and the loans necessary for it mainly served to oust natural
economy, and to spread commodity economy—as in the case of the Russian
railway loans in the sixties, or in that of the American railways which were
built with European capital. Railway construction in Africa and Asia during
the last twenty years, on the other hand, almost exclusively served the
purposes of an imperialist policy, of economic monopolisation and
economic subjugation of the backward communities. As regards Russia’s
railroad construction in Eastern Asia, for instance, it is common knowledge
that Russia had paved the way for the military occupation of Manchuria by
sending troops to protect her engineers working on the Manchurian railway.
With the same object in view, Russia obtained railway concessions in
Persia, Germany in Asia Minor and Mesopotamia, and Britain and Germany
in Africa.
In this connection, we must deal with a misunderstanding concerning the
capital investments in foreign countries and the demand of these countries
for capital imports. Already in the early twenties of the last century, the
export of British capital to America played an important part, being largely
responsible for the first genuine industrial and commercial crises in
England in 1825. Since 1824, the London stock exchange had been flooded
with South American stocks and shares. During the following year, the
newly created states of South and Central America raised loans in London
alone for more than £20,000,000, and in addition, enormous quantities of
South American industrial shares and similar bonds were sold. This sudden
prosperity and the opening up of the South American markets in their turn
called forth greatly increased exports of British commodities to the Latin
Americas. British commodity exports to these countries amounted to
£2,900,000 in 1821 which had risen to £6,400,000 by 1825.
Cotton textiles formed the most important item of these exports; this
powerful demand was the impetus for a rapid expansion of British cotton
production, and many new factories were opened. In 1821, raw cotton to the
value of £m. 129 was made up in England, and in 1826 the amount had
risen to £m. 167.
Page 406
The situation was thus fraught with the elements of a crisis. Tugan
Baranovski raises the question: ‘But from where did the South American
countries take the means to buy twice as many commodities in 1825 as in
1821? The British themselves supplied these means. The loans floated on
the London stock exchange served as payment for imported goods.
Deceived by the demand they had themselves created, the British factory-
owners were soon brought to realise by their own experience that their high
expectations had been unfounded.’[402]
He thus characterises as ‘deceptive’, as an unhealthy, abnormal economic
phenomenon the fact that the South American demand for English goods
had been brought about by British capital. Thus uncritically he took over
the doctrine of an expert with whose other theories he wished to have
nothing in common. The opinion had been advanced already during the
English crisis of 1825 that it could be explained by the ‘singular’
development of the relations between British capital and South American
demand. None other than Sismondi had raised the same question as Tugan
Baranovski and given a most accurate description of events in the second
edition of his Nouveaux Principes:
‘The opening up of the immense market afforded by Spanish America to
industrial producers seemed to offer a good opportunity to relieve British
manufacture. The British government were of that opinion, and in the seven
years following the crisis of 1818, displayed unheard-of activity to carry
English commerce to penetrate the remotest districts of Mexico, Columbia,
Brazil, Rio de la Plata, Chile and Peru. Before the government decided to
recognise these new states, it had to protect English commerce by frequent
calls of battleships whose captains had a diplomatic rather than a military
mission. In consequence, it had defied the clamours of the Holy Alliance
and recognised the new republics at a moment when the whole of Europe,
on the contrary, was plotting their ruin. But however big the demand
afforded by free America, yet it would not have been enough to absorb all
the goods England had produced over and above the needs of consumption,
had not their means for buying English merchandise been suddenly
increased beyond all bounds by the loans to the new republics. Every
American state borrowed from England an amount sufficient to consolidate
its government. Although they were capital loans, they were immediately
spent in the course of the year like income, that is to say they were used up
Baranovski raises the question: ‘But from where did the South American
countries take the means to buy twice as many commodities in 1825 as in
1821? The British themselves supplied these means. The loans floated on
the London stock exchange served as payment for imported goods.
Deceived by the demand they had themselves created, the British factory-
owners were soon brought to realise by their own experience that their high
expectations had been unfounded.’[402]
He thus characterises as ‘deceptive’, as an unhealthy, abnormal economic
phenomenon the fact that the South American demand for English goods
had been brought about by British capital. Thus uncritically he took over
the doctrine of an expert with whose other theories he wished to have
nothing in common. The opinion had been advanced already during the
English crisis of 1825 that it could be explained by the ‘singular’
development of the relations between British capital and South American
demand. None other than Sismondi had raised the same question as Tugan
Baranovski and given a most accurate description of events in the second
edition of his Nouveaux Principes:
‘The opening up of the immense market afforded by Spanish America to
industrial producers seemed to offer a good opportunity to relieve British
manufacture. The British government were of that opinion, and in the seven
years following the crisis of 1818, displayed unheard-of activity to carry
English commerce to penetrate the remotest districts of Mexico, Columbia,
Brazil, Rio de la Plata, Chile and Peru. Before the government decided to
recognise these new states, it had to protect English commerce by frequent
calls of battleships whose captains had a diplomatic rather than a military
mission. In consequence, it had defied the clamours of the Holy Alliance
and recognised the new republics at a moment when the whole of Europe,
on the contrary, was plotting their ruin. But however big the demand
afforded by free America, yet it would not have been enough to absorb all
the goods England had produced over and above the needs of consumption,
had not their means for buying English merchandise been suddenly
increased beyond all bounds by the loans to the new republics. Every
American state borrowed from England an amount sufficient to consolidate
its government. Although they were capital loans, they were immediately
spent in the course of the year like income, that is to say they were used up
Page 407
entirely to buy English goods on behalf of the treasury, or to pay for those
which had been dispatched on private orders. At the same time, numerous
companies with immense capitals were formed to exploit all the American
mines, but all the money they spent found its way back to England, either to
pay for the machinery which they immediately used, or else for the goods
sent to the localities where they were to work. As long as this singular
commerce lasted, in which the English only asked the Americans to be kind
enough to buy English merchandise with English capital, and to consume
them for their sake, the prosperity of English manufacture appeared
dazzling. It was no more income but rather English capital which was used
to push on consumption: the English themselves bought and paid for their
own goods which they sent to America, and thereby merely forwent the
pleasure of using these goods.’[403]
From this Sismondi drew the characteristic conclusion that the real limits to
the capitalist market are set by income, i.e. by personal consumption alone,
and he used this example as one more warning against accumulation.
Down to the present day, the events which preceded the crisis of 1825 have
remained typical for a period of boom and expansion of capital, and such
‘singular commerce’ is in fact one of the most important foundations of the
accumulation of capital. Particularly in the history of British capital, it
occurs regularly before every crisis, as Tugan Baranovski himself showed
by the following facts and figures: the immediate cause of the 1836 crisis
was the flooding of the American market with British goods, again financed
by British money. In 1834, U.S. commodity imports exceeded exports by
£m. 1·2 but at the same time their imports of precious metal exceeded
exports by nearly £m. 3·2. Even in 1836, the year of the crisis itself, their
surplus of imported commodities amounted to £m. 10·4, and still the excess
of bullion imported was £m. 1. This influx of money, no less than the
stream of goods, came chiefly from England, where U.S. railway shares
were bought in bulk. 1835/6 saw the opening in the United States of sixty-
one new banks with a capital of £m. 10·4, predominantly British. Again, the
English paid for their exports themselves. The unprecedented industrial
boom in the Northern States of the Union, eventually leading to the Civil
War, was likewise financed by British capital, which again created an
expanding market for British industry in the United States.
which had been dispatched on private orders. At the same time, numerous
companies with immense capitals were formed to exploit all the American
mines, but all the money they spent found its way back to England, either to
pay for the machinery which they immediately used, or else for the goods
sent to the localities where they were to work. As long as this singular
commerce lasted, in which the English only asked the Americans to be kind
enough to buy English merchandise with English capital, and to consume
them for their sake, the prosperity of English manufacture appeared
dazzling. It was no more income but rather English capital which was used
to push on consumption: the English themselves bought and paid for their
own goods which they sent to America, and thereby merely forwent the
pleasure of using these goods.’[403]
From this Sismondi drew the characteristic conclusion that the real limits to
the capitalist market are set by income, i.e. by personal consumption alone,
and he used this example as one more warning against accumulation.
Down to the present day, the events which preceded the crisis of 1825 have
remained typical for a period of boom and expansion of capital, and such
‘singular commerce’ is in fact one of the most important foundations of the
accumulation of capital. Particularly in the history of British capital, it
occurs regularly before every crisis, as Tugan Baranovski himself showed
by the following facts and figures: the immediate cause of the 1836 crisis
was the flooding of the American market with British goods, again financed
by British money. In 1834, U.S. commodity imports exceeded exports by
£m. 1·2 but at the same time their imports of precious metal exceeded
exports by nearly £m. 3·2. Even in 1836, the year of the crisis itself, their
surplus of imported commodities amounted to £m. 10·4, and still the excess
of bullion imported was £m. 1. This influx of money, no less than the
stream of goods, came chiefly from England, where U.S. railway shares
were bought in bulk. 1835/6 saw the opening in the United States of sixty-
one new banks with a capital of £m. 10·4, predominantly British. Again, the
English paid for their exports themselves. The unprecedented industrial
boom in the Northern States of the Union, eventually leading to the Civil
War, was likewise financed by British capital, which again created an
expanding market for British industry in the United States.
Page 408
And not only British capital—other European capitals also made every
possible effort to take part in this ‘singular commerce’. To quote Schaeffle,
in the five years between 1849 and 1854, at least £m. 100 were invested in
American shares on the various stock exchanges of Europe. The
simultaneous revival of world industry attained such dimensions that it
culminated in the world crash of 1857.—In the sixties, British capital lost
no time in creating similar conditions in Asia as well as the United States.
An unending stream was diverted to Asia Minor and East India, where it
financed the most magnificent railroad projects. The permanent way of
British India amounted in 1860 to 844 miles, in 1870 to 4,802 miles, in
1880 to 9,361 miles and in 1890 to 16,875 miles. This at once increased the
demand for British commodities. No sooner had the War of Secession come
to a close, than British capital again flowed into the United States. It again
paid for the greater part of the enormous railroad constructions in the Union
during the sixties and seventies, the permanent way amounting in 1850 to
8,844 miles, in 1860 to 30,807 miles, in 1870 to 53,212 miles, in 1880 to
94,198 miles, and in 1890 to 179,005 miles. Materials for these railways
were also being supplied by England—one of the main causes for the rapid
development of the British coal and iron industries and the reasons why
these industries were so seriously affected by the American crises of 1866,
1873 and 1884. What Sismondi considered sheer lunacy was in this instance
literally true: the British with their own materials, their own iron etc., had
built railroads in the United States, they had paid for the railways with their
own capital and only forwent their ‘use’. In spite of all periodical crises,
however, European capital had acquired such a taste for this madness, that
the London stock exchange was seized by a veritable epidemic of foreign
loans in the middle of the seventies. Between 1870 and 1875, loans of this
kind, amounting to £m. 260, were raised in London. The immediate
consequence was a rapid increase in the overseas export of British
merchandise. Although the foreign countries concerned went periodically
bankrupt, masses of capital continued to flow in. Turkey, Egypt, Greece,
Bolivia, Costa Rica, Ecuador, Honduras, Mexico, Paraguay, Peru, St.
Domingo, Uruguay, and Venezuela completely or partially suspended their
payments of interest in the late seventies. Yet undeterred by this, the fever
for exotic state loans burst out again at the end of the eighties—the South
American states and South African colonies were lent immense quantities
possible effort to take part in this ‘singular commerce’. To quote Schaeffle,
in the five years between 1849 and 1854, at least £m. 100 were invested in
American shares on the various stock exchanges of Europe. The
simultaneous revival of world industry attained such dimensions that it
culminated in the world crash of 1857.—In the sixties, British capital lost
no time in creating similar conditions in Asia as well as the United States.
An unending stream was diverted to Asia Minor and East India, where it
financed the most magnificent railroad projects. The permanent way of
British India amounted in 1860 to 844 miles, in 1870 to 4,802 miles, in
1880 to 9,361 miles and in 1890 to 16,875 miles. This at once increased the
demand for British commodities. No sooner had the War of Secession come
to a close, than British capital again flowed into the United States. It again
paid for the greater part of the enormous railroad constructions in the Union
during the sixties and seventies, the permanent way amounting in 1850 to
8,844 miles, in 1860 to 30,807 miles, in 1870 to 53,212 miles, in 1880 to
94,198 miles, and in 1890 to 179,005 miles. Materials for these railways
were also being supplied by England—one of the main causes for the rapid
development of the British coal and iron industries and the reasons why
these industries were so seriously affected by the American crises of 1866,
1873 and 1884. What Sismondi considered sheer lunacy was in this instance
literally true: the British with their own materials, their own iron etc., had
built railroads in the United States, they had paid for the railways with their
own capital and only forwent their ‘use’. In spite of all periodical crises,
however, European capital had acquired such a taste for this madness, that
the London stock exchange was seized by a veritable epidemic of foreign
loans in the middle of the seventies. Between 1870 and 1875, loans of this
kind, amounting to £m. 260, were raised in London. The immediate
consequence was a rapid increase in the overseas export of British
merchandise. Although the foreign countries concerned went periodically
bankrupt, masses of capital continued to flow in. Turkey, Egypt, Greece,
Bolivia, Costa Rica, Ecuador, Honduras, Mexico, Paraguay, Peru, St.
Domingo, Uruguay, and Venezuela completely or partially suspended their
payments of interest in the late seventies. Yet undeterred by this, the fever
for exotic state loans burst out again at the end of the eighties—the South
American states and South African colonies were lent immense quantities
Page 409
of European capital. In 1874, for instance, the Argentine Republic borrowed
as much as £m. 10 and the loan had risen to £m. 59 by 1890.
England built railways with her own iron and coal in all these countries as
well, paying for them with her own capital. In 1885, the Argentine
permanent way had been 1,952 miles, in 1893 it was 8,557 miles.
Exports from England were rising accordingly:
1886 1890
£m. £m.
Iron 21·8 31·6
Machinery 10 16·4
Coal 9 19
British total exports (mainly to the Argentine) amounted to £m. 4·7 in 1885
and to £m. 10·7 a mere four years later.
At the same time, British capital flowed into Australia in the form of state
loans. At the end of the eighties the loans to the three colonies Victoria,
New South Wales and Tasmania amounted to £m. 112, £m. 81 of which
were invested in railway construction. The permanent way of Australia
extended over 4,900 miles in 1880, and over 15,600 miles in 1895.
Britain, supplying capital and materials for these railways, was also
embroiled in the crises of 1890 in the Argentine, Transvaal, Mexico,
Uruguay, and in that of 1893 in Australia.
The following two decades made a difference only in so far as German,
French and Belgian capital largely participated with British capital in
foreign investments, while railway construction in Asia Minor had been
financed entirely by British capital from the fifties to the late eighties. From
then on, German capital took over and put into execution the tremendous
project of the Anatolian railway. German capital investments in Turkey
gave rise to an increased export of German goods to that country.
In 1896, German exports to Turkey amounted to £m. 1·4, in 1911 to £m.
5·65. To Asiatic Turkey, in particular, goods were exported in 1901 to the
value of £m. 0·6 and in 1911 to the value of £m. 1·85. In this case, German
capital was used to a considerable extent to pay for German goods, the
as much as £m. 10 and the loan had risen to £m. 59 by 1890.
England built railways with her own iron and coal in all these countries as
well, paying for them with her own capital. In 1885, the Argentine
permanent way had been 1,952 miles, in 1893 it was 8,557 miles.
Exports from England were rising accordingly:
1886 1890
£m. £m.
Iron 21·8 31·6
Machinery 10 16·4
Coal 9 19
British total exports (mainly to the Argentine) amounted to £m. 4·7 in 1885
and to £m. 10·7 a mere four years later.
At the same time, British capital flowed into Australia in the form of state
loans. At the end of the eighties the loans to the three colonies Victoria,
New South Wales and Tasmania amounted to £m. 112, £m. 81 of which
were invested in railway construction. The permanent way of Australia
extended over 4,900 miles in 1880, and over 15,600 miles in 1895.
Britain, supplying capital and materials for these railways, was also
embroiled in the crises of 1890 in the Argentine, Transvaal, Mexico,
Uruguay, and in that of 1893 in Australia.
The following two decades made a difference only in so far as German,
French and Belgian capital largely participated with British capital in
foreign investments, while railway construction in Asia Minor had been
financed entirely by British capital from the fifties to the late eighties. From
then on, German capital took over and put into execution the tremendous
project of the Anatolian railway. German capital investments in Turkey
gave rise to an increased export of German goods to that country.
In 1896, German exports to Turkey amounted to £m. 1·4, in 1911 to £m.
5·65. To Asiatic Turkey, in particular, goods were exported in 1901 to the
value of £m. 0·6 and in 1911 to the value of £m. 1·85. In this case, German
capital was used to a considerable extent to pay for German goods, the
Page 410
Germans forgoing, to use Sismondi’s term, only the pleasure of using their
own products.
Let us examine the position more closely:
Realised surplus value, which cannot be capitalised and lies idle in England
or Germany, is invested in railway construction, water works, etc. in the
Argentine, Australia, the Cape Colony or Mesopotamia. Machinery,
materials and the like are supplied by the country where the capital has
originated, and the same capital pays for them. Actually, this process
characterises capitalist conditions everywhere, even at home. Capital must
purchase the elements of production and thus become productive capital
before it can operate. Admittedly, the products are then used within the
country, while in the former case they are used by foreigners. But then
capitalist production does not aim at its products being enjoyed, but at the
accumulation of surplus value. There had been no demand for the surplus
product within the country, so capital had lain idle without the possibility of
accumulating. But abroad, where capitalist production has not yet
developed, there has come about, voluntarily or by force, a new demand of
the non-capitalist strata. The consumption of the capitalist and working
classes at home is irrelevant for the purposes of accumulation, and what
matters to capital is the very fact that its products are ‘used’ by others. The
new consumers must indeed realise the products, pay for their use, and for
this they need money. They can obtain some of it by the exchange of
commodities which begins at this point, a brisk traffic in goods following
hard on the heels of railway construction and mining (gold mines, etc.).
Thus the capital advanced for railroad building and mining, together with
an additional surplus value, is gradually realised. It is immaterial to the
situation as a whole whether this exported capital becomes share capital in
new independent enterprises, or whether, as a government loan, it uses the
mediation of a foreign state to find new scope for operation in industry and
traffic, nor does it matter if in the first case some of the companies are
fraudulent and fail in due course, or if in the second case the borrowing
state finally goes bankrupt, i.e. if the owners sometimes lose part of their
capital in one way or another. Even the country of origin is not immune,
and individual capitals frequently get lost in crises. The important point is
that capital accumulated in the old country should find elsewhere new
opportunities to beget and realise surplus value, so that accumulation can
own products.
Let us examine the position more closely:
Realised surplus value, which cannot be capitalised and lies idle in England
or Germany, is invested in railway construction, water works, etc. in the
Argentine, Australia, the Cape Colony or Mesopotamia. Machinery,
materials and the like are supplied by the country where the capital has
originated, and the same capital pays for them. Actually, this process
characterises capitalist conditions everywhere, even at home. Capital must
purchase the elements of production and thus become productive capital
before it can operate. Admittedly, the products are then used within the
country, while in the former case they are used by foreigners. But then
capitalist production does not aim at its products being enjoyed, but at the
accumulation of surplus value. There had been no demand for the surplus
product within the country, so capital had lain idle without the possibility of
accumulating. But abroad, where capitalist production has not yet
developed, there has come about, voluntarily or by force, a new demand of
the non-capitalist strata. The consumption of the capitalist and working
classes at home is irrelevant for the purposes of accumulation, and what
matters to capital is the very fact that its products are ‘used’ by others. The
new consumers must indeed realise the products, pay for their use, and for
this they need money. They can obtain some of it by the exchange of
commodities which begins at this point, a brisk traffic in goods following
hard on the heels of railway construction and mining (gold mines, etc.).
Thus the capital advanced for railroad building and mining, together with
an additional surplus value, is gradually realised. It is immaterial to the
situation as a whole whether this exported capital becomes share capital in
new independent enterprises, or whether, as a government loan, it uses the
mediation of a foreign state to find new scope for operation in industry and
traffic, nor does it matter if in the first case some of the companies are
fraudulent and fail in due course, or if in the second case the borrowing
state finally goes bankrupt, i.e. if the owners sometimes lose part of their
capital in one way or another. Even the country of origin is not immune,
and individual capitals frequently get lost in crises. The important point is
that capital accumulated in the old country should find elsewhere new
opportunities to beget and realise surplus value, so that accumulation can
Page 411
proceed. In the new countries, large regions of natural economy are open to
conversion into commodity economy, or existing commodity economy can
be ousted by capital. Railroad construction and mining, gold mining in
particular, are typical for the investment of capitals from old capitalist
countries in new ones. They are pre-eminently qualified to stimulate a brisk
traffic in goods under conditions hitherto determined by natural economy
and both are significant in economic history as mile-stones along the route
of rapid dissolution of old economic organisations, of social crises and of
the development of modern conditions, that is to say of the development of
commodity economy to begin with, and further of the production of capital.
For this reason, the part played by lending abroad as well as by capital
investments in foreign railway and mining shares is a fine sample of the
deficiencies in Marx’s diagram of accumulation. In these instances,
enlarged reproduction of capital capitalises a surplus value that has already
been realised (in so far as the loans or foreign investments are not financed
by the savings of the petty bourgeoisie or the semi-proletariat). It is quite
irrelevant to the present field of accumulation, when, where and how the
capital of the old countries has been realised so that it may flow into the
new country. British capital which finds an outlet in Argentine railway
construction might well in the past have been realised in China in the form
of Indian opium. Further, the British capital which builds railways in the
Argentine, is of English origin not only in its pure value-form, as money
capital, but also in its material form, as iron, coal and machinery; the use-
form of the surplus value, that is to say, has also come into being from the
very beginning in the use-form suitable for the purposes of accumulation.
The actual use-form of the variable capital, however, labour power, is
mainly foreign: it is the native labour of the new countries which is made a
new object of exploitation by the capital of the old countries. If we want to
keep our investigation all on one plane, we may even assume that the labour
power, too, has the same country of origin as the capital. In point of fact
new discoveries, of gold mines for instance, tend to call forth mass
emigration from the old countries, especially in the first stages, and are
largely worked by labour from those countries. It might well be, then, that
in a new country capital, labour power and means of production all come
from the same capitalist country, say England. So it is really in England that
all the material conditions for accumulation exist—a realised surplus value
as money capital, a surplus product in productive form, and lastly labour
conversion into commodity economy, or existing commodity economy can
be ousted by capital. Railroad construction and mining, gold mining in
particular, are typical for the investment of capitals from old capitalist
countries in new ones. They are pre-eminently qualified to stimulate a brisk
traffic in goods under conditions hitherto determined by natural economy
and both are significant in economic history as mile-stones along the route
of rapid dissolution of old economic organisations, of social crises and of
the development of modern conditions, that is to say of the development of
commodity economy to begin with, and further of the production of capital.
For this reason, the part played by lending abroad as well as by capital
investments in foreign railway and mining shares is a fine sample of the
deficiencies in Marx’s diagram of accumulation. In these instances,
enlarged reproduction of capital capitalises a surplus value that has already
been realised (in so far as the loans or foreign investments are not financed
by the savings of the petty bourgeoisie or the semi-proletariat). It is quite
irrelevant to the present field of accumulation, when, where and how the
capital of the old countries has been realised so that it may flow into the
new country. British capital which finds an outlet in Argentine railway
construction might well in the past have been realised in China in the form
of Indian opium. Further, the British capital which builds railways in the
Argentine, is of English origin not only in its pure value-form, as money
capital, but also in its material form, as iron, coal and machinery; the use-
form of the surplus value, that is to say, has also come into being from the
very beginning in the use-form suitable for the purposes of accumulation.
The actual use-form of the variable capital, however, labour power, is
mainly foreign: it is the native labour of the new countries which is made a
new object of exploitation by the capital of the old countries. If we want to
keep our investigation all on one plane, we may even assume that the labour
power, too, has the same country of origin as the capital. In point of fact
new discoveries, of gold mines for instance, tend to call forth mass
emigration from the old countries, especially in the first stages, and are
largely worked by labour from those countries. It might well be, then, that
in a new country capital, labour power and means of production all come
from the same capitalist country, say England. So it is really in England that
all the material conditions for accumulation exist—a realised surplus value
as money capital, a surplus product in productive form, and lastly labour
Page 412
reserves. Yet accumulation cannot proceed here: England and her old
buyers require neither railways nor an expanded industry. Enlarged
reproduction, i.e. accumulation, is possible only if new districts with a non-
capitalist civilisation, extending over large areas, appear on the scene and
augment the number of consumers.
But then, who are these new consumers actually; who is it that realises the
surplus value of capitalist enterprises which are started with foreign loans;
and who, in the final analysis, pays for these loans? The international loans
in Egypt provide a classical answer.
The internal history of Egypt in the second half of the nineteenth century is
characterised by the interplay of three phenomena: large-scale capitalist
enterprise, a rapidly growing public debt, and the collapse of peasant
economy. Until quite recently, corvée prevailed in Egypt, and the Wali and
later the Khedive freely pursued their own power policy with regard to the
condition of landownership. These primitive conditions precisely offered an
incomparably fertile soil for the operations of European capital.
Economically speaking, the conditions for a monetary economy had to be
established to begin with, and the state created them by direct compulsion.
Until the thirties, Mehemet Ali, the founder of Modern Egypt, here applied
a method of patriarchal simplicity: every year, he ‘bought up’ the
fellaheen’s entire harvest for the public exchequer, and allowed them to buy
back, at a higher price, a minimum for subsistence and seed. In addition he
imported cotton from East India, sugar cane from America, indigo and
pepper, and issued the fellaheen with official directions what to plant and
how much of it. The government again claimed the monopoly for cotton
and indigo, reserving to itself the exclusive right of buying and selling these
goods. By such methods was commodity exchange introduced in Egypt.
Admittedly, Mehemet Ali also did something towards raising labour
productivity. He arranged for dredging of the ancient canalisation, and
above all he started the work of the great Kaliub Nile dams which initiated
the series of great capitalist enterprises in Egypt. These were to comprise
four great fields: (1) irrigation systems, in which the Kaliub works built
between 1845 and 1853 take first place—quite apart from unpaid forced
labour, they swallowed up £m. 2·5 and incidentally proved quite useless at
first; (2) routes for traffic—the most important construction which proved
ultimately detrimental to Egypt being the Suez Canal; (3) the cultivation of
buyers require neither railways nor an expanded industry. Enlarged
reproduction, i.e. accumulation, is possible only if new districts with a non-
capitalist civilisation, extending over large areas, appear on the scene and
augment the number of consumers.
But then, who are these new consumers actually; who is it that realises the
surplus value of capitalist enterprises which are started with foreign loans;
and who, in the final analysis, pays for these loans? The international loans
in Egypt provide a classical answer.
The internal history of Egypt in the second half of the nineteenth century is
characterised by the interplay of three phenomena: large-scale capitalist
enterprise, a rapidly growing public debt, and the collapse of peasant
economy. Until quite recently, corvée prevailed in Egypt, and the Wali and
later the Khedive freely pursued their own power policy with regard to the
condition of landownership. These primitive conditions precisely offered an
incomparably fertile soil for the operations of European capital.
Economically speaking, the conditions for a monetary economy had to be
established to begin with, and the state created them by direct compulsion.
Until the thirties, Mehemet Ali, the founder of Modern Egypt, here applied
a method of patriarchal simplicity: every year, he ‘bought up’ the
fellaheen’s entire harvest for the public exchequer, and allowed them to buy
back, at a higher price, a minimum for subsistence and seed. In addition he
imported cotton from East India, sugar cane from America, indigo and
pepper, and issued the fellaheen with official directions what to plant and
how much of it. The government again claimed the monopoly for cotton
and indigo, reserving to itself the exclusive right of buying and selling these
goods. By such methods was commodity exchange introduced in Egypt.
Admittedly, Mehemet Ali also did something towards raising labour
productivity. He arranged for dredging of the ancient canalisation, and
above all he started the work of the great Kaliub Nile dams which initiated
the series of great capitalist enterprises in Egypt. These were to comprise
four great fields: (1) irrigation systems, in which the Kaliub works built
between 1845 and 1853 take first place—quite apart from unpaid forced
labour, they swallowed up £m. 2·5 and incidentally proved quite useless at
first; (2) routes for traffic—the most important construction which proved
ultimately detrimental to Egypt being the Suez Canal; (3) the cultivation of
Page 413
cotton, and (4) the production of sugar cane. With the building of the Suez
Canal, Egypt became caught up in the web of European capitalism, never
again to get free of it. French capital led the way with British capital hard
on its heels. In the twenty years that followed, the internal disturbances in
Egypt were coloured by the competitive struggle between these two
capitals. French capital was perhaps the most peculiar exponent of the
European methods of capital accumulation at the expense of primitive
conditions. Its operations were responsible for the useless Nile dams as well
as for the Suez Canal. Egypt first contracted to supply the labour of 20,000
serfs free of charge for a number of years, and secondly to take up shares in
the Suez Company to the tune of £m. 3·5, i.e. 40 per cent of the company’s
total capital. All this for the sake of breaking through a canal which would
deflect the entire trade between Europe and Asia from Egypt and would
painfully affect her part in this trade. These £m. 3·5 formed the nucleus for
Egypt’s immense national debt which was to bring about her military
occupation by Britain twenty years later. In the irrigation system, sudden
transformations were initiated: the ancient sakias, i.e. bullock-driven water-
wheels, of which 50,000 had been busy for 7 months in the year in the Nile
delta alone, were partially replaced by steam pumps. Modern steamers now
plied on the Nile between Cairo and Assuan. But the most profound change
in the economic conditions of Egypt was brought about by the cultivation of
cotton. This became almost epidemic in Egypt when, owing to the
American War of Secession and the English cotton famine, the price per
short ton rose from something between £30 and £40 to £200-£250.
Everybody was planting cotton, and foremost among all, the Viceroy and
his family. His estates grew fat, what with large-scale land robbery,
confiscations, forced ‘sale’ or plain theft. He suddenly appropriated villages
by the score though without any legal excuse. Within an incredibly short
time, this vast demesne was brought under cotton, with the result that the
entire technique of Egyptian traditional agriculture was revolutionised.
Dams were thrown up everywhere to protect the cotton fields from the
seasonal flooding of the Nile, and a comprehensive system of artificial
irrigation was introduced. These waterworks together with continuous deep
ploughing—a novel departure for the fellah who had until then merely
scratched his soil with a plough dating back to the Pharaohs—and finally
the intensive labours of the harvest made between them enormous demands
on Egypt’s labour power. This was throughout the same forced peasant
Canal, Egypt became caught up in the web of European capitalism, never
again to get free of it. French capital led the way with British capital hard
on its heels. In the twenty years that followed, the internal disturbances in
Egypt were coloured by the competitive struggle between these two
capitals. French capital was perhaps the most peculiar exponent of the
European methods of capital accumulation at the expense of primitive
conditions. Its operations were responsible for the useless Nile dams as well
as for the Suez Canal. Egypt first contracted to supply the labour of 20,000
serfs free of charge for a number of years, and secondly to take up shares in
the Suez Company to the tune of £m. 3·5, i.e. 40 per cent of the company’s
total capital. All this for the sake of breaking through a canal which would
deflect the entire trade between Europe and Asia from Egypt and would
painfully affect her part in this trade. These £m. 3·5 formed the nucleus for
Egypt’s immense national debt which was to bring about her military
occupation by Britain twenty years later. In the irrigation system, sudden
transformations were initiated: the ancient sakias, i.e. bullock-driven water-
wheels, of which 50,000 had been busy for 7 months in the year in the Nile
delta alone, were partially replaced by steam pumps. Modern steamers now
plied on the Nile between Cairo and Assuan. But the most profound change
in the economic conditions of Egypt was brought about by the cultivation of
cotton. This became almost epidemic in Egypt when, owing to the
American War of Secession and the English cotton famine, the price per
short ton rose from something between £30 and £40 to £200-£250.
Everybody was planting cotton, and foremost among all, the Viceroy and
his family. His estates grew fat, what with large-scale land robbery,
confiscations, forced ‘sale’ or plain theft. He suddenly appropriated villages
by the score though without any legal excuse. Within an incredibly short
time, this vast demesne was brought under cotton, with the result that the
entire technique of Egyptian traditional agriculture was revolutionised.
Dams were thrown up everywhere to protect the cotton fields from the
seasonal flooding of the Nile, and a comprehensive system of artificial
irrigation was introduced. These waterworks together with continuous deep
ploughing—a novel departure for the fellah who had until then merely
scratched his soil with a plough dating back to the Pharaohs—and finally
the intensive labours of the harvest made between them enormous demands
on Egypt’s labour power. This was throughout the same forced peasant
Page 414
labour over which the state claimed to have an unrestricted right of
disposal; and thousands had already been employed on the Kaliub dams and
the Suez Canal and now the irrigation and plantation work to be done on the
viceregal estates clamoured for this forced labour. The 20,000 serfs who
had been put at the disposal of the Suez Canal Company were now required
by the Khedive himself, and this brought about the first clash with French
capital. The company was adjudged a compensation of £m. 3·35 by the
arbitration of Napoleon III, a settlement to which the Khedive could all the
more readily agree, since the very fellaheen whose labour power was the
bone of contention were ultimately to be mulcted of this sum. The work of
irrigation was immediately put in hand. Centrifugal machines, steam and
traction engines were therefore ordered from England and France. In their
hundreds, they were carried by steamers from England to Alexandria and
then further. Steam ploughs were needed for cultivating the soil, especially
since the rinderpest of 1864 had killed off all the cattle, England again
being the chief supplier of these machines. The Fowler works were
expanded enormously of a sudden to meet the requirements of the Viceroy
for which Egypt had to pay.[404]
But now Egypt required yet a third type of machine, cotton gins and presses
for packing. Dozens of these gins were set up in the Delta towns. Like
English industrial towns, Sagasis, Tanta, Samanud and other towns were
covered by palls of smoke and great fortunes circulated in the banks of
Alexandria and Cairo.
But already in the year that followed, this cotton speculation collapsed with
the cotton prices which fell in a couple of days from 27d. per pound to 15d.,
12d., and finally 6d. after the cessation of hostilities in the American Union.
The following year, Ismail Pasha ventured on a new speculation, the
production of cane sugar. The forced labour of the fellaheen was to compete
with the Southern States of the Union where slavery had been abolished.
For the second time, Egyptian agriculture was turned upside down. French
and British capitalists found a new field for rapid accumulation. 18 giant
sugar factories were put on order in 1868-9 with an estimated daily output
of 200 short tons of sugar, that is to say four times as much as that of the
greatest then existing plant. Six of them were ordered from England, and
twelve from France, but England eventually delivered the lion’s share,
because of the Franco-German war. These factories were to be built along
disposal; and thousands had already been employed on the Kaliub dams and
the Suez Canal and now the irrigation and plantation work to be done on the
viceregal estates clamoured for this forced labour. The 20,000 serfs who
had been put at the disposal of the Suez Canal Company were now required
by the Khedive himself, and this brought about the first clash with French
capital. The company was adjudged a compensation of £m. 3·35 by the
arbitration of Napoleon III, a settlement to which the Khedive could all the
more readily agree, since the very fellaheen whose labour power was the
bone of contention were ultimately to be mulcted of this sum. The work of
irrigation was immediately put in hand. Centrifugal machines, steam and
traction engines were therefore ordered from England and France. In their
hundreds, they were carried by steamers from England to Alexandria and
then further. Steam ploughs were needed for cultivating the soil, especially
since the rinderpest of 1864 had killed off all the cattle, England again
being the chief supplier of these machines. The Fowler works were
expanded enormously of a sudden to meet the requirements of the Viceroy
for which Egypt had to pay.[404]
But now Egypt required yet a third type of machine, cotton gins and presses
for packing. Dozens of these gins were set up in the Delta towns. Like
English industrial towns, Sagasis, Tanta, Samanud and other towns were
covered by palls of smoke and great fortunes circulated in the banks of
Alexandria and Cairo.
But already in the year that followed, this cotton speculation collapsed with
the cotton prices which fell in a couple of days from 27d. per pound to 15d.,
12d., and finally 6d. after the cessation of hostilities in the American Union.
The following year, Ismail Pasha ventured on a new speculation, the
production of cane sugar. The forced labour of the fellaheen was to compete
with the Southern States of the Union where slavery had been abolished.
For the second time, Egyptian agriculture was turned upside down. French
and British capitalists found a new field for rapid accumulation. 18 giant
sugar factories were put on order in 1868-9 with an estimated daily output
of 200 short tons of sugar, that is to say four times as much as that of the
greatest then existing plant. Six of them were ordered from England, and
twelve from France, but England eventually delivered the lion’s share,
because of the Franco-German war. These factories were to be built along
Page 415
the Nile at intervals of 6·2 miles (10 km.), as centres of cane plantations of
an area comprising 10 sq. km. Working to full capacity, each factory
required a daily supply of 2,000 tons of sugar cane. Fellaheen were driven
to forced labour on the sugar plantations in their thousands, while further
thousands of their number built the Ibrahimya Canal. The stick and
kourbash were unstintingly applied. Transport soon became a problem. A
railway network had to be built round every factory to haul the masses of
cane inside, rolling stock, funiculars, etc., had to be obtained as quickly as
possible. Again these enormous orders were placed with English capital.
The first giant factory was opened in 1872, 4,000 camels providing
makeshift transport. But it proved to be simply impossible to supply cane in
the quantities required by the undertaking. The working staff was
completely inadequate, since the fellah, accustomed to forced labour on the
land, could not be transformed overnight into a modern industrial worker by
the lash of the whip. The venture collapsed, even before many of the
imported machines had been installed. This sugar speculation concluded the
period of gigantic capitalist enterprise in Egypt in 1873.
What had provided the capital for these enterprises? International loans.
One year before his death in 1863, Said Pasha had raised the first loan at a
nominal value of £m. 3·3 which came to £m. 2·5 in cash after deduction of
commissions, discounts, etc. He left to Ismail Pasha the legacy of this debt
and the contract with the Suez Canal Company, which was to burden Egypt
with a debt of £m. 17. Ismail Pasha in turn raised his first loan in 1864 with
a nominal value of £m. 5·7 at 7 per cent and a cash value of £m. 4·85 at 81⁄4
per cent. What remained of it, after £m. 3·35 had been paid to the Suez
Canal Company as compensation, was spent within the year, swallowed up
for the greater part by the cotton gamble. In 1865, the first so-called Daira-
loan was floated by the Anglo-Egyptian Bank, on the security of the
Khedive’s private estates. The nominal value of this loan was £m. 3·4 at 9
per cent, and its real value £m. 2·5 at 12 per cent. In 1866, Fruehling &
Goschen floated a new loan at a nominal value of £m. 3 and a cash value of
£m. 2. The Ottoman Bank floated another in 1867 of nominally £m. 2,
really £m. 1·7. The floating debt at that time amounted to £m. 30. The
Banking House Oppenheim & Neffen floated a great loan in 1868 to
consolidate part of this debt. Its nominal value was £m. 11·9 at 7 per cent,
though Ismail could actually lay hands only on £m. 7·1 at 131⁄2 per cent.
an area comprising 10 sq. km. Working to full capacity, each factory
required a daily supply of 2,000 tons of sugar cane. Fellaheen were driven
to forced labour on the sugar plantations in their thousands, while further
thousands of their number built the Ibrahimya Canal. The stick and
kourbash were unstintingly applied. Transport soon became a problem. A
railway network had to be built round every factory to haul the masses of
cane inside, rolling stock, funiculars, etc., had to be obtained as quickly as
possible. Again these enormous orders were placed with English capital.
The first giant factory was opened in 1872, 4,000 camels providing
makeshift transport. But it proved to be simply impossible to supply cane in
the quantities required by the undertaking. The working staff was
completely inadequate, since the fellah, accustomed to forced labour on the
land, could not be transformed overnight into a modern industrial worker by
the lash of the whip. The venture collapsed, even before many of the
imported machines had been installed. This sugar speculation concluded the
period of gigantic capitalist enterprise in Egypt in 1873.
What had provided the capital for these enterprises? International loans.
One year before his death in 1863, Said Pasha had raised the first loan at a
nominal value of £m. 3·3 which came to £m. 2·5 in cash after deduction of
commissions, discounts, etc. He left to Ismail Pasha the legacy of this debt
and the contract with the Suez Canal Company, which was to burden Egypt
with a debt of £m. 17. Ismail Pasha in turn raised his first loan in 1864 with
a nominal value of £m. 5·7 at 7 per cent and a cash value of £m. 4·85 at 81⁄4
per cent. What remained of it, after £m. 3·35 had been paid to the Suez
Canal Company as compensation, was spent within the year, swallowed up
for the greater part by the cotton gamble. In 1865, the first so-called Daira-
loan was floated by the Anglo-Egyptian Bank, on the security of the
Khedive’s private estates. The nominal value of this loan was £m. 3·4 at 9
per cent, and its real value £m. 2·5 at 12 per cent. In 1866, Fruehling &
Goschen floated a new loan at a nominal value of £m. 3 and a cash value of
£m. 2. The Ottoman Bank floated another in 1867 of nominally £m. 2,
really £m. 1·7. The floating debt at that time amounted to £m. 30. The
Banking House Oppenheim & Neffen floated a great loan in 1868 to
consolidate part of this debt. Its nominal value was £m. 11·9 at 7 per cent,
though Ismail could actually lay hands only on £m. 7·1 at 131⁄2 per cent.
Page 416
This money made it possible, however, to pay for the pompous celebrations
on the opening of the Suez Canal, in presence of the leading figures in the
Courts of Europe, in finance and in the demi-monde, for a madly lavish
display, and further, to grease the palm of the Turkish Overlord, the Sultan,
with a new baksheesh of £m. 1. The sugar gamble necessitated another loan
in 1870. Floated by the firm of Bischoffsheim & Goldschmidt, it had a
nominal value of £m. 7·1 at 7 per cent, and its cash value was £m. 5. In
1872/3 Oppenheim’s floated two further loans, a modest one amounting to
£m. 4 at 14 per cent and a large one of £m. 32 at 8 per cent which reduced
the floating debt by one-half, but which actually came only to £m. 11 in
cash, since the European banking houses paid it in part by bills of exchange
they had discounted.
In 1874, a further attempt was made to raise a national loan of £m. 50 at an
annual charge of 9 per cent, but it yielded no more than £m. 3·4. Egyptian
securities were quoted at 54 per cent of their face value. Within the thirteen
years after Said Pasha’s death, Egypt’s total public debt had grown from
£m. 3·293 to £m. 94·110,[405] and collapse was imminent.
These operations of capital, at first sight, seem to reach the height of
madness. One loan followed hard on the other, the interest on old loans was
defrayed by new loans, and capital borrowed from the British and French
paid for the large orders placed with British and French industrial capital.
While the whole of Europe sighed and shrugged its shoulders at Ismail’s
crazy economy, European capital was in fact doing business in Egypt on a
unique and fantastic scale—an incredible modern version of the biblical
legend about the fat kine which remains unparalleled in capitalist history.
In the first place, there was an element of usury in every loan, anything
between one-fifth and one-third of the money ostensibly lent sticking to the
fingers of the European bankers. Ultimately, the exorbitant interest had to
be paid somehow, but how—where were the means to come from? Egypt
herself was to supply them; their source was the Egyptian fellah—peasant
economy providing in the final analysis all the most important elements for
large-scale capitalist enterprise. He provided the land since the so-called
private estates of the Khedive were quickly growing to vast dimensions by
robbery and blackmail of innumerable villages; and these estates were the
foundations of the irrigation projects and the speculation in cotton and sugar
on the opening of the Suez Canal, in presence of the leading figures in the
Courts of Europe, in finance and in the demi-monde, for a madly lavish
display, and further, to grease the palm of the Turkish Overlord, the Sultan,
with a new baksheesh of £m. 1. The sugar gamble necessitated another loan
in 1870. Floated by the firm of Bischoffsheim & Goldschmidt, it had a
nominal value of £m. 7·1 at 7 per cent, and its cash value was £m. 5. In
1872/3 Oppenheim’s floated two further loans, a modest one amounting to
£m. 4 at 14 per cent and a large one of £m. 32 at 8 per cent which reduced
the floating debt by one-half, but which actually came only to £m. 11 in
cash, since the European banking houses paid it in part by bills of exchange
they had discounted.
In 1874, a further attempt was made to raise a national loan of £m. 50 at an
annual charge of 9 per cent, but it yielded no more than £m. 3·4. Egyptian
securities were quoted at 54 per cent of their face value. Within the thirteen
years after Said Pasha’s death, Egypt’s total public debt had grown from
£m. 3·293 to £m. 94·110,[405] and collapse was imminent.
These operations of capital, at first sight, seem to reach the height of
madness. One loan followed hard on the other, the interest on old loans was
defrayed by new loans, and capital borrowed from the British and French
paid for the large orders placed with British and French industrial capital.
While the whole of Europe sighed and shrugged its shoulders at Ismail’s
crazy economy, European capital was in fact doing business in Egypt on a
unique and fantastic scale—an incredible modern version of the biblical
legend about the fat kine which remains unparalleled in capitalist history.
In the first place, there was an element of usury in every loan, anything
between one-fifth and one-third of the money ostensibly lent sticking to the
fingers of the European bankers. Ultimately, the exorbitant interest had to
be paid somehow, but how—where were the means to come from? Egypt
herself was to supply them; their source was the Egyptian fellah—peasant
economy providing in the final analysis all the most important elements for
large-scale capitalist enterprise. He provided the land since the so-called
private estates of the Khedive were quickly growing to vast dimensions by
robbery and blackmail of innumerable villages; and these estates were the
foundations of the irrigation projects and the speculation in cotton and sugar
Page 417
cane. As forced labour, the fellah also provided the labour power and, what
is more, he was exploited without payment and even had to provide his own
means of subsistence while he was at work. The marvels of technique
which European engineers and European machines performed in the sphere
of Egyptian irrigation, transport, agriculture and industry were due to this
peasant economy with its fellaheen serfs. On the Kaliub Nile dams and on
the Suez Canal, in the cotton plantations and in the sugar plants, untold
masses of peasants were put to work; they were switched over from one job
to the next as the need arose, and they were exploited to the limit of
endurance and beyond. Although it became evident at every step that there
were technical limits to the employment of forced labour for the purposes
of modern capital, yet this was amply compensated by capital’s unrestricted
power of command over the pool of labour power, how long and under
what conditions men were to work, live and be exploited.
But not alone that it supplied land and labour power, peasant economy also
provided the money. Under the influence of capitalist economy, the screws
were put on the fellaheen by taxation. The tax on peasant holdings was
persistently increased. In the late sixties, it amounted to £2 5s. per hectare,
but not a farthing was levied on the enormous private estates of the royal
family. In addition, ever more special rates were devised. Contributions of
2s. 6d. per hectare had to be paid for the maintenance of the irrigation
system which almost exclusively benefited the royal estates, and the fellah
had to pay 1s. 4d. for every date tree felled, 9d. for every clay hovel in
which he lived. In addition, every male over 10 years of age was liable to a
head tax of 6s. 6d. The total paid by the fellaheen was £m. 2·5 under
Mehemet Ali, £m. 5 under Said Pasha, and £m. 8·15 under Ismail Pasha.
The greater the debt to European capital became, the more had to be
extorted from the peasants.[406] In 1869 all taxes were put up by 10 per cent
and the taxes for the coming year collected in advance. In 1870, a
supplementary land tax of 8s. per hectare was levied. All over Upper Egypt
people were leaving the villages, demolished their dwellings and no longer
tilled their land—only to avoid payment of taxes. In 1876, the tax on date
palms was increased by 6d. Whole villages went out to fell their date palms
and had to be prevented by rifle volleys. North of Siut, 10,000 fellaheen are
said to have starved in 1879 because they could no longer raise the
is more, he was exploited without payment and even had to provide his own
means of subsistence while he was at work. The marvels of technique
which European engineers and European machines performed in the sphere
of Egyptian irrigation, transport, agriculture and industry were due to this
peasant economy with its fellaheen serfs. On the Kaliub Nile dams and on
the Suez Canal, in the cotton plantations and in the sugar plants, untold
masses of peasants were put to work; they were switched over from one job
to the next as the need arose, and they were exploited to the limit of
endurance and beyond. Although it became evident at every step that there
were technical limits to the employment of forced labour for the purposes
of modern capital, yet this was amply compensated by capital’s unrestricted
power of command over the pool of labour power, how long and under
what conditions men were to work, live and be exploited.
But not alone that it supplied land and labour power, peasant economy also
provided the money. Under the influence of capitalist economy, the screws
were put on the fellaheen by taxation. The tax on peasant holdings was
persistently increased. In the late sixties, it amounted to £2 5s. per hectare,
but not a farthing was levied on the enormous private estates of the royal
family. In addition, ever more special rates were devised. Contributions of
2s. 6d. per hectare had to be paid for the maintenance of the irrigation
system which almost exclusively benefited the royal estates, and the fellah
had to pay 1s. 4d. for every date tree felled, 9d. for every clay hovel in
which he lived. In addition, every male over 10 years of age was liable to a
head tax of 6s. 6d. The total paid by the fellaheen was £m. 2·5 under
Mehemet Ali, £m. 5 under Said Pasha, and £m. 8·15 under Ismail Pasha.
The greater the debt to European capital became, the more had to be
extorted from the peasants.[406] In 1869 all taxes were put up by 10 per cent
and the taxes for the coming year collected in advance. In 1870, a
supplementary land tax of 8s. per hectare was levied. All over Upper Egypt
people were leaving the villages, demolished their dwellings and no longer
tilled their land—only to avoid payment of taxes. In 1876, the tax on date
palms was increased by 6d. Whole villages went out to fell their date palms
and had to be prevented by rifle volleys. North of Siut, 10,000 fellaheen are
said to have starved in 1879 because they could no longer raise the
Page 418
irrigation tax for their fields and had killed their cattle to avoid paying tax
on it.[407]
Now the fellah had been drained of his last drop of blood. Used as a leech
by European capital, the Egyptian state had accomplished its function and
was no longer needed. Ismail, the Khedive, was given his congé; capital
could begin winding up operations.
Egypt had still to pay 394,000 Egyptian pounds as interest on the Suez
Canal shares for £m. 4 which England had bought in 1875. Now British
commissions to ‘regulate’ the finances of Egypt went into action. Strangely
enough, European capital was not at all deterred by the desperate state of
the insolvent country and offered again and again to grant immense loans
for the salvation of Egypt. Cowe and Stokes proposed a loan of £m. 76 at 9
per cent for the conversion of the total debt, Rivers Wilson thought no less
than £m. 103 would be necessary. The Crédit Foncier bought up floating
bills of exchange by the million, attempting, though without success, to
consolidate the total debt by a loan of £m. 91. With the financial position
growing hopelessly desperate, the time drew near when the country and all
her productive forces was to become the prey of European capital. October
1878 saw the representatives of the European creditors landing in
Alexandria. British and French capital established dual control of finances
and devised new taxes; the peasants were beaten and oppressed, so that
payment of interest, temporarily suspended in 1876, could be resumed in
1877.[408]
Now the claims of European capital became the pivot of economic life and
the sole consideration of the financial system. In 1878, a new commission
and ministry were set up, both with a staff in which Europeans made up one
half. In 1879, the finances of Egypt were brought under permanent control
of European capital, exercised by the Commission de la Dette Publique
Égyptienne in Cairo. In 1878, the Tshifliks, estates of the viceregal family,
which comprised 431,100 acres, were converted into crown land and
pledged to the European capitalists as collateral for the public debt, and the
same happened to the Daira lands, the private estates of the Khedive,
comprising 485,131 acres, mainly in Upper Egypt; this was, at a later date,
sold to a syndicate. The other estates for the greatest part fell to capitalist
companies, the Suez Canal Company in particular. To cover the cost of
occupation, England requisitioned ecclesiastical lands of the mosques and
on it.[407]
Now the fellah had been drained of his last drop of blood. Used as a leech
by European capital, the Egyptian state had accomplished its function and
was no longer needed. Ismail, the Khedive, was given his congé; capital
could begin winding up operations.
Egypt had still to pay 394,000 Egyptian pounds as interest on the Suez
Canal shares for £m. 4 which England had bought in 1875. Now British
commissions to ‘regulate’ the finances of Egypt went into action. Strangely
enough, European capital was not at all deterred by the desperate state of
the insolvent country and offered again and again to grant immense loans
for the salvation of Egypt. Cowe and Stokes proposed a loan of £m. 76 at 9
per cent for the conversion of the total debt, Rivers Wilson thought no less
than £m. 103 would be necessary. The Crédit Foncier bought up floating
bills of exchange by the million, attempting, though without success, to
consolidate the total debt by a loan of £m. 91. With the financial position
growing hopelessly desperate, the time drew near when the country and all
her productive forces was to become the prey of European capital. October
1878 saw the representatives of the European creditors landing in
Alexandria. British and French capital established dual control of finances
and devised new taxes; the peasants were beaten and oppressed, so that
payment of interest, temporarily suspended in 1876, could be resumed in
1877.[408]
Now the claims of European capital became the pivot of economic life and
the sole consideration of the financial system. In 1878, a new commission
and ministry were set up, both with a staff in which Europeans made up one
half. In 1879, the finances of Egypt were brought under permanent control
of European capital, exercised by the Commission de la Dette Publique
Égyptienne in Cairo. In 1878, the Tshifliks, estates of the viceregal family,
which comprised 431,100 acres, were converted into crown land and
pledged to the European capitalists as collateral for the public debt, and the
same happened to the Daira lands, the private estates of the Khedive,
comprising 485,131 acres, mainly in Upper Egypt; this was, at a later date,
sold to a syndicate. The other estates for the greatest part fell to capitalist
companies, the Suez Canal Company in particular. To cover the cost of
occupation, England requisitioned ecclesiastical lands of the mosques and
Page 419
schools. An opportune pretext for the final blow was provided by a mutiny
in the Egyptian army, starved under European financial control while
European officials were drawing excellent salaries, and by a revolt
engineered among the Alexandrian masses who had been bled white. The
British military occupied Egypt in 1882, as a result of twenty years’
operations of Big Business, never to leave again. This was the ultimate and
final step in the process of liquidating peasant economy in Egypt by and for
European capital.[409]
It should now be clear that the transactions between European loan capital
and European industrial capital are based upon relations which are
extremely rational and ‘sound’ for the accumulation of capital, although
they appear absurd to the casual observer because this loan capital pays for
the orders from Egypt and the interest on one loan is paid out of a new loan.
Stripped of all obscuring connecting links, these relations consist in the
simple fact that European capital has largely swallowed up the Egyptian
peasant economy. Enormous tracts of land, labour, and labour products
without number, accruing to the state as taxes, have ultimately been
converted into European capital and have been accumulated. Evidently,
only by use of the kourbash could the historical development which would
normally take centuries be compressed into two or three decades, and it was
just the primitive nature of Egyptian conditions which proved such fertile
soil for the accumulation of capital.
As against the fantastic increase of capital on the one hand, the other
economic result is the ruin of peasant economy together with the growth of
commodity exchange which is rooted in the supreme exertion of the
country’s productive forces. Under Ismail’s rule, the arable and reclaimed
land of Egypt grew from 5 to 6·75 million acres, the canal system from
45,625 to 54,375 miles and the permanent way from 256·25 to 1,638 miles.
Docks were built in Siut and Alexandria, magnificent dockyards in
Alexandria, a steamer-service for pilgrims to Mecca was introduced on the
Red Sea and along the coast of Syria and Asia Minor. Egypt’s exports
which in 1861 had amounted to £4,450,000 rose to £m. 14·4 in 1864; her
imports which under Said Pasha amounted to £m 1·2 rose under Ismail to
between £m. 5 and £m. 5·5. Trade which recovered only in the eighties
from the opening up of the Suez Canal amounted to £m. 8·15 worth of
imports and £m. 12·45 worth of exports in 1890, but in 1900 the figures
in the Egyptian army, starved under European financial control while
European officials were drawing excellent salaries, and by a revolt
engineered among the Alexandrian masses who had been bled white. The
British military occupied Egypt in 1882, as a result of twenty years’
operations of Big Business, never to leave again. This was the ultimate and
final step in the process of liquidating peasant economy in Egypt by and for
European capital.[409]
It should now be clear that the transactions between European loan capital
and European industrial capital are based upon relations which are
extremely rational and ‘sound’ for the accumulation of capital, although
they appear absurd to the casual observer because this loan capital pays for
the orders from Egypt and the interest on one loan is paid out of a new loan.
Stripped of all obscuring connecting links, these relations consist in the
simple fact that European capital has largely swallowed up the Egyptian
peasant economy. Enormous tracts of land, labour, and labour products
without number, accruing to the state as taxes, have ultimately been
converted into European capital and have been accumulated. Evidently,
only by use of the kourbash could the historical development which would
normally take centuries be compressed into two or three decades, and it was
just the primitive nature of Egyptian conditions which proved such fertile
soil for the accumulation of capital.
As against the fantastic increase of capital on the one hand, the other
economic result is the ruin of peasant economy together with the growth of
commodity exchange which is rooted in the supreme exertion of the
country’s productive forces. Under Ismail’s rule, the arable and reclaimed
land of Egypt grew from 5 to 6·75 million acres, the canal system from
45,625 to 54,375 miles and the permanent way from 256·25 to 1,638 miles.
Docks were built in Siut and Alexandria, magnificent dockyards in
Alexandria, a steamer-service for pilgrims to Mecca was introduced on the
Red Sea and along the coast of Syria and Asia Minor. Egypt’s exports
which in 1861 had amounted to £4,450,000 rose to £m. 14·4 in 1864; her
imports which under Said Pasha amounted to £m 1·2 rose under Ismail to
between £m. 5 and £m. 5·5. Trade which recovered only in the eighties
from the opening up of the Suez Canal amounted to £m. 8·15 worth of
imports and £m. 12·45 worth of exports in 1890, but in 1900 the figures
Page 420
were £m. 144 for imports and £m. 12·25 for exports, and in 1911—£m.
27·85 for imports and £m. 26·85 for exports. Thanks to this development of
commodity economy which expanded by leaps and bounds with the
assistance of European capital, Egypt herself had fallen a prey to the latter.
The case of Egypt, just as that of China and, more recently, Morocco, shows
militarism as the executor of the accumulation of capital, lurking behind
international loans, railroad building, irrigation systems, and similar works
of civilisation. The Oriental states cannot develop from natural to
commodity economy and further to capitalist economy fast enough and are
swallowed up by international capital, since they cannot perform these
transformations without selling their souls to capital. Their feverish
metamorphoses are tantamount to their absorption by international capital.
Another good recent example is the deal made by German capital in Asiatic
Turkey. European capital, British capital in particular, had already at an
early date attempted to gain possession of this area which marches with the
ancient trade route between Europe and Asia.[410]
In the fifties and sixties, British capital built the railway lines Smyrna-
Aydin-Diner and Smyrna-Kassaba-Alasehir, obtained the concession to
extend the line to Afyon Karahisar and also leased the first tract for the
Anatolian railway Ada-Bazar-Izmid. French capital gradually came to
acquire influence over part of the railway building during this time. In
1888, German capital appeared on the scene. It took up 60 per cent of the
shares in the new merger of international interests, negotiated principally
with the French capitalist group represented by the Banque Ottomane.
International capital took up the remaining 40 per cent.[411] The Anatolian
Railway Company, a Turkish company, was founded on the 14th Redsheb
of the year 1306 (March 4, 1889) with the Deutsche Bank for principal
backer, to take over the railway lines between Ada-Bazar and Izmid,
running since the early seventies, as also the concession for the Izmid-
Eskisehir-Angora line (525 miles). It was further entitled to complete the
Ada-Bazar-Scutari line and branch lines to Brussa, in addition to building
the supplementary network Eskisehir-Konya (278 miles) on the basis of the
1893 concession, and finally to run a service from Angora to Kaisari (264
miles). The Turkish government gave the company a state guarantee of
annual gross earnings amounting to £412 per km. on the Ada-Bazar line and
of £600 per km. on the Izmid-Angora lines. For this purpose it wrote over
27·85 for imports and £m. 26·85 for exports. Thanks to this development of
commodity economy which expanded by leaps and bounds with the
assistance of European capital, Egypt herself had fallen a prey to the latter.
The case of Egypt, just as that of China and, more recently, Morocco, shows
militarism as the executor of the accumulation of capital, lurking behind
international loans, railroad building, irrigation systems, and similar works
of civilisation. The Oriental states cannot develop from natural to
commodity economy and further to capitalist economy fast enough and are
swallowed up by international capital, since they cannot perform these
transformations without selling their souls to capital. Their feverish
metamorphoses are tantamount to their absorption by international capital.
Another good recent example is the deal made by German capital in Asiatic
Turkey. European capital, British capital in particular, had already at an
early date attempted to gain possession of this area which marches with the
ancient trade route between Europe and Asia.[410]
In the fifties and sixties, British capital built the railway lines Smyrna-
Aydin-Diner and Smyrna-Kassaba-Alasehir, obtained the concession to
extend the line to Afyon Karahisar and also leased the first tract for the
Anatolian railway Ada-Bazar-Izmid. French capital gradually came to
acquire influence over part of the railway building during this time. In
1888, German capital appeared on the scene. It took up 60 per cent of the
shares in the new merger of international interests, negotiated principally
with the French capitalist group represented by the Banque Ottomane.
International capital took up the remaining 40 per cent.[411] The Anatolian
Railway Company, a Turkish company, was founded on the 14th Redsheb
of the year 1306 (March 4, 1889) with the Deutsche Bank for principal
backer, to take over the railway lines between Ada-Bazar and Izmid,
running since the early seventies, as also the concession for the Izmid-
Eskisehir-Angora line (525 miles). It was further entitled to complete the
Ada-Bazar-Scutari line and branch lines to Brussa, in addition to building
the supplementary network Eskisehir-Konya (278 miles) on the basis of the
1893 concession, and finally to run a service from Angora to Kaisari (264
miles). The Turkish government gave the company a state guarantee of
annual gross earnings amounting to £412 per km. on the Ada-Bazar line and
of £600 per km. on the Izmid-Angora lines. For this purpose it wrote over
Page 421
to the Administration de la Dette Publique Ottomane the revenue from
tithes in the sandshaks of Izmid, Ertoghrul, Kutalia and Angora, with which
to make up the gross earnings guaranteed by the government. For the
Angora-Kaisari line the government guaranteed annual gross earnings of
775 Turkish pounds, i.e. £712 per km., and 604 Turkish pounds, i.e.
approximately £550, provided, in the latter case, that the supplementary
grant per km. did not exceed 219 Turkish pounds (£200 a year). The
government was to receive a quarter of the eventual surplus of gross
earnings over the guaranteed amount. The Administration de la Dette
Publique Ottomane as executor of the government guarantee collected the
tithes of the sandshaks Trebizonde and Gumuchhane direct and paid the
railway company out of a common fund which was formed of all the tithes
set aside for this purpose. In 1898, the Eskisehir-Konya maximum grant
was raised from 218 to 296 Turkish pounds.
In 1899, the company obtained concessions to build and run a dockyard at
Ada-Bazar, to issue writs, to build corn-elevators and storerooms for goods
of every description, further the right to employ its own staff for loading
and unloading and, finally, in the sphere of customs policy, the creation of a
kind of free port.
In 1901, the company acquired a concession for the Baghdad railway
Konya-Baghdad-Bazra-Gulf of Persia (1,500 miles) which connects with
the Anatolian line by the Konya-Aregli-Bulgurlu line. For taking up this
concession, a new limited company was founded which placed the order of
constructing the line, at first to Bulgurlu, with a Building Company
registered in Frankfort-on-the-Main.
Between 1893 and 1910, the Turkish government gave additional grants—
£1,948,000 for the Ada-Bazar-Angora line and 1,800,000 Turkish pounds
for the Eskisehir-Konya line—a total of £3,632,000.[412] Finally, by the
concession of 1907, the company was empowered to drain the Karavirar
Lake and to irrigate the Konya plain, these works to be executed within six
years at government expense. In this instance, the company advanced the
government the necessary capital up to £780,000 at 5 per cent interest,
repayable within thirty-six years. In return the Turkish government pledged
as securities: (1) an annual sum of 25,000 Turkish pounds, payable from the
surplus of the tithes’ fund assigned to the Administration de la Dette
Publique Ottomane to cover the railway grants and other obligations; (2)
tithes in the sandshaks of Izmid, Ertoghrul, Kutalia and Angora, with which
to make up the gross earnings guaranteed by the government. For the
Angora-Kaisari line the government guaranteed annual gross earnings of
775 Turkish pounds, i.e. £712 per km., and 604 Turkish pounds, i.e.
approximately £550, provided, in the latter case, that the supplementary
grant per km. did not exceed 219 Turkish pounds (£200 a year). The
government was to receive a quarter of the eventual surplus of gross
earnings over the guaranteed amount. The Administration de la Dette
Publique Ottomane as executor of the government guarantee collected the
tithes of the sandshaks Trebizonde and Gumuchhane direct and paid the
railway company out of a common fund which was formed of all the tithes
set aside for this purpose. In 1898, the Eskisehir-Konya maximum grant
was raised from 218 to 296 Turkish pounds.
In 1899, the company obtained concessions to build and run a dockyard at
Ada-Bazar, to issue writs, to build corn-elevators and storerooms for goods
of every description, further the right to employ its own staff for loading
and unloading and, finally, in the sphere of customs policy, the creation of a
kind of free port.
In 1901, the company acquired a concession for the Baghdad railway
Konya-Baghdad-Bazra-Gulf of Persia (1,500 miles) which connects with
the Anatolian line by the Konya-Aregli-Bulgurlu line. For taking up this
concession, a new limited company was founded which placed the order of
constructing the line, at first to Bulgurlu, with a Building Company
registered in Frankfort-on-the-Main.
Between 1893 and 1910, the Turkish government gave additional grants—
£1,948,000 for the Ada-Bazar-Angora line and 1,800,000 Turkish pounds
for the Eskisehir-Konya line—a total of £3,632,000.[412] Finally, by the
concession of 1907, the company was empowered to drain the Karavirar
Lake and to irrigate the Konya plain, these works to be executed within six
years at government expense. In this instance, the company advanced the
government the necessary capital up to £780,000 at 5 per cent interest,
repayable within thirty-six years. In return the Turkish government pledged
as securities: (1) an annual sum of 25,000 Turkish pounds, payable from the
surplus of the tithes’ fund assigned to the Administration de la Dette
Publique Ottomane to cover the railway grants and other obligations; (2)
Page 422
the residual tithes over the last 5 years in the newly irrigated regions; (3) the
net proceeds from the working of the irrigation systems, and (4) the price of
all reclaimed or irrigated land that was sold. For the execution of this work,
the Frankfort company had formed a subsidiary company ‘for the irrigation
of the Konya plain’ with a capital of £m. 5·4 to take this work in hand.
In 1908 the company obtained the concession for extending the Konya
railway as far as Baghdad and the Gulf of Persia, again with inclusion of a
guaranteed revenue.
To pay for this railway grant, a German Baghdad railway loan was taken up
in three instalments of £m. 2·16, £m. 4·32 and £m. 4·76 respectively, on the
security of the aggregate tithes for the vilayets Aydin, Baghdad, Mossul,
Diarbekir, Ursa and Aleppo, and the sheep-tax in the vilayets Konya, Adana,
Aleppo, etc.[413]
The foundation of accumulation here becomes quite clear. German capital
builds railways, ports and irrigation works in Asiatic Turkey; in all these
enterprises it extorts new surplus value from the Asiatics whom it employs
as labour power. But this surplus value must be realised together with the
means of production from Germany (railway materials, machinery, etc.).
How is it done? In part by commodity exchange which is brought about by
the railways, the dockyards, etc., and nurtured in Asia Minor under
conditions of natural economy. In part, i.e. in so far as commodity exchange
does not grow quickly enough for the needs of capital, by using force, the
machinery of the state, to convert the national real income into
commodities; these are turned into cash in order to realise capital plus
surplus value. That is the true object of the revenue grants for independent
enterprises run by foreign capital, and of the collateral in the case of loans.
In both instances so-called tithes (ueshur), pledged in different ways, are
paid in kind by the Turkish peasant and these were gradually increased from
about 12 to 121⁄2 per cent. The peasant in the Asiatic vilayet must pay up or
else his tithe would simply be confiscated by the police and the central and
local authorities. These tithes, themselves a manifestation of ancient Asiatic
despotism based on natural economy, are not collected by the Turkish
government direct, but by tax-farmers not unlike the tax-collectors of the
ancien régime; that is to say the expected returns from the levy in each
vilayet are separately auctioned by the state to tax-farmers. They are bought
net proceeds from the working of the irrigation systems, and (4) the price of
all reclaimed or irrigated land that was sold. For the execution of this work,
the Frankfort company had formed a subsidiary company ‘for the irrigation
of the Konya plain’ with a capital of £m. 5·4 to take this work in hand.
In 1908 the company obtained the concession for extending the Konya
railway as far as Baghdad and the Gulf of Persia, again with inclusion of a
guaranteed revenue.
To pay for this railway grant, a German Baghdad railway loan was taken up
in three instalments of £m. 2·16, £m. 4·32 and £m. 4·76 respectively, on the
security of the aggregate tithes for the vilayets Aydin, Baghdad, Mossul,
Diarbekir, Ursa and Aleppo, and the sheep-tax in the vilayets Konya, Adana,
Aleppo, etc.[413]
The foundation of accumulation here becomes quite clear. German capital
builds railways, ports and irrigation works in Asiatic Turkey; in all these
enterprises it extorts new surplus value from the Asiatics whom it employs
as labour power. But this surplus value must be realised together with the
means of production from Germany (railway materials, machinery, etc.).
How is it done? In part by commodity exchange which is brought about by
the railways, the dockyards, etc., and nurtured in Asia Minor under
conditions of natural economy. In part, i.e. in so far as commodity exchange
does not grow quickly enough for the needs of capital, by using force, the
machinery of the state, to convert the national real income into
commodities; these are turned into cash in order to realise capital plus
surplus value. That is the true object of the revenue grants for independent
enterprises run by foreign capital, and of the collateral in the case of loans.
In both instances so-called tithes (ueshur), pledged in different ways, are
paid in kind by the Turkish peasant and these were gradually increased from
about 12 to 121⁄2 per cent. The peasant in the Asiatic vilayet must pay up or
else his tithe would simply be confiscated by the police and the central and
local authorities. These tithes, themselves a manifestation of ancient Asiatic
despotism based on natural economy, are not collected by the Turkish
government direct, but by tax-farmers not unlike the tax-collectors of the
ancien régime; that is to say the expected returns from the levy in each
vilayet are separately auctioned by the state to tax-farmers. They are bought
Page 423
by individual speculators or syndicates who sell the tithes of each sandshak
(district) to other speculators and these resell their shares to a whole number
of smaller agents. All these middlemen want to cover their expenses and
make the greatest possible profit, and thus, by the time they are actually
collected, the peasants’ contributions have swollen to enormous dimensions.
The tax-farmer will try to recoup himself for any mistake in his calculations
at the expense of the peasant, and the latter, nearly always in debt, is
impatient for the moment when he can sell his harvest. But often, after
cutting his corn, he cannot start threshing for weeks, until indeed the tax-
farmer deigns to take his due. His entire harvest is about to rot in the fields,
and the tax-farmer, usually a grain merchant himself, takes advantage of
this fact and compels him to sell at a low price. These tax-collectors know
how to enlist the support of the officials, especially the Muktars, the local
headmen, against complaining malcontents.[414]
Along with the taxes on salt, tobacco, spirits, the excise on silk, the fishing
dues, etc., the tithes are pledged with the Conseil de l’Administration de la
Dette Publique Ottomane to serve as security for the railway grant and the
loans. In every case the Conseil reserves to itself the right to vet the tax-
farmers’ contracts and stipulates for the proceeds of the tithe to be paid
directly into the coffers of its regional offices. If no tax-farmer can be
found, the tithes are stored in kind by the Turkish government; the
warehouse keys are deposited with the Conseil which then can sell the
tithes on its own account.
Thus the economic metabolism between the peasants of Asia Minor, Syria
and Mesopotamia on the one hand and German capital on the other
proceeds in the following way: in the vilayets Konya, Baghdad, Bazra, etc.,
the grain comes into being as a simple use-product of primitive peasant
economy. It immediately falls to the tithe-farmer as a state levy. Only then,
in the hands of this latter, does it become a commodity, and, as such, money
which falls to the state. This money is nothing but converted peasant grain;
it was not even produced as a commodity. But now, as a state guarantee, it
serves towards paying for the construction and operation of railways, i.e. to
realise both the value of the means of production and the surplus value
extorted from the Asiatic peasants and proletariat in the building and
running of the railway. In this process further means of production of
German origin are used, and so the peasant grain of Asia, converted into
(district) to other speculators and these resell their shares to a whole number
of smaller agents. All these middlemen want to cover their expenses and
make the greatest possible profit, and thus, by the time they are actually
collected, the peasants’ contributions have swollen to enormous dimensions.
The tax-farmer will try to recoup himself for any mistake in his calculations
at the expense of the peasant, and the latter, nearly always in debt, is
impatient for the moment when he can sell his harvest. But often, after
cutting his corn, he cannot start threshing for weeks, until indeed the tax-
farmer deigns to take his due. His entire harvest is about to rot in the fields,
and the tax-farmer, usually a grain merchant himself, takes advantage of
this fact and compels him to sell at a low price. These tax-collectors know
how to enlist the support of the officials, especially the Muktars, the local
headmen, against complaining malcontents.[414]
Along with the taxes on salt, tobacco, spirits, the excise on silk, the fishing
dues, etc., the tithes are pledged with the Conseil de l’Administration de la
Dette Publique Ottomane to serve as security for the railway grant and the
loans. In every case the Conseil reserves to itself the right to vet the tax-
farmers’ contracts and stipulates for the proceeds of the tithe to be paid
directly into the coffers of its regional offices. If no tax-farmer can be
found, the tithes are stored in kind by the Turkish government; the
warehouse keys are deposited with the Conseil which then can sell the
tithes on its own account.
Thus the economic metabolism between the peasants of Asia Minor, Syria
and Mesopotamia on the one hand and German capital on the other
proceeds in the following way: in the vilayets Konya, Baghdad, Bazra, etc.,
the grain comes into being as a simple use-product of primitive peasant
economy. It immediately falls to the tithe-farmer as a state levy. Only then,
in the hands of this latter, does it become a commodity, and, as such, money
which falls to the state. This money is nothing but converted peasant grain;
it was not even produced as a commodity. But now, as a state guarantee, it
serves towards paying for the construction and operation of railways, i.e. to
realise both the value of the means of production and the surplus value
extorted from the Asiatic peasants and proletariat in the building and
running of the railway. In this process further means of production of
German origin are used, and so the peasant grain of Asia, converted into
Page 424
money, also serves to turn into cash the surplus value that has been extorted
from the German workers. In the performance of these functions, the money
rolls from the hands of the Turkish government into the coffers of the
Deutsche Bank, and here it accumulates, as capitalist surplus value, in the
form of promoters’ profits, royalties, dividends and interests in the accounts
of Messrs. Gwinner, Siemens, Stinnes and their fellow directors, of the
shareholders and clients of the Deutsche Bank and the whole intricate
system of its subsidiary companies. If there is no tax-farmer, as provided in
the concessions, then the complicated metamorphoses are reduced to their
most simple and obvious terms: the peasant grain passes immediately to the
Administration de la Dette Publique Ottomane, i.e. to the representatives of
European capital, and becomes already in its natural form a revenue for
German and other foreign capital: it realises capitalist surplus value even
before it has shed its use-form for the Asiatic peasant, even before it has
become a commodity and its own value has been realised. This is a coarse
and straightforward metabolism between European capital and Asiatic
peasant economy, with the Turkish state reduced to its real rôle, that of a
political machinery for exploiting peasant economy for capitalist purposes,
—the real function, this, of all Oriental states in the period of capitalist
imperialism. This business of paying for German goods with German
capital in Asia is not the absurd circle it seems at first, with the kind
Germans allowing the shrewd Turks merely the ‘use’ of their great works of
civilisation—it is at bottom an exchange between German capital and
Asiatic peasant economy, an exchange performed under state compulsion.
On the one hand it makes for progressive accumulation and expanding
‘spheres of interest’ as a pretext for further political and economic
expansion of German capital in Turkey. Railroad building and commodity
exchange, on the other hand, are fostered by the state on the basis of a rapid
disintegration, ruin and exploitation of Asiatic peasant economy in the
course of which the Turkish state becomes more and more dependent on
European capital, politically as well as financially.[415]
from the German workers. In the performance of these functions, the money
rolls from the hands of the Turkish government into the coffers of the
Deutsche Bank, and here it accumulates, as capitalist surplus value, in the
form of promoters’ profits, royalties, dividends and interests in the accounts
of Messrs. Gwinner, Siemens, Stinnes and their fellow directors, of the
shareholders and clients of the Deutsche Bank and the whole intricate
system of its subsidiary companies. If there is no tax-farmer, as provided in
the concessions, then the complicated metamorphoses are reduced to their
most simple and obvious terms: the peasant grain passes immediately to the
Administration de la Dette Publique Ottomane, i.e. to the representatives of
European capital, and becomes already in its natural form a revenue for
German and other foreign capital: it realises capitalist surplus value even
before it has shed its use-form for the Asiatic peasant, even before it has
become a commodity and its own value has been realised. This is a coarse
and straightforward metabolism between European capital and Asiatic
peasant economy, with the Turkish state reduced to its real rôle, that of a
political machinery for exploiting peasant economy for capitalist purposes,
—the real function, this, of all Oriental states in the period of capitalist
imperialism. This business of paying for German goods with German
capital in Asia is not the absurd circle it seems at first, with the kind
Germans allowing the shrewd Turks merely the ‘use’ of their great works of
civilisation—it is at bottom an exchange between German capital and
Asiatic peasant economy, an exchange performed under state compulsion.
On the one hand it makes for progressive accumulation and expanding
‘spheres of interest’ as a pretext for further political and economic
expansion of German capital in Turkey. Railroad building and commodity
exchange, on the other hand, are fostered by the state on the basis of a rapid
disintegration, ruin and exploitation of Asiatic peasant economy in the
course of which the Turkish state becomes more and more dependent on
European capital, politically as well as financially.[415]
Page 425
CHAPTER XXXI
Page 426
PROTECTIVE TARIFFS AND
ACCUMULATION
Imperialism is the political expression of the accumulation of capital in its
competitive struggle for what remains still open of the non-capitalist
environment. Still the largest part of the world in terms of geography, this
remaining field for the expansion of capital is yet insignificant as against
the high level of development already attained by the productive forces of
capital; witness the immense masses of capital accumulated in the old
countries which seek an outlet for their surplus product and strive to
capitalise their surplus value, and the rapid change-over to capitalism of the
pre-capitalist civilisations. On the international stage, then, capital must
take appropriate measures. With the high development of the capitalist
countries and their increasingly severe competition in acquiring non-
capitalist areas, imperialism grows in lawlessness and violence, both in
aggression against the non-capitalist world and in ever more serious
conflicts among the competing capitalist countries. But the more violently,
ruthlessly and thoroughly imperialism brings about the decline of non-
capitalist civilisations, the more rapidly it cuts the very ground from under
the feet of capitalist accumulation. Though imperialism is the historical
method for prolonging the career of capitalism, it is also a sure means of
bringing it to a swift conclusion. This is not to say that capitalist
development must be actually driven to this extreme: the mere tendency
towards imperialism of itself takes forms which make the final phase of
capitalism a period of catastrophe.
Classical economics, in its period of storm and stress, had had high hopes of
a peaceful development of the accumulation of capital and of a trade and
industry which can only prosper in times of peace, evolving the orthodox
Manchester ideology of the harmony of interests among the world’s
commercial nations on the one hand, and between capital and labour on the
other. These hopes were apparently justified in Europe by the short period
of Free Trade in the sixties and seventies, which was based upon the
mistaken doctrine of the English Free Traders that the only theoretical and
ACCUMULATION
Imperialism is the political expression of the accumulation of capital in its
competitive struggle for what remains still open of the non-capitalist
environment. Still the largest part of the world in terms of geography, this
remaining field for the expansion of capital is yet insignificant as against
the high level of development already attained by the productive forces of
capital; witness the immense masses of capital accumulated in the old
countries which seek an outlet for their surplus product and strive to
capitalise their surplus value, and the rapid change-over to capitalism of the
pre-capitalist civilisations. On the international stage, then, capital must
take appropriate measures. With the high development of the capitalist
countries and their increasingly severe competition in acquiring non-
capitalist areas, imperialism grows in lawlessness and violence, both in
aggression against the non-capitalist world and in ever more serious
conflicts among the competing capitalist countries. But the more violently,
ruthlessly and thoroughly imperialism brings about the decline of non-
capitalist civilisations, the more rapidly it cuts the very ground from under
the feet of capitalist accumulation. Though imperialism is the historical
method for prolonging the career of capitalism, it is also a sure means of
bringing it to a swift conclusion. This is not to say that capitalist
development must be actually driven to this extreme: the mere tendency
towards imperialism of itself takes forms which make the final phase of
capitalism a period of catastrophe.
Classical economics, in its period of storm and stress, had had high hopes of
a peaceful development of the accumulation of capital and of a trade and
industry which can only prosper in times of peace, evolving the orthodox
Manchester ideology of the harmony of interests among the world’s
commercial nations on the one hand, and between capital and labour on the
other. These hopes were apparently justified in Europe by the short period
of Free Trade in the sixties and seventies, which was based upon the
mistaken doctrine of the English Free Traders that the only theoretical and
Page 427
practical condition for the accumulation of capital is commodity exchange,
that the two are identical. As we have seen, Ricardo and his whole school
identified accumulation and its reproductive conditions with simple
commodity production and the conditions of simple commodity circulation.
This was soon to become even more obvious in the practices of the
common Free Trader. The special interests of the exporting Lancashire
cotton manufacturers in Manchester determined the entire line of argument
of the Cobden League. Their principal object was to get markets, and it
became an article of faith: ‘Buy from foreign countries and thus in turn sell
our industrial product, our cotton goods, on the new markets.’ Cobden and
Bright demanded Free Trade and cheaper foodstuffs in particular in the
interest of consumption; but the consumer was not the worker who eats the
bread, but the capitalist who consumes labour power.
This teaching never expressed the interests of capitalist accumulation as a
whole. In England herself it was given the lie already in the forties, when
the harmony of interests of the commercial nations in the East were
proclaimed to the sound of gunfire in the Opium Wars which ultimately, by
the annexation of Hongkong, brought about the very opposite of such
harmony, a system of ‘spheres of interest’.[416] On the European Continent,
Free Trade in the sixties did not represent the interests of industrial capital,
because the foremost Free Trade countries of the Continent were still
predominantly agrarian with a comparatively feeble development of
industry. Rather, the policy of Free Trade was implemented as a means for
the political reconstruction of the Central European states. In Germany,
under Bismarck and Manteuffel, it was a peculiarly Prussian lever for
ousting Austria from the Bund and the Zollverein and to set up the new
German Empire under Prussian leadership. Economically speaking, the
mainstays of Free Trade were in this case the interests both of commercial
capital, especially in the Hansa towns to whom international trade was vital,
and of agrarian consumers; among industry proper, it was otherwise. The
iron industry was won over only with difficulty and in exchange for the
abolition of the Rhine tolls. But the cotton industry in Southern Germany
remained irreconcilable and clung to protective tariffs. In France, ‘most
favoured nations’ clause’ agreements, the basis of the Free Trade system all
over Europe, were concluded by Napoleon III without the consent, and even
against the will, of parliament, industrialists and agrarians, who constituted
an absolute majority, being in favour of protective tariffs. The government
that the two are identical. As we have seen, Ricardo and his whole school
identified accumulation and its reproductive conditions with simple
commodity production and the conditions of simple commodity circulation.
This was soon to become even more obvious in the practices of the
common Free Trader. The special interests of the exporting Lancashire
cotton manufacturers in Manchester determined the entire line of argument
of the Cobden League. Their principal object was to get markets, and it
became an article of faith: ‘Buy from foreign countries and thus in turn sell
our industrial product, our cotton goods, on the new markets.’ Cobden and
Bright demanded Free Trade and cheaper foodstuffs in particular in the
interest of consumption; but the consumer was not the worker who eats the
bread, but the capitalist who consumes labour power.
This teaching never expressed the interests of capitalist accumulation as a
whole. In England herself it was given the lie already in the forties, when
the harmony of interests of the commercial nations in the East were
proclaimed to the sound of gunfire in the Opium Wars which ultimately, by
the annexation of Hongkong, brought about the very opposite of such
harmony, a system of ‘spheres of interest’.[416] On the European Continent,
Free Trade in the sixties did not represent the interests of industrial capital,
because the foremost Free Trade countries of the Continent were still
predominantly agrarian with a comparatively feeble development of
industry. Rather, the policy of Free Trade was implemented as a means for
the political reconstruction of the Central European states. In Germany,
under Bismarck and Manteuffel, it was a peculiarly Prussian lever for
ousting Austria from the Bund and the Zollverein and to set up the new
German Empire under Prussian leadership. Economically speaking, the
mainstays of Free Trade were in this case the interests both of commercial
capital, especially in the Hansa towns to whom international trade was vital,
and of agrarian consumers; among industry proper, it was otherwise. The
iron industry was won over only with difficulty and in exchange for the
abolition of the Rhine tolls. But the cotton industry in Southern Germany
remained irreconcilable and clung to protective tariffs. In France, ‘most
favoured nations’ clause’ agreements, the basis of the Free Trade system all
over Europe, were concluded by Napoleon III without the consent, and even
against the will, of parliament, industrialists and agrarians, who constituted
an absolute majority, being in favour of protective tariffs. The government
Page 428
of the Second Empire only took the course of commercial treaties as an
emergency measure—Britain accepted it as such—in order to get round
political opposition in France and to establish Free Trade behind the back of
the legislature by international action. The first principal treaty between
England and France simply rode rough-shod over public opinion in France.
[417]
Two imperial decrees abolished the old system of French protective
tariffs which had been in force from 1853 to 1862. With scant observance of
the formalities they were ‘ratified’ in 1863. In Italy, Free Trade was a prop
of Cavour’s policy, depending as it did on French support. Under pressure
of public opinion, an inquiry was made in 1870 which revealed that those
most intimately concerned were hostile to the policy of Free Trade. In
Russia, finally, the tendency towards Free Trade in the sixties was but the
first step towards creating a broad basis for commodity economy and
industry on a large scale, coming at the same time as the abolition of
serfdom and the construction of a railway network.[418]
Thus the very inception of an international system of Free Trade shows it to
be just a passing phase in the history of capitalist accumulation, and it
shows up the fallacy of attributing the general reversion to protective tariffs
after the seventies simply to a defensive reaction against English Free
Trade.[419]
Such an explanation is vitiated by the fact that both in Germany and France
the leaders in the reversion to protective tariffs were the agrarian interests,
that the measures were directed not against British but against American
competition, and that not England but Germany constituted the chief danger
to the rising home industry in Russia, and France to that in Italy. Nor was
Britain’s monopoly the cause for the world-wide depression which
prevailed since the seventies and induced the desire for protective tariffs.
We must look deeper for the reasons responsible for the change of front on
the question of protective tariffs. The doctrine of Free Trade with its
delusion about the harmony of interests on the world market corresponded
with an outlook which conceived of everything in terms of commodity
exchange. It was abandoned just as soon as big industrial capital had
become sufficiently established in the principal countries of the European
Continent to look to the conditions for its accumulation. As against the
mutual interests of capitalist countries, these latter bring to the fore the
emergency measure—Britain accepted it as such—in order to get round
political opposition in France and to establish Free Trade behind the back of
the legislature by international action. The first principal treaty between
England and France simply rode rough-shod over public opinion in France.
[417]
Two imperial decrees abolished the old system of French protective
tariffs which had been in force from 1853 to 1862. With scant observance of
the formalities they were ‘ratified’ in 1863. In Italy, Free Trade was a prop
of Cavour’s policy, depending as it did on French support. Under pressure
of public opinion, an inquiry was made in 1870 which revealed that those
most intimately concerned were hostile to the policy of Free Trade. In
Russia, finally, the tendency towards Free Trade in the sixties was but the
first step towards creating a broad basis for commodity economy and
industry on a large scale, coming at the same time as the abolition of
serfdom and the construction of a railway network.[418]
Thus the very inception of an international system of Free Trade shows it to
be just a passing phase in the history of capitalist accumulation, and it
shows up the fallacy of attributing the general reversion to protective tariffs
after the seventies simply to a defensive reaction against English Free
Trade.[419]
Such an explanation is vitiated by the fact that both in Germany and France
the leaders in the reversion to protective tariffs were the agrarian interests,
that the measures were directed not against British but against American
competition, and that not England but Germany constituted the chief danger
to the rising home industry in Russia, and France to that in Italy. Nor was
Britain’s monopoly the cause for the world-wide depression which
prevailed since the seventies and induced the desire for protective tariffs.
We must look deeper for the reasons responsible for the change of front on
the question of protective tariffs. The doctrine of Free Trade with its
delusion about the harmony of interests on the world market corresponded
with an outlook which conceived of everything in terms of commodity
exchange. It was abandoned just as soon as big industrial capital had
become sufficiently established in the principal countries of the European
Continent to look to the conditions for its accumulation. As against the
mutual interests of capitalist countries, these latter bring to the fore the
Page 429
antagonism engendered by the competitive struggle for the non-capitalist
environment.
When the Free Trade era opened, Eastern Asia was only just being made
accessible by the Chinese wars, and European capital had but begun to
make headway in Egypt. In the eighties the policy of expansion became
ever stronger, together with a policy of protective tariffs. There was an
uninterrupted succession of events during the eighties: the British
occupation of Egypt, Germany’s colonial conquests in Africa, the French
occupation of Tunisia together with the Tonkin expedition, Italy’s advances
in Assab and Massawa, the Abyssinian war and the creation of a separate
Eritrea, and the English conquests in South Africa. The clash between Italy
and France over the Tunisian sphere of interest was the characteristic
prelude to the Franco-Italian tariff war seven years later, by which drastic
epilogue an end was made to the Free Trade harmony of interests on the
European Continent. To monopolise the non-capitalist areas at home and
abroad became the war-cry of capital, while the free-trade policy of the
‘open door’ specifically represented the peculiar helplessness of non-
capitalist countries in the face of international capital and the natural
equilibrium which was aimed at by its competition in the preliminary stage
of the partial or total occupation of these areas as colonies or spheres of
interest. As the oldest capitalist Empire, England alone could so far remain
loyal to Free Trade, primarily because she had long had immense
possessions of non-capitalist areas as a basis for operations which afforded
her almost unlimited opportunities for capitalist accumulation. Until
recently, she had thus in fact been beyond the competition of other capitalist
countries. These, in turn, universally strove to become self-sufficient behind
a barrier of protective tariffs; yet they buy one another’s commodities and
come to depend ever more one upon another for replenishing their material
conditions of reproduction. Indeed, protective tariffs have by now
completely lost their use for technical development of the productive forces,
all too often being the instrument for the artificial conservation of obsolete
productive methods. The inherent contradictions of an international policy
of protective tariffs, exactly like the dual character of the international loan
system, are just a reflection of the historical antagonism which has
developed between the dual interests of accumulation: expansion, the
realisation and capitalisation of surplus value on the one hand, and, on the
environment.
When the Free Trade era opened, Eastern Asia was only just being made
accessible by the Chinese wars, and European capital had but begun to
make headway in Egypt. In the eighties the policy of expansion became
ever stronger, together with a policy of protective tariffs. There was an
uninterrupted succession of events during the eighties: the British
occupation of Egypt, Germany’s colonial conquests in Africa, the French
occupation of Tunisia together with the Tonkin expedition, Italy’s advances
in Assab and Massawa, the Abyssinian war and the creation of a separate
Eritrea, and the English conquests in South Africa. The clash between Italy
and France over the Tunisian sphere of interest was the characteristic
prelude to the Franco-Italian tariff war seven years later, by which drastic
epilogue an end was made to the Free Trade harmony of interests on the
European Continent. To monopolise the non-capitalist areas at home and
abroad became the war-cry of capital, while the free-trade policy of the
‘open door’ specifically represented the peculiar helplessness of non-
capitalist countries in the face of international capital and the natural
equilibrium which was aimed at by its competition in the preliminary stage
of the partial or total occupation of these areas as colonies or spheres of
interest. As the oldest capitalist Empire, England alone could so far remain
loyal to Free Trade, primarily because she had long had immense
possessions of non-capitalist areas as a basis for operations which afforded
her almost unlimited opportunities for capitalist accumulation. Until
recently, she had thus in fact been beyond the competition of other capitalist
countries. These, in turn, universally strove to become self-sufficient behind
a barrier of protective tariffs; yet they buy one another’s commodities and
come to depend ever more one upon another for replenishing their material
conditions of reproduction. Indeed, protective tariffs have by now
completely lost their use for technical development of the productive forces,
all too often being the instrument for the artificial conservation of obsolete
productive methods. The inherent contradictions of an international policy
of protective tariffs, exactly like the dual character of the international loan
system, are just a reflection of the historical antagonism which has
developed between the dual interests of accumulation: expansion, the
realisation and capitalisation of surplus value on the one hand, and, on the
Page 430
other, an outlook which conceives of everything purely in terms of
commodity exchange.
This fact is evidenced particularly in that the modern system of high
protective tariffs, required by colonial expansion and the increasing inner
tension of the capitalist medium, was also instituted with a view to
increasing armaments. The reversion to protective tariffs was carried
through in Germany as well as in France, Italy, and Russia, together with,
and in the interests of, an expansion of the armed services, as the basis for
the European competition in armaments which was developing at that time,
first on land, and then also at sea. European Free Trade, with its attendant
continental system of infantry, had been superseded by protective tariffs as
the foundation and supplement of an imperialist system with a strong bias
towards naval power.
Thus capitalist accumulation as a whole, as an actual historical process, has
two different aspects. One concerns the commodity market and the place
where surplus value is produced—the factory, the mine, the agricultural
estate. Regarded in this light, accumulation is a purely economic process,
with its most important phase a transaction between the capitalist and wage
labourer. In both its phases, however, it is confined to the exchange of
equivalents and remains within the limits of commodity exchange. Here, in
form at any rate, peace, property and equality prevail, and the keen
dialectics of scientific analysis were required to reveal how the right of
ownership changes in the course of accumulation into appropriation of
other people’s property, how commodity exchange turns into exploitation
and equality becomes class-rule.
The other aspect of the accumulation of capital concerns the relations
between capitalism and the non-capitalist modes of production which start
making their appearance on the international stage. Its predominant
methods are colonial policy, an international loan system—a policy of
spheres of interest—and war. Force, fraud, oppression, looting are openly
displayed without any attempt at concealment, and it requires an effort to
discover within this tangle of political violence and contests of power the
stern laws of the economic process.
Bourgeois liberal theory takes into account only the former aspect: the
realm of ‘peaceful competition’, the marvels of technology and pure
commodity exchange.
This fact is evidenced particularly in that the modern system of high
protective tariffs, required by colonial expansion and the increasing inner
tension of the capitalist medium, was also instituted with a view to
increasing armaments. The reversion to protective tariffs was carried
through in Germany as well as in France, Italy, and Russia, together with,
and in the interests of, an expansion of the armed services, as the basis for
the European competition in armaments which was developing at that time,
first on land, and then also at sea. European Free Trade, with its attendant
continental system of infantry, had been superseded by protective tariffs as
the foundation and supplement of an imperialist system with a strong bias
towards naval power.
Thus capitalist accumulation as a whole, as an actual historical process, has
two different aspects. One concerns the commodity market and the place
where surplus value is produced—the factory, the mine, the agricultural
estate. Regarded in this light, accumulation is a purely economic process,
with its most important phase a transaction between the capitalist and wage
labourer. In both its phases, however, it is confined to the exchange of
equivalents and remains within the limits of commodity exchange. Here, in
form at any rate, peace, property and equality prevail, and the keen
dialectics of scientific analysis were required to reveal how the right of
ownership changes in the course of accumulation into appropriation of
other people’s property, how commodity exchange turns into exploitation
and equality becomes class-rule.
The other aspect of the accumulation of capital concerns the relations
between capitalism and the non-capitalist modes of production which start
making their appearance on the international stage. Its predominant
methods are colonial policy, an international loan system—a policy of
spheres of interest—and war. Force, fraud, oppression, looting are openly
displayed without any attempt at concealment, and it requires an effort to
discover within this tangle of political violence and contests of power the
stern laws of the economic process.
Bourgeois liberal theory takes into account only the former aspect: the
realm of ‘peaceful competition’, the marvels of technology and pure
Page 431
commodity exchange; it separates it strictly from the other aspect: the realm
of capital’s blustering violence which is regarded as more or less incidental
to foreign policy and quite independent of the economic sphere of capital.
In reality, political power is nothing but a vehicle for the economic process.
The conditions for the reproduction of capital provide the organic link
between these two aspects of the accumulation of capital. The historical
career of capitalism can only be appreciated by taking them together.
‘Sweating blood and filth with every pore from head to toe’ characterises
not only the birth of capital but also its progress in the world at every step,
and thus capitalism prepares its own downfall under ever more violent
contortions and convulsions.
of capital’s blustering violence which is regarded as more or less incidental
to foreign policy and quite independent of the economic sphere of capital.
In reality, political power is nothing but a vehicle for the economic process.
The conditions for the reproduction of capital provide the organic link
between these two aspects of the accumulation of capital. The historical
career of capitalism can only be appreciated by taking them together.
‘Sweating blood and filth with every pore from head to toe’ characterises
not only the birth of capital but also its progress in the world at every step,
and thus capitalism prepares its own downfall under ever more violent
contortions and convulsions.
Page 432
CHAPTER XXXII
Page 433
MILITARISM AS A PROVINCE OF
ACCUMULATION
Militarism fulfils a quite definite function in the history of capital,
accompanying as it does every historical phase of accumulation. It plays a
decisive part in the first stages of European capitalism, in the period of the
so-called ‘primitive accumulation’, as a means of conquering the New
World and the spice-producing countries of India. Later, it is employed to
subject the modern colonies, to destroy the social organisations of primitive
societies so that their means of production may be appropriated, forcibly to
introduce commodity trade in countries where the social structure had been
unfavourable to it, and to turn the natives into a proletariat by compelling
them to work for wages in the colonies. It is responsible for the creation and
expansion of spheres of interest for European capital in non-European
regions, for extorting railway concessions in backward countries, and for
enforcing the claims of European capital as international lender. Finally,
militarism is a weapon in the competitive struggle between capitalist
countries for areas of non-capitalist civilisation.
In addition, militarism has yet another important function. From the purely
economic point of view, it is a pre-eminent means for the realisation of
surplus value; it is in itself a province of accumulation. In examining the
question who should count as a buyer for the mass of products containing
the capitalised surplus value, we have again and again refused to consider
the state and its organs as consumers. Since their income is derivative, they
were all taken to belong to the special category of those who live on the
surplus value (or partly on the wage of labour), together with the liberal
professions and the various parasites of present-day society (‘king,
professor, prostitute, mercenary’). But this interpretation will only do on
two assumptions: first, if we take it, in accordance with Marx’s diagram,
that the state has no other sources of taxation than capitalist surplus value
and wages,[420] and secondly, if we regard the state and its organs as
consumers pure and simple. If the issue turns on the personal consumption
of the state organs (as also of the ‘mercenary’) the point is that consumption
ACCUMULATION
Militarism fulfils a quite definite function in the history of capital,
accompanying as it does every historical phase of accumulation. It plays a
decisive part in the first stages of European capitalism, in the period of the
so-called ‘primitive accumulation’, as a means of conquering the New
World and the spice-producing countries of India. Later, it is employed to
subject the modern colonies, to destroy the social organisations of primitive
societies so that their means of production may be appropriated, forcibly to
introduce commodity trade in countries where the social structure had been
unfavourable to it, and to turn the natives into a proletariat by compelling
them to work for wages in the colonies. It is responsible for the creation and
expansion of spheres of interest for European capital in non-European
regions, for extorting railway concessions in backward countries, and for
enforcing the claims of European capital as international lender. Finally,
militarism is a weapon in the competitive struggle between capitalist
countries for areas of non-capitalist civilisation.
In addition, militarism has yet another important function. From the purely
economic point of view, it is a pre-eminent means for the realisation of
surplus value; it is in itself a province of accumulation. In examining the
question who should count as a buyer for the mass of products containing
the capitalised surplus value, we have again and again refused to consider
the state and its organs as consumers. Since their income is derivative, they
were all taken to belong to the special category of those who live on the
surplus value (or partly on the wage of labour), together with the liberal
professions and the various parasites of present-day society (‘king,
professor, prostitute, mercenary’). But this interpretation will only do on
two assumptions: first, if we take it, in accordance with Marx’s diagram,
that the state has no other sources of taxation than capitalist surplus value
and wages,[420] and secondly, if we regard the state and its organs as
consumers pure and simple. If the issue turns on the personal consumption
of the state organs (as also of the ‘mercenary’) the point is that consumption
Page 434
is partly transferred from the working class to the hangers-on of the
capitalist class, in so far as the workers foot the bill.
Let us assume for a moment that the indirect taxes extorted from the
workers, which mean a curtailment of their consumption, are used entirely
to pay the salaries of the state officials and to provision the regular army.
There will then be no change in the reproduction of social capital as a
whole. Both Departments II and I remain constant because society as a
whole still demands the same kind of products and in the same quantities.
Only v as the commodity of ‘labour power’ has changed in value in relation
to the products of Department II, i.e. in relation to the means of subsistence.
This v, the same amount of money representing labour power, is now
exchanged for a smaller amount of means of subsistence. What happens to
the products of Department II which are then left over? Instead of the
workers, the state officials and the regular army now receive them. The
organs of the capitalist state take over the workers’ consumption on the
same scale exactly. Although the conditions of reproduction have remained
stable, there has been a redistribution of the total product. Part of the
products of Department II, originally intended entirely for the consumption
of the workers as equivalent for v, is now allocated to the hangers-on of the
capitalist class for consumption. From the point of view of social
reproduction, it is as if the relative surplus value had in the first place been
larger by a certain amount which is added on to the consumption of the
capitalist class and its hangers-on.
So far the crude exploitation, by the mechanism of indirect taxation, of the
working class for the support of the capitalist state’s officials amounts
merely to an increase of the surplus value, of that part of it, that is to say,
which is consumed. The difference is that this further splitting off of surplus
value from variable capital only comes later, after the exchange between
capital and labour has been accomplished. But the consumption by the
organs of the capitalist state has no bearing on the realisation of capitalised
surplus value, because the additional surplus value for this consumption—
even though it comes about at the workers’ expense—is created afterwards.
On the other hand, if the workers did not pay for the greater part of the state
officials’ upkeep, the capitalists themselves would have to bear the entire
cost of it. A corresponding portion of their surplus value would have to be
assigned directly to keeping the organs of their class-rule, either at the
capitalist class, in so far as the workers foot the bill.
Let us assume for a moment that the indirect taxes extorted from the
workers, which mean a curtailment of their consumption, are used entirely
to pay the salaries of the state officials and to provision the regular army.
There will then be no change in the reproduction of social capital as a
whole. Both Departments II and I remain constant because society as a
whole still demands the same kind of products and in the same quantities.
Only v as the commodity of ‘labour power’ has changed in value in relation
to the products of Department II, i.e. in relation to the means of subsistence.
This v, the same amount of money representing labour power, is now
exchanged for a smaller amount of means of subsistence. What happens to
the products of Department II which are then left over? Instead of the
workers, the state officials and the regular army now receive them. The
organs of the capitalist state take over the workers’ consumption on the
same scale exactly. Although the conditions of reproduction have remained
stable, there has been a redistribution of the total product. Part of the
products of Department II, originally intended entirely for the consumption
of the workers as equivalent for v, is now allocated to the hangers-on of the
capitalist class for consumption. From the point of view of social
reproduction, it is as if the relative surplus value had in the first place been
larger by a certain amount which is added on to the consumption of the
capitalist class and its hangers-on.
So far the crude exploitation, by the mechanism of indirect taxation, of the
working class for the support of the capitalist state’s officials amounts
merely to an increase of the surplus value, of that part of it, that is to say,
which is consumed. The difference is that this further splitting off of surplus
value from variable capital only comes later, after the exchange between
capital and labour has been accomplished. But the consumption by the
organs of the capitalist state has no bearing on the realisation of capitalised
surplus value, because the additional surplus value for this consumption—
even though it comes about at the workers’ expense—is created afterwards.
On the other hand, if the workers did not pay for the greater part of the state
officials’ upkeep, the capitalists themselves would have to bear the entire
cost of it. A corresponding portion of their surplus value would have to be
assigned directly to keeping the organs of their class-rule, either at the
Page 435
expense of production which would have to be curtailed accordingly, or,
which is more probable, it would come from the surplus value intended for
their consumption. The capitalists would have to capitalise on a smaller
scale because of having to contribute more towards the immediate
preservation of their own class. In so far as they shift onto the working class
(and also the representatives of simple commodity production, such as
peasants and artisans) the principal charge of their hangers-on, the
capitalists have a larger portion of surplus value available for capitalisation.
But as yet no opportunities for such capitalisation have come into being, no
new market, that is to say, for the surplus value that has become available,
in which it could produce and realise new commodities. But when the
monies concentrated in the exchequer by taxation are used for the
production of armaments, the picture is changed.
With indirect taxation and high protective tariffs, the bill of militarism is
footed mainly by the working class and the peasants. The two kinds of
taxation must be considered separately. From an economic point of view, it
amounts to the following, as far as the working class is concerned: provided
that wages are not raised to make up for the higher price of foodstuffs—
which is at present the fate of the greatest part of the working class,
including even the minority that is organised in trade unions, owing to the
pressure of cartels and employers’ organisations[421] —indirect taxation
means that part of the purchasing power of the working class is transferred
to the state. Now as before the variable capital, as a fixed amount of money,
will put in motion an appropriate quantity of living labour, that is to say it
serves to employ the appropriate quantity of constant capital in production
and to produce the corresponding amount of surplus value. As soon as
capital has completed this cycle, it is divided between the working class and
the state: the workers surrender the state part of the money they received as
wages. Capital has wholly appropriated the former variable capital in its
material form, as labour power, but the working class retains only part of
the variable capital in the form of money, the state claiming the rest. And
this invariably happens after capital has run its cycle between capitalist and
worker; it takes place, as it were, behind the back of capital, at no point
impinging direct on the vital stages of the circulation of capital and the
production of surplus value, so that it is no immediate concern of the latter.
But all the same it does affect the conditions for the reproduction of capital
as a whole. The transfer of some of the purchasing power from the working
which is more probable, it would come from the surplus value intended for
their consumption. The capitalists would have to capitalise on a smaller
scale because of having to contribute more towards the immediate
preservation of their own class. In so far as they shift onto the working class
(and also the representatives of simple commodity production, such as
peasants and artisans) the principal charge of their hangers-on, the
capitalists have a larger portion of surplus value available for capitalisation.
But as yet no opportunities for such capitalisation have come into being, no
new market, that is to say, for the surplus value that has become available,
in which it could produce and realise new commodities. But when the
monies concentrated in the exchequer by taxation are used for the
production of armaments, the picture is changed.
With indirect taxation and high protective tariffs, the bill of militarism is
footed mainly by the working class and the peasants. The two kinds of
taxation must be considered separately. From an economic point of view, it
amounts to the following, as far as the working class is concerned: provided
that wages are not raised to make up for the higher price of foodstuffs—
which is at present the fate of the greatest part of the working class,
including even the minority that is organised in trade unions, owing to the
pressure of cartels and employers’ organisations[421] —indirect taxation
means that part of the purchasing power of the working class is transferred
to the state. Now as before the variable capital, as a fixed amount of money,
will put in motion an appropriate quantity of living labour, that is to say it
serves to employ the appropriate quantity of constant capital in production
and to produce the corresponding amount of surplus value. As soon as
capital has completed this cycle, it is divided between the working class and
the state: the workers surrender the state part of the money they received as
wages. Capital has wholly appropriated the former variable capital in its
material form, as labour power, but the working class retains only part of
the variable capital in the form of money, the state claiming the rest. And
this invariably happens after capital has run its cycle between capitalist and
worker; it takes place, as it were, behind the back of capital, at no point
impinging direct on the vital stages of the circulation of capital and the
production of surplus value, so that it is no immediate concern of the latter.
But all the same it does affect the conditions for the reproduction of capital
as a whole. The transfer of some of the purchasing power from the working
Page 436
class to the state entails a proportionate decrease in the consumption of
means of subsistence by the working class. For capital as a whole, it means
producing a smaller quantity of consumer goods for the working class,
provided that both variable capital (in the form of money and as labour
power) and the mass of appropriated surplus value remain constant, so that
the workers get a smaller share of the aggregate product. In the process of
reproduction of the entire capital, then, means of subsistence will be
produced in amounts smaller than the value of the variable capital, because
of the shift in the ratio between the value of the variable capital and the
quantity of means of subsistence in which it is realised, with the money
wages of labour remaining constant, according to our premise, or at any rate
not rising sufficiently to offset the increase in the price of foodstuffs. This
increase represents the level of indirect taxation.
How will the material relations of reproduction be adjusted? When fewer
means of subsistence are needed for the renewal of labour power, a
corresponding amount of constant capital and living labour becomes
available which can now be used for producing other commodities in
response to a new effective demand arising within society. It arises from the
side of the state which has appropriated, by way of tax legislation, the part
wanting of the workers’ purchasing power. This time, however, the state
does not demand means of subsistence (after all that has already been said
under the heading of ‘third persons’, we shall here ignore the demand for
means of subsistence for state officials which is also satisfied out of taxes)
but it requires a special kind of product, namely the militarist weapons of
war on land and at sea.
Again we take Marx’s second diagram of accumulation as the basis for
investigating the ensuing changes in social reproduction:
I. 5,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 7,000means of production
II. 1,430c + 285v + 285s = 2,000means of subsistence
Now let us suppose that, owing to indirect taxation and the consequent
increase in the price of means of subsistence, the working class as a whole
reduces consumption by, say, a 100 value units of the real wages. As before,
the workers receive 1,000v + 285v = 1,285v in money, but for this money
they only get means of subsistence to the value of 1185. The 100 units
which represent the tax increase in the price of foodstuffs go to the state
means of subsistence by the working class. For capital as a whole, it means
producing a smaller quantity of consumer goods for the working class,
provided that both variable capital (in the form of money and as labour
power) and the mass of appropriated surplus value remain constant, so that
the workers get a smaller share of the aggregate product. In the process of
reproduction of the entire capital, then, means of subsistence will be
produced in amounts smaller than the value of the variable capital, because
of the shift in the ratio between the value of the variable capital and the
quantity of means of subsistence in which it is realised, with the money
wages of labour remaining constant, according to our premise, or at any rate
not rising sufficiently to offset the increase in the price of foodstuffs. This
increase represents the level of indirect taxation.
How will the material relations of reproduction be adjusted? When fewer
means of subsistence are needed for the renewal of labour power, a
corresponding amount of constant capital and living labour becomes
available which can now be used for producing other commodities in
response to a new effective demand arising within society. It arises from the
side of the state which has appropriated, by way of tax legislation, the part
wanting of the workers’ purchasing power. This time, however, the state
does not demand means of subsistence (after all that has already been said
under the heading of ‘third persons’, we shall here ignore the demand for
means of subsistence for state officials which is also satisfied out of taxes)
but it requires a special kind of product, namely the militarist weapons of
war on land and at sea.
Again we take Marx’s second diagram of accumulation as the basis for
investigating the ensuing changes in social reproduction:
I. 5,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 7,000means of production
II. 1,430c + 285v + 285s = 2,000means of subsistence
Now let us suppose that, owing to indirect taxation and the consequent
increase in the price of means of subsistence, the working class as a whole
reduces consumption by, say, a 100 value units of the real wages. As before,
the workers receive 1,000v + 285v = 1,285v in money, but for this money
they only get means of subsistence to the value of 1185. The 100 units
which represent the tax increase in the price of foodstuffs go to the state
Page 437
which receives in addition military taxes from the peasants, etc., to the
value of 150 units, bringing the total up to 250. This total constitutes a new
demand—the demand for armaments. At present, however, we are only
interested in the 100 units taken from the workers’ wages. This demand for
armaments to the value of 100 must be satisfied by the creation of an
appropriate branch of production which requires a constant capital of 71·5
and a variable capital of 14·25, assuming the average organic composition
outlined in Marx’s diagram.
71·5c + 14·25v + 14·25s = 100weapons of war
This new branch of production further requires that 71·5 means of
production be produced and about 13 means of subsistence, because, of
course, the real wages of the workers are also less by about one-thirteenth.
You could counter by saying that the profit accruing to capital from this
new expansion of demand is merely on paper, because the cut in the actual
consumption of the working class will inevitably result in a corresponding
curtailment of the means of subsistence produced. It will take the following
form for Department II:
71·5c + 14·25v + 14·25s = 100
In addition, Department I will also have to contract accordingly, so that,
owing to the decreasing consumption of the working class, the equations for
both departments will be:
I. 4,949c + 989·75v + 989·75s = 6,928·5
II. 1,358·5c + 270·75v + 270·75s = 1,900
If, by the mediation of the state, the same 100 units now call forth
armament production of an equal volume with a corresponding fillip to the
production of producer goods, this is at first sight only an extraneous
change in the material forms of social production: instead of a quantity of
means of subsistence a quantity of armaments is now being produced.
Capital has won with the left hand only what it has lost with the right. Or
we might say that the large number of capitalists producing means of
subsistence have lost the effective demand in favour of a small group of big
armament manufacturers.
value of 150 units, bringing the total up to 250. This total constitutes a new
demand—the demand for armaments. At present, however, we are only
interested in the 100 units taken from the workers’ wages. This demand for
armaments to the value of 100 must be satisfied by the creation of an
appropriate branch of production which requires a constant capital of 71·5
and a variable capital of 14·25, assuming the average organic composition
outlined in Marx’s diagram.
71·5c + 14·25v + 14·25s = 100weapons of war
This new branch of production further requires that 71·5 means of
production be produced and about 13 means of subsistence, because, of
course, the real wages of the workers are also less by about one-thirteenth.
You could counter by saying that the profit accruing to capital from this
new expansion of demand is merely on paper, because the cut in the actual
consumption of the working class will inevitably result in a corresponding
curtailment of the means of subsistence produced. It will take the following
form for Department II:
71·5c + 14·25v + 14·25s = 100
In addition, Department I will also have to contract accordingly, so that,
owing to the decreasing consumption of the working class, the equations for
both departments will be:
I. 4,949c + 989·75v + 989·75s = 6,928·5
II. 1,358·5c + 270·75v + 270·75s = 1,900
If, by the mediation of the state, the same 100 units now call forth
armament production of an equal volume with a corresponding fillip to the
production of producer goods, this is at first sight only an extraneous
change in the material forms of social production: instead of a quantity of
means of subsistence a quantity of armaments is now being produced.
Capital has won with the left hand only what it has lost with the right. Or
we might say that the large number of capitalists producing means of
subsistence have lost the effective demand in favour of a small group of big
armament manufacturers.
Page 438
But this picture is only valid for individual capital. Here it makes no
difference indeed whether production engages in one sphere of activity or
another. As far as the individual capitalist is concerned, there are no
departments of total production such as the diagram distinguishes. There are
only commodities and buyers, and it is completely immaterial to him
whether he produces instruments of life or instruments of death, corned
beef or armour plating.
Opponents of militarism frequently appeal to this point of view to show that
military supplies as an economic investment for capital merely put profit
taken from one capitalist into the pocket of another.[422] On the other hand,
capital and its advocates try to overpersuade the working class to this point
of view by talking them into the belief that indirect taxes and the demand of
the state would only bring about a change in the material form of
reproduction; instead of other commodities cruisers and guns would be
produced which would give the workers as good a living, if not a better one.
One glance at the diagram shows how little truth there is in this argument as
far as the workers are concerned. To make comparison easier, we will
suppose the armament factories to employ just as many workers as were
employed before in the production of means of subsistence for the working
class. 1,285 units will then be paid out as wages, but now they will only buy
1,185’s worth of means of subsistence.
All this looks different from the perspective of capital as a whole. For this
the 100 at the disposal of the state, which represent the demand for
armaments, constitute a new market. Originally this money was variable
capital and as such it has done its job, it has been exchanged for living
labour which produced the surplus value. But then the circulation of the
variable capital was stopped short, this money was split off, and it now
appears as a new purchasing power in the possession of the state. It has
been created by sleight of hand, as it were, but still it has the same effects as
a newly opened market. Of course for the time being capital is debarred
from selling 100 units of consumer goods for the working class, and the
individual capitalist considers the worker just as good a consumer and
buyer of commodities as anyone else, another capitalist, the state, the
peasant, foreign countries, etc. But let us not forget that for capital as a
whole the upkeep of the working class is only a necessary evil, only a
means towards the real end of production: the creation and realisation of
difference indeed whether production engages in one sphere of activity or
another. As far as the individual capitalist is concerned, there are no
departments of total production such as the diagram distinguishes. There are
only commodities and buyers, and it is completely immaterial to him
whether he produces instruments of life or instruments of death, corned
beef or armour plating.
Opponents of militarism frequently appeal to this point of view to show that
military supplies as an economic investment for capital merely put profit
taken from one capitalist into the pocket of another.[422] On the other hand,
capital and its advocates try to overpersuade the working class to this point
of view by talking them into the belief that indirect taxes and the demand of
the state would only bring about a change in the material form of
reproduction; instead of other commodities cruisers and guns would be
produced which would give the workers as good a living, if not a better one.
One glance at the diagram shows how little truth there is in this argument as
far as the workers are concerned. To make comparison easier, we will
suppose the armament factories to employ just as many workers as were
employed before in the production of means of subsistence for the working
class. 1,285 units will then be paid out as wages, but now they will only buy
1,185’s worth of means of subsistence.
All this looks different from the perspective of capital as a whole. For this
the 100 at the disposal of the state, which represent the demand for
armaments, constitute a new market. Originally this money was variable
capital and as such it has done its job, it has been exchanged for living
labour which produced the surplus value. But then the circulation of the
variable capital was stopped short, this money was split off, and it now
appears as a new purchasing power in the possession of the state. It has
been created by sleight of hand, as it were, but still it has the same effects as
a newly opened market. Of course for the time being capital is debarred
from selling 100 units of consumer goods for the working class, and the
individual capitalist considers the worker just as good a consumer and
buyer of commodities as anyone else, another capitalist, the state, the
peasant, foreign countries, etc. But let us not forget that for capital as a
whole the upkeep of the working class is only a necessary evil, only a
means towards the real end of production: the creation and realisation of
Page 439
surplus value. If it were possible to extort surplus value without giving
labour an equal measure of means of subsistence, it would be all the better
for business. To begin with indirect taxation has the same effects as if—the
price of foodstuffs remaining constant—the capitalists had succeeded in
depressing wages by a hundred units without detracting from the work
performed, seeing that a lower output of consumer goods is equally the
inevitable result of continuous wage cuts. If wages are cut heavily, capital
does not worry about having to produce fewer means of subsistence for the
workers, in fact it delights in this practice at every opportunity; similarly,
capital as a whole does not mind if the effective demand of the working
class for means of subsistence is curtailed because of indirect taxation
which is not compensated by a rise in wages. This may seem strange
because in the latter case the balance of the variable capital goes to the
exchequer, while with a direct wage cut it remains in the capitalists’ pockets
and—commodity prices remaining equal—increases the relative surplus
value. But a continuous and universal reduction of money wages can only
be carried through on rare occasions, especially if trade union organisation
is highly developed. There are strong social and political barriers to this
fond aspiration of capital. Depression of the real wage by means of indirect
taxation, on the other hand, can be carried through promptly, smoothly and
universally, and it usually takes time for protests to be heard; and besides,
the opposition is confined to the political field and has no immediate
economic repercussions. The subsequent restriction in the production of
means of subsistence does not represent a loss of markets for capital as a
whole but rather a saving in the costs of producing surplus value. Surplus
value is never realised by producing means of subsistence for the workers—
however necessary this may be, as the reproduction of living labour, for the
production of surplus value.
But to come back to our example:
I. 5,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 7,000means of production
II. 1,430c + 285v + 285v = 2,000means of subsistence
At first it looks as if Department II were also creating and realising surplus
value in the process of producing means of subsistence for the workers, and
Department I by producing the requisite means of production. But if we
take the social product as a whole, the illusion disappears. The equation is
in that case:
labour an equal measure of means of subsistence, it would be all the better
for business. To begin with indirect taxation has the same effects as if—the
price of foodstuffs remaining constant—the capitalists had succeeded in
depressing wages by a hundred units without detracting from the work
performed, seeing that a lower output of consumer goods is equally the
inevitable result of continuous wage cuts. If wages are cut heavily, capital
does not worry about having to produce fewer means of subsistence for the
workers, in fact it delights in this practice at every opportunity; similarly,
capital as a whole does not mind if the effective demand of the working
class for means of subsistence is curtailed because of indirect taxation
which is not compensated by a rise in wages. This may seem strange
because in the latter case the balance of the variable capital goes to the
exchequer, while with a direct wage cut it remains in the capitalists’ pockets
and—commodity prices remaining equal—increases the relative surplus
value. But a continuous and universal reduction of money wages can only
be carried through on rare occasions, especially if trade union organisation
is highly developed. There are strong social and political barriers to this
fond aspiration of capital. Depression of the real wage by means of indirect
taxation, on the other hand, can be carried through promptly, smoothly and
universally, and it usually takes time for protests to be heard; and besides,
the opposition is confined to the political field and has no immediate
economic repercussions. The subsequent restriction in the production of
means of subsistence does not represent a loss of markets for capital as a
whole but rather a saving in the costs of producing surplus value. Surplus
value is never realised by producing means of subsistence for the workers—
however necessary this may be, as the reproduction of living labour, for the
production of surplus value.
But to come back to our example:
I. 5,000c + 1,000v + 1,000s = 7,000means of production
II. 1,430c + 285v + 285v = 2,000means of subsistence
At first it looks as if Department II were also creating and realising surplus
value in the process of producing means of subsistence for the workers, and
Department I by producing the requisite means of production. But if we
take the social product as a whole, the illusion disappears. The equation is
in that case:
Page 440
6,430c + 1,285v + 1,285s = 9,000
Now, if the means of subsistence for the workers are cut by 100 units, the
corresponding contraction of both departments will give us the following
equations:
I. 4,949c + 989·75v + 989·75s = 6,928·5
II. 1,358·5c + 270·75v + 270·75s = 1,900
and for the social product as a whole:
6,307·5c + 1,260·5v + 1,260·5s = 8,828·5
This looks like a general decrease in both the total volume of production
and in the production of surplus value—but only if we contemplate just the
abstract quantities of value in the composition of the total product; it does
not hold good for the material composition thereof. Looking closer, we find
that nothing but the upkeep of labour is in effect decreased. Fewer means of
subsistence and production are now being made, no doubt, but then, they
had had no other function save to maintain workers. The social product is
smaller and less capital is now employed—but then, the object of capitalist
production is not simply to employ as much capital as possible, but to
produce as much surplus value as possible. Capital has only decreased
because a smaller amount is sufficient for maintaining the workers. If the
total cost of maintaining the workers employed in the society came to 1,285
units in the first instance, the present decrease of the social product by
171·5—the difference of (9,000-8,828·5)—comes off this maintenance
charge, and there is a consequent change in the composition of the social
product:
6,430c + 1,113·5v + 1,285s = 8,828·5
Constant capital and surplus value remain unchanged, and only the variable
capital, paid labour, has diminished. Or—in case there are doubts about
constant capital being unaffected—we may further allow for the event that,
as would happen in actual practice, concomitant with the decrease in means
of subsistence for the workers there will be a corresponding cut in the
constant capital. The equation for the social product as a whole would then
be:
6,307·5c + 1,236v + 1,285s = 8,828·5
Now, if the means of subsistence for the workers are cut by 100 units, the
corresponding contraction of both departments will give us the following
equations:
I. 4,949c + 989·75v + 989·75s = 6,928·5
II. 1,358·5c + 270·75v + 270·75s = 1,900
and for the social product as a whole:
6,307·5c + 1,260·5v + 1,260·5s = 8,828·5
This looks like a general decrease in both the total volume of production
and in the production of surplus value—but only if we contemplate just the
abstract quantities of value in the composition of the total product; it does
not hold good for the material composition thereof. Looking closer, we find
that nothing but the upkeep of labour is in effect decreased. Fewer means of
subsistence and production are now being made, no doubt, but then, they
had had no other function save to maintain workers. The social product is
smaller and less capital is now employed—but then, the object of capitalist
production is not simply to employ as much capital as possible, but to
produce as much surplus value as possible. Capital has only decreased
because a smaller amount is sufficient for maintaining the workers. If the
total cost of maintaining the workers employed in the society came to 1,285
units in the first instance, the present decrease of the social product by
171·5—the difference of (9,000-8,828·5)—comes off this maintenance
charge, and there is a consequent change in the composition of the social
product:
6,430c + 1,113·5v + 1,285s = 8,828·5
Constant capital and surplus value remain unchanged, and only the variable
capital, paid labour, has diminished. Or—in case there are doubts about
constant capital being unaffected—we may further allow for the event that,
as would happen in actual practice, concomitant with the decrease in means
of subsistence for the workers there will be a corresponding cut in the
constant capital. The equation for the social product as a whole would then
be:
6,307·5c + 1,236v + 1,285s = 8,828·5
Page 441
In spite of the smaller social product, there is no change in the surplus value
in either case, and it is only the cost of maintaining the workers that has
fallen.
Put it this way: the value of the aggregate social product may be defined as
consisting of three parts, the total constant capital of the society, its total
variable capital, and its total surplus value, of which the first set of products
contains no additional labour, and the second and third no means of
production. As regards their material form, all these products come into
being in the given period of production—though in point of value the
constant capital had been produced in a previous period and is merely being
transferred to new products. On this basis, we can also divide all the
workers employed into three mutually exclusive categories: those who
produce the aggregate constant capital of the society, those who provide the
upkeep for all the workers, and finally those who create the entire surplus
value for the capitalist class.
If, then, the workers’ consumption is curtailed, only workers in the second
category will lose their jobs. Ex hypothesi, these workers had never created
surplus value for capital, and in consequence their dismissal is therefore no
loss from the capitalist’s point of view but a gain, since it decreases the cost
of producing surplus value.
The demand of the state which arises at the same time has the lure of a new
and attractive sphere for realising the surplus value. Some of the money
circulating as variable capital breaks free of this cycle and in the state
treasury it represents a new demand. For the technique of taxation, of
course, the order of events is rather different, since the amount of the
indirect taxes is actually advanced to the state by capital and is merely
being refunded to the capitalists by the sale of their commodities, as part of
their price. But economically speaking, it makes no difference. The crucial
point is that the quantity of money with the function of variable capital
should first mediate the exchange between capital and labour power. Later,
when there is an exchange between workers and capitalists as buyers and
sellers of commodities respectively, this money will change hands and
accrue to the state as taxes. This money, which capital has set circulating,
first fulfils its primary function in the exchange with labour power, but
subsequently, by mediation of the state, it begins an entirely new career. As
a new purchasing power, belonging with neither labour nor capital, it
in either case, and it is only the cost of maintaining the workers that has
fallen.
Put it this way: the value of the aggregate social product may be defined as
consisting of three parts, the total constant capital of the society, its total
variable capital, and its total surplus value, of which the first set of products
contains no additional labour, and the second and third no means of
production. As regards their material form, all these products come into
being in the given period of production—though in point of value the
constant capital had been produced in a previous period and is merely being
transferred to new products. On this basis, we can also divide all the
workers employed into three mutually exclusive categories: those who
produce the aggregate constant capital of the society, those who provide the
upkeep for all the workers, and finally those who create the entire surplus
value for the capitalist class.
If, then, the workers’ consumption is curtailed, only workers in the second
category will lose their jobs. Ex hypothesi, these workers had never created
surplus value for capital, and in consequence their dismissal is therefore no
loss from the capitalist’s point of view but a gain, since it decreases the cost
of producing surplus value.
The demand of the state which arises at the same time has the lure of a new
and attractive sphere for realising the surplus value. Some of the money
circulating as variable capital breaks free of this cycle and in the state
treasury it represents a new demand. For the technique of taxation, of
course, the order of events is rather different, since the amount of the
indirect taxes is actually advanced to the state by capital and is merely
being refunded to the capitalists by the sale of their commodities, as part of
their price. But economically speaking, it makes no difference. The crucial
point is that the quantity of money with the function of variable capital
should first mediate the exchange between capital and labour power. Later,
when there is an exchange between workers and capitalists as buyers and
sellers of commodities respectively, this money will change hands and
accrue to the state as taxes. This money, which capital has set circulating,
first fulfils its primary function in the exchange with labour power, but
subsequently, by mediation of the state, it begins an entirely new career. As
a new purchasing power, belonging with neither labour nor capital, it
Page 442
becomes interested in new products, in a special branch of production
which does not cater for either the capitalists or the working class, and thus
it offers capital new opportunities for creating and realising surplus value.
When we were formerly taking it for granted that the indirect taxes extorted
from the workers are used for paying the officials and for provisioning the
army, we found the ‘saving’ in the consumption of the working class to
mean that the workers rather than the capitalists were made to pay for the
personal consumption of the hangers-on of the capitalist class and the tools
of their class-rule. This charge devolved from the surplus value to the
variable capital, and a corresponding amount of the surplus value became
available for purposes of capitalisation. Now we see how the taxes extorted
from the workers afford capital a new opportunity for accumulation when
they are used for armament manufacture.
On the basis of indirect taxation, militarism in practice works both ways.
By lowering the normal standard of living for the working class, it ensures
both that capital should be able to maintain a regular army, the organ of
capitalist rule, and that it may tap an impressive field for further
accumulation.[423]
We have still to examine the second source of the state’s purchasing power
referred to in our example, the 150 units out of the total 250 invested in
armaments. They differ essentially from the hundred units considered above
in that they are not supplied by the workers but by the petty bourgeoisie, i.e.
the artisans and peasants. (In this connection, we can ignore the
comparatively small tax-contribution of the capitalist class itself.)
The money accruing to the state as taxes from the peasant masses—as our
generic term for all non-proletarian consumers—was not originally
advanced by capital and has not split off from capital in circulation. In the
hand of the peasant it is the equivalent of goods that have been realised, the
exchange value of simple commodity production. The state now gets part of
the purchasing power of the non-capitalist consumers, purchasing power,
that is to say, which is already free to realise the surplus value for capitalist
accumulation. Now the question arises, whether economic changes will
result for capital, and if so, of what nature, from diverting the purchasing
power of such strata to the state for militarist purposes. It almost looks as if
we had come up against yet another shift in the material form of
reproduction. Capital will now produce an equivalent of war materials for
which does not cater for either the capitalists or the working class, and thus
it offers capital new opportunities for creating and realising surplus value.
When we were formerly taking it for granted that the indirect taxes extorted
from the workers are used for paying the officials and for provisioning the
army, we found the ‘saving’ in the consumption of the working class to
mean that the workers rather than the capitalists were made to pay for the
personal consumption of the hangers-on of the capitalist class and the tools
of their class-rule. This charge devolved from the surplus value to the
variable capital, and a corresponding amount of the surplus value became
available for purposes of capitalisation. Now we see how the taxes extorted
from the workers afford capital a new opportunity for accumulation when
they are used for armament manufacture.
On the basis of indirect taxation, militarism in practice works both ways.
By lowering the normal standard of living for the working class, it ensures
both that capital should be able to maintain a regular army, the organ of
capitalist rule, and that it may tap an impressive field for further
accumulation.[423]
We have still to examine the second source of the state’s purchasing power
referred to in our example, the 150 units out of the total 250 invested in
armaments. They differ essentially from the hundred units considered above
in that they are not supplied by the workers but by the petty bourgeoisie, i.e.
the artisans and peasants. (In this connection, we can ignore the
comparatively small tax-contribution of the capitalist class itself.)
The money accruing to the state as taxes from the peasant masses—as our
generic term for all non-proletarian consumers—was not originally
advanced by capital and has not split off from capital in circulation. In the
hand of the peasant it is the equivalent of goods that have been realised, the
exchange value of simple commodity production. The state now gets part of
the purchasing power of the non-capitalist consumers, purchasing power,
that is to say, which is already free to realise the surplus value for capitalist
accumulation. Now the question arises, whether economic changes will
result for capital, and if so, of what nature, from diverting the purchasing
power of such strata to the state for militarist purposes. It almost looks as if
we had come up against yet another shift in the material form of
reproduction. Capital will now produce an equivalent of war materials for
Page 443
the state instead of producing large quantities of means of production and
subsistence for peasant consumers. But in fact the changes go deeper. First
and foremost, the state can use the mechanism of taxation to mobilise much
larger amounts of purchasing power from the non-capitalist consumers than
they would ordinarily spend on their own consumption.
Indeed the modern system of taxation itself is largely responsible for
forcing commodity economy on the peasants. Under pressure of taxes, the
peasant must turn more and more of his produce into commodities, and at
the same time he must buy more and more. Taxation presses the produce of
peasant economy into circulation and compels the peasants to become
buyers of capitalist products. Finally, on a basis of commodity production in
the peasant style, the system of taxation lures more purchasing power from
peasant economy than would otherwise become active.
What would normally have been hoarded by the peasants and the lower
middle classes until it has grown big enough to invest in savings banks and
other banks is now set free to constitute an effective demand and an
opportunity for investment. Further the multitude of individual and
insignificant demands for a whole range of commodities, which will
become effective at different times and which might often be met just as
well by simple commodity production, is now replaced by a comprehensive
and homogeneous demand of the state. And the satisfaction of this demand
presupposes a big industry of the highest order. It requires the most
favourable conditions for the production of surplus value and for
accumulation. In the form of government contracts for army supplies the
scattered purchasing power of the consumers is concentrated in large
quantities and, free of the vagaries and subjective fluctuations of personal
consumption, it achieves an almost automatic regularity and rhythmic
growth. Capital itself ultimately controls this automatic and rhythmic
movement of militarist production through the legislature and a press whose
function is to mould so-called ‘public opinion’. That is why this particular
province of capitalist accumulation at first seems capable of infinite
expansion. All other attempts to expand markets and set up operational
bases for capital largely depend on historical, social and political factors
beyond the control of capital, whereas production for militarism represents
a province whose regular and progressive expansion seems primarily
determined by capital itself.
subsistence for peasant consumers. But in fact the changes go deeper. First
and foremost, the state can use the mechanism of taxation to mobilise much
larger amounts of purchasing power from the non-capitalist consumers than
they would ordinarily spend on their own consumption.
Indeed the modern system of taxation itself is largely responsible for
forcing commodity economy on the peasants. Under pressure of taxes, the
peasant must turn more and more of his produce into commodities, and at
the same time he must buy more and more. Taxation presses the produce of
peasant economy into circulation and compels the peasants to become
buyers of capitalist products. Finally, on a basis of commodity production in
the peasant style, the system of taxation lures more purchasing power from
peasant economy than would otherwise become active.
What would normally have been hoarded by the peasants and the lower
middle classes until it has grown big enough to invest in savings banks and
other banks is now set free to constitute an effective demand and an
opportunity for investment. Further the multitude of individual and
insignificant demands for a whole range of commodities, which will
become effective at different times and which might often be met just as
well by simple commodity production, is now replaced by a comprehensive
and homogeneous demand of the state. And the satisfaction of this demand
presupposes a big industry of the highest order. It requires the most
favourable conditions for the production of surplus value and for
accumulation. In the form of government contracts for army supplies the
scattered purchasing power of the consumers is concentrated in large
quantities and, free of the vagaries and subjective fluctuations of personal
consumption, it achieves an almost automatic regularity and rhythmic
growth. Capital itself ultimately controls this automatic and rhythmic
movement of militarist production through the legislature and a press whose
function is to mould so-called ‘public opinion’. That is why this particular
province of capitalist accumulation at first seems capable of infinite
expansion. All other attempts to expand markets and set up operational
bases for capital largely depend on historical, social and political factors
beyond the control of capital, whereas production for militarism represents
a province whose regular and progressive expansion seems primarily
determined by capital itself.
Page 444
In this way capital turns historical necessity into a virtue: the ever fiercer
competition in the capitalist world itself provides a field for accumulation
of the first magnitude. Capital increasingly employs militarism for
implementing a foreign and colonial policy to get hold of the means of
production and labour power of non-capitalist countries and societies. This
same militarism works in a like manner in the capitalist countries to divert
purchasing power away from the non-capitalist strata. The representatives
of simple commodity production and the working class are affected alike in
this way. At their expense, the accumulation of capital is raised to the
highest power, by robbing the one of their productive forces and by
depressing the other’s standard of living. Needless to say, after a certain
stage the conditions for the accumulation of capital both at home and
abroad turn into their very opposite—they become conditions for the
decline of capitalism.
The more ruthlessly capital sets about the destruction of non-capitalist strata
at home and in the outside world, the more it lowers the standard of living
for the workers as a whole, the greater also is the change in the day-to-day
history of capital. It becomes a string of political and social disasters and
convulsions, and under these conditions, punctuated by periodical economic
catastrophes or crises, accumulation can go on no longer.
But even before this natural economic impasse of capital’s own creating is
properly reached it becomes a necessity for the international working class
to revolt against the rule of capital.
Capitalism is the first mode of economy with the weapon of propaganda, a
mode which tends to engulf the entire globe and to stamp out all other
economies, tolerating no rival at its side. Yet at the same time it is also the
first mode of economy which is unable to exist by itself, which needs other
economic systems as a medium and soil. Although it strives to become
universal, and, indeed, on account of this its tendency, it must break down
—because it is immanently incapable of becoming a universal form of
production. In its living history it is a contradiction in itself, and its
movement of accumulation provides a solution to the conflict and
aggravates it at the same time. At a certain stage of development there will
be no other way out than the application of socialist principles. The aim of
socialism is not accumulation but the satisfaction of toiling humanity’s
wants by developing the productive forces of the entire globe. And so we
competition in the capitalist world itself provides a field for accumulation
of the first magnitude. Capital increasingly employs militarism for
implementing a foreign and colonial policy to get hold of the means of
production and labour power of non-capitalist countries and societies. This
same militarism works in a like manner in the capitalist countries to divert
purchasing power away from the non-capitalist strata. The representatives
of simple commodity production and the working class are affected alike in
this way. At their expense, the accumulation of capital is raised to the
highest power, by robbing the one of their productive forces and by
depressing the other’s standard of living. Needless to say, after a certain
stage the conditions for the accumulation of capital both at home and
abroad turn into their very opposite—they become conditions for the
decline of capitalism.
The more ruthlessly capital sets about the destruction of non-capitalist strata
at home and in the outside world, the more it lowers the standard of living
for the workers as a whole, the greater also is the change in the day-to-day
history of capital. It becomes a string of political and social disasters and
convulsions, and under these conditions, punctuated by periodical economic
catastrophes or crises, accumulation can go on no longer.
But even before this natural economic impasse of capital’s own creating is
properly reached it becomes a necessity for the international working class
to revolt against the rule of capital.
Capitalism is the first mode of economy with the weapon of propaganda, a
mode which tends to engulf the entire globe and to stamp out all other
economies, tolerating no rival at its side. Yet at the same time it is also the
first mode of economy which is unable to exist by itself, which needs other
economic systems as a medium and soil. Although it strives to become
universal, and, indeed, on account of this its tendency, it must break down
—because it is immanently incapable of becoming a universal form of
production. In its living history it is a contradiction in itself, and its
movement of accumulation provides a solution to the conflict and
aggravates it at the same time. At a certain stage of development there will
be no other way out than the application of socialist principles. The aim of
socialism is not accumulation but the satisfaction of toiling humanity’s
wants by developing the productive forces of the entire globe. And so we
Page 445
find that socialism is by its very nature an harmonious and universal system
of economy.
of economy.
Page 446
FOOTNOTES:
[1]For a totally different interpretation see Sweezy; The Theory of Capitalist
Development, chap. xi, Section 9.
[2]See p. 166.
[3]Cf. the quotation from Capital, vol. iii, p. 331.
[4]See p. 132.
[5]See p. 135.
[6]See p. 130.
[7]Exchanges between industries, however, must take place at ‘prices of
production’ not at values. See below, p. 15, note.
[8]See p. 113.
[9]See p. 361.
[10]See p. 134.
[11]Later it is assumed that real wages can be depressed by taxation (p. 455).
[12]See p. 116.
[13]See p. 85.
[14]See p. 355.
[15]See p. 76, note 355.
[16]See p. 79.
[17]In the numerical example quoted in chap. vi. (p. 117.) the rate of profit is
much higher in Department II than in I. Marx has made the rate of exploitation
equal in the two departments, and the ratio of constant to variable capital higher
in Department I. This is evidently an oversight. The two departments must trade
with each other at market prices, not in terms of value. Therefore s1 must
represent the profits accruing to Department I, not a proportion (half in the
example) of the value generated in Department I. s1/v should exceed s2⁄v to an
1 2
extent corresponding to the higher organic composition of capital in Department
I. The point is interesting, as it shows that when off guard Marx forgot that he
could make prices proportional to values only when the organic composition of
capital is the same in all industries.
[18]See p. 129.
[19]See p. 130.
[20]Since, in this model, the organic composition of capital is the same in the
two departments, prices correspond to values.
[1]For a totally different interpretation see Sweezy; The Theory of Capitalist
Development, chap. xi, Section 9.
[2]See p. 166.
[3]Cf. the quotation from Capital, vol. iii, p. 331.
[4]See p. 132.
[5]See p. 135.
[6]See p. 130.
[7]Exchanges between industries, however, must take place at ‘prices of
production’ not at values. See below, p. 15, note.
[8]See p. 113.
[9]See p. 361.
[10]See p. 134.
[11]Later it is assumed that real wages can be depressed by taxation (p. 455).
[12]See p. 116.
[13]See p. 85.
[14]See p. 355.
[15]See p. 76, note 355.
[16]See p. 79.
[17]In the numerical example quoted in chap. vi. (p. 117.) the rate of profit is
much higher in Department II than in I. Marx has made the rate of exploitation
equal in the two departments, and the ratio of constant to variable capital higher
in Department I. This is evidently an oversight. The two departments must trade
with each other at market prices, not in terms of value. Therefore s1 must
represent the profits accruing to Department I, not a proportion (half in the
example) of the value generated in Department I. s1/v should exceed s2⁄v to an
1 2
extent corresponding to the higher organic composition of capital in Department
I. The point is interesting, as it shows that when off guard Marx forgot that he
could make prices proportional to values only when the organic composition of
capital is the same in all industries.
[18]See p. 129.
[19]See p. 130.
[20]Since, in this model, the organic composition of capital is the same in the
two departments, prices correspond to values.
Page 447
[21]Of total gross output, 2⁄3 is replacement of constant capital; surplus is 1⁄6 of
gross output, and of surplus half is saved; thus savings are 1⁄12 of gross output;
of saving 4⁄5 is added to constant capital; thus 1⁄15 of gross output is added to
constant capital. The output of Department I is therefore 2⁄3 + 1⁄15 or 11⁄15 of
total gross output. Similarly, the output of Department II is 4⁄15 of total gross
output.
[22]This model bears a strong family resemblance to Mr. Harrod’s ‘Warranted
rate of growth’. Towards a Dynamic Economics, lecture III.
[23]See p. 119.
[24]See p. 125.
[25]See p. 128.
[26]See p. 91.
[27]See p. 115.
[28]See p. 102. The phrase ‘zahlungsfähige nachfrage’, translated ‘effective
demand’, is not the effective demand of Keynes (roughly, current expenditure)
but appears often to mean demand for new capital, or, perhaps, prospective
future demand for goods to be produced by new capital.
[29]This assumption is made explicit later (p. 342).
[30]See pp. 131 et seq.
[31]See Sweezy, loc. cit.
[32]See p. 40.
[33]See p. 303.
[34]See p. 258.
[35]This point is, however, later admitted (p. 337).
[36]See p. 252.
[37]See p. 259. Marx himself failed to get this point clear. Cf. my Essay on
Marxian Economics, chap. v.
[38]Cf. Kalecki, Essays in the Theory of Economic Fluctuations, pp. 14 et seq.
[39]See p. 323.
[40]See p. 314. Marx did not find himself in this dilemma because he held that
there is a fundamental ‘contradiction’ in capitalism which shows itself in a
strong tendency for the rate of profit on capital to fall as technical progress takes
place. But Rosa Luxemburg sees that the tendency to a falling rate of profit is
automatically checked and may even be reversed if real-wage rates are constant
(p. 338).
[41]See p. 217, note.
[42]One passage suggests that she sees the problem, but thinks it irrelevant to
the real issue (p. 342).
gross output, and of surplus half is saved; thus savings are 1⁄12 of gross output;
of saving 4⁄5 is added to constant capital; thus 1⁄15 of gross output is added to
constant capital. The output of Department I is therefore 2⁄3 + 1⁄15 or 11⁄15 of
total gross output. Similarly, the output of Department II is 4⁄15 of total gross
output.
[22]This model bears a strong family resemblance to Mr. Harrod’s ‘Warranted
rate of growth’. Towards a Dynamic Economics, lecture III.
[23]See p. 119.
[24]See p. 125.
[25]See p. 128.
[26]See p. 91.
[27]See p. 115.
[28]See p. 102. The phrase ‘zahlungsfähige nachfrage’, translated ‘effective
demand’, is not the effective demand of Keynes (roughly, current expenditure)
but appears often to mean demand for new capital, or, perhaps, prospective
future demand for goods to be produced by new capital.
[29]This assumption is made explicit later (p. 342).
[30]See pp. 131 et seq.
[31]See Sweezy, loc. cit.
[32]See p. 40.
[33]See p. 303.
[34]See p. 258.
[35]This point is, however, later admitted (p. 337).
[36]See p. 252.
[37]See p. 259. Marx himself failed to get this point clear. Cf. my Essay on
Marxian Economics, chap. v.
[38]Cf. Kalecki, Essays in the Theory of Economic Fluctuations, pp. 14 et seq.
[39]See p. 323.
[40]See p. 314. Marx did not find himself in this dilemma because he held that
there is a fundamental ‘contradiction’ in capitalism which shows itself in a
strong tendency for the rate of profit on capital to fall as technical progress takes
place. But Rosa Luxemburg sees that the tendency to a falling rate of profit is
automatically checked and may even be reversed if real-wage rates are constant
(p. 338).
[41]See p. 217, note.
[42]One passage suggests that she sees the problem, but thinks it irrelevant to
the real issue (p. 342).
Page 448
[43]See p. 338.
[44]See p. 337.
[45]In this model the rate of exploitation is different in the two departments.
This means that the numbers represent money value, not value.
[46]Rosa Luxemburg seems to regard this process as impossible, but for what
reason is by no means clear (p. 341).
[47]See p. 352.
[48]See p. 352.
[49]See p. 358.
[50]See p. 370.
[51]See p. 428.
[52]See p. 435.
[53]See p. 421.
[54]See p. 455.
[55]See p. 387.
[56]Hicks, Value and Capital, p. 302, note. Mr. Hicks himself, however, regards
the increase in population as the mainspring.
[57]Cf. A Survey of Contemporary Economics (ed. Ellis), p. 63.
[58]‘If production be capitalistic in form, so, too, will be reproduction’ (Capital,
vol. i, p. 578).
[59]Surplus value in our exposition is identical with profit. This is true for
production as a whole, which alone is of account in our further observations. For
the time being, we shall not deal with the further division of surplus value into
its component parts: profit of enterprise, interest, and rent, as this subdivision is
immaterial to the problem of reproduction.
[60]‘Quesnay’s Tableau Économique shows ... how the result of national
production in a certain year, amounting to some definite value, is distributed by
means of the circulation in such a way, that ... reproduction can take place.... The
innumerable individual acts of circulation are at once viewed in their
characteristic social mass movement—the circulation between great social
classes distinguished by their economic function’ (Capital, vol. ii, p. 414).
[61]Cf. Analyse du Tableau Économique, in Journal de l’Agriculture, du
Commerce et des Finances, by Dupont (1766), pp. 305 ff. in Oncken’s edition of
Œuvres de F. Quesnay. Quesnay remarks explicitly that circulation as he
describes it is based upon two conditions: unhampered trade, and a system of
taxation applying only to rent: ‘Yet these facts have indispensable conditions;
that the freedom of commerce sustains the sale of products at a good price, ...
and moreover, that the farmer need not pay any other direct or indirect charges
but this income, part of which, say two sevenths, must form the revenue of the
Sovereign’ (op. cit., p. 311).
[62]Adam Smith, An Enquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of
Nations (ed. MacCulloch, Edinburgh London, 1828), vol. i, pp. 86-8.
[44]See p. 337.
[45]In this model the rate of exploitation is different in the two departments.
This means that the numbers represent money value, not value.
[46]Rosa Luxemburg seems to regard this process as impossible, but for what
reason is by no means clear (p. 341).
[47]See p. 352.
[48]See p. 352.
[49]See p. 358.
[50]See p. 370.
[51]See p. 428.
[52]See p. 435.
[53]See p. 421.
[54]See p. 455.
[55]See p. 387.
[56]Hicks, Value and Capital, p. 302, note. Mr. Hicks himself, however, regards
the increase in population as the mainspring.
[57]Cf. A Survey of Contemporary Economics (ed. Ellis), p. 63.
[58]‘If production be capitalistic in form, so, too, will be reproduction’ (Capital,
vol. i, p. 578).
[59]Surplus value in our exposition is identical with profit. This is true for
production as a whole, which alone is of account in our further observations. For
the time being, we shall not deal with the further division of surplus value into
its component parts: profit of enterprise, interest, and rent, as this subdivision is
immaterial to the problem of reproduction.
[60]‘Quesnay’s Tableau Économique shows ... how the result of national
production in a certain year, amounting to some definite value, is distributed by
means of the circulation in such a way, that ... reproduction can take place.... The
innumerable individual acts of circulation are at once viewed in their
characteristic social mass movement—the circulation between great social
classes distinguished by their economic function’ (Capital, vol. ii, p. 414).
[61]Cf. Analyse du Tableau Économique, in Journal de l’Agriculture, du
Commerce et des Finances, by Dupont (1766), pp. 305 ff. in Oncken’s edition of
Œuvres de F. Quesnay. Quesnay remarks explicitly that circulation as he
describes it is based upon two conditions: unhampered trade, and a system of
taxation applying only to rent: ‘Yet these facts have indispensable conditions;
that the freedom of commerce sustains the sale of products at a good price, ...
and moreover, that the farmer need not pay any other direct or indirect charges
but this income, part of which, say two sevenths, must form the revenue of the
Sovereign’ (op. cit., p. 311).
[62]Adam Smith, An Enquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of
Nations (ed. MacCulloch, Edinburgh London, 1828), vol. i, pp. 86-8.
Page 449
[63]Op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 17-18.
[64]Ibid., pp. 18-19.
[65]Ibid., p. 23.
[66]As to the concept of ‘national capital’ specific to Rodbertus, see below,
Section II.
[67]J. B. Say, A Treatise on Political Economy (transl. by C. R. Prinsep, vol. ii,
London, 1821); pp. 75-7.
[68]Attention must be drawn to the fact that Mirabeau in his Explications on the
Tableau Économique explicitly mentions the fixed capital of the unproductive
class: ‘The primary advances of this class, for the establishment of
manufactures, for instruments, machines, mills, smithies (ironworks) and other
factories ... (amount to) 2,000 million livres’ (Tableau Économique avec ses
Explications, 1760, p. 82). In his confusing sketch of the Tableau itself,
Mirabeau, too, fails to take this fixed capital of the sterile class into account.
[69]Smith accordingly arrives at this general formulation: ‘The value which the
workmen add to the materials, therefore, resolves itself in this case into two
parts, of which the one pays their wages, the other the profits of their employer
upon the whole stock of materials and wages which he advanced’ (op. cit., vol. i,
p. 83). Further, in Book II, chap. 8, on industrial labour in particular: ‘The labour
of a manufacturer adds generally to the value of the materials which he works
upon, that of his own maintenance and of his master’s profit. The labour of a
menial servant, on the contrary, adds to the value of nothing. Though the
manufacturer has his wages advanced to him by his master, he in reality costs
him no expense, the value of those wages being generally restored, together with
a profit, in the improved value of the subject upon which his labour is bestowed’
(op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 93-4).
[70]‘The labourers ... therefore, employed in agriculture, not only occasion, like
the workmen in manufactures, the reproduction of a value equal to their own
consumption, or to the capital which employs them, together with its owner’s
profit, but of a much greater value. Over and above the capital of the farmer and
all its profits, they regularly occasion the reproduction of the rent of the
landlord’ (ibid., p. 149).
[71]Ibid., pp. 97-8. Yet already in the following sentence Smith converts capital
completely into wages, that is variable capital: ‘That part of the annual produce
of the land and labour of any country which replaces a capital, never is
immediately employed to maintain any but productive hands. It pays the wages
of productive labour only. That which is immediately destined for constituting a
revenue, either as profit or as rent, may maintain indifferently either productive
or unproductive hands’ (ibid., p. 98).
[72]Ibid., p. 19.
[73]Smith, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 19-20.
[74]Ibid., vol. i, pp. 21-2.
[75]Ibid., p. 22.
[76]Ibid.
[64]Ibid., pp. 18-19.
[65]Ibid., p. 23.
[66]As to the concept of ‘national capital’ specific to Rodbertus, see below,
Section II.
[67]J. B. Say, A Treatise on Political Economy (transl. by C. R. Prinsep, vol. ii,
London, 1821); pp. 75-7.
[68]Attention must be drawn to the fact that Mirabeau in his Explications on the
Tableau Économique explicitly mentions the fixed capital of the unproductive
class: ‘The primary advances of this class, for the establishment of
manufactures, for instruments, machines, mills, smithies (ironworks) and other
factories ... (amount to) 2,000 million livres’ (Tableau Économique avec ses
Explications, 1760, p. 82). In his confusing sketch of the Tableau itself,
Mirabeau, too, fails to take this fixed capital of the sterile class into account.
[69]Smith accordingly arrives at this general formulation: ‘The value which the
workmen add to the materials, therefore, resolves itself in this case into two
parts, of which the one pays their wages, the other the profits of their employer
upon the whole stock of materials and wages which he advanced’ (op. cit., vol. i,
p. 83). Further, in Book II, chap. 8, on industrial labour in particular: ‘The labour
of a manufacturer adds generally to the value of the materials which he works
upon, that of his own maintenance and of his master’s profit. The labour of a
menial servant, on the contrary, adds to the value of nothing. Though the
manufacturer has his wages advanced to him by his master, he in reality costs
him no expense, the value of those wages being generally restored, together with
a profit, in the improved value of the subject upon which his labour is bestowed’
(op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 93-4).
[70]‘The labourers ... therefore, employed in agriculture, not only occasion, like
the workmen in manufactures, the reproduction of a value equal to their own
consumption, or to the capital which employs them, together with its owner’s
profit, but of a much greater value. Over and above the capital of the farmer and
all its profits, they regularly occasion the reproduction of the rent of the
landlord’ (ibid., p. 149).
[71]Ibid., pp. 97-8. Yet already in the following sentence Smith converts capital
completely into wages, that is variable capital: ‘That part of the annual produce
of the land and labour of any country which replaces a capital, never is
immediately employed to maintain any but productive hands. It pays the wages
of productive labour only. That which is immediately destined for constituting a
revenue, either as profit or as rent, may maintain indifferently either productive
or unproductive hands’ (ibid., p. 98).
[72]Ibid., p. 19.
[73]Smith, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 19-20.
[74]Ibid., vol. i, pp. 21-2.
[75]Ibid., p. 22.
[76]Ibid.
Page 450
[77]An Enquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, vol. i, p.
19.
[78]Theorien über den Mehrwert (Stuttgart, 1905), vol. i, pp. 179-252.
[79]Capital, vol. ii, p. 435.
[80]Smith, op. cit., vol. ii, p. 148.
[81]Ibid., p. 149.
[82]Op. cit., vol. i, pp. 86-7.
[83]In this connection, we have disregarded the contrary conception which also
runs through the work of Smith. According to that, the price of the commodity
cannot be resolved into v + s, though the value of commodities consists in v + s.
This distinction, however, is more important with regard to Smith’s theory of
value than in the present context where we are mainly interested in his formula
v + s.
[84]For the sake of simplicity, we shall follow general usage and speak here and
in the following of annual production, though this term, strictly speaking, applies
in general to agriculture only. The periods of industrial production, or of the
turnover of capitals, need not coincide with calendar years.
[85]The distinction between intellectual and material labour need not involve
special categories of the population in a planned society, based on common
ownership of the means of production. It will always find expression in the
existence of a certain number of spiritual leaders who must be materially
maintained. The same individuals may exercise these various functions at
different times.
[86]Capital, vol. ii, p. 459.
[87]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 544-7. Cf. also p. 202 on the necessity of enlarged
reproduction under the aspect of a reserve fund.
[88]Marx’s italics.
[89]Theorien über den Mehrwert, vol. ii, part 2, p. 248.
[90]In his seventh note to the Tableau Économique, following up his arguments
against the mercantilist theory of money as identical with wealth, Quesnay says:
‘The bulk of money in a nation cannot increase unless this reproduction itself
increases; otherwise, an increase in the bulk of money would inevitably be
prejudicial to the annual production of wealth.... Therefore we must not judge
the opulence of states on the basis of a greater or smaller quantity of money: thus
a stock of money, equal to the income of the landowners, is deemed much more
than enough for an agricultural nation where the circulation proceeds in a regular
manner, and where commerce takes place in confidence and full liberty’
(Analyse du Tableau Économique, ed. Oncken, pp. 324-5).
[91]Marx (Capital, vol. ii, p. 482) takes the money spent directly by the
capitalists of Department II as the starting point of this act of exchange. As
Engels rightly says in his footnote, this does not affect the final result of
circulation, but the assumption is not the correct condition of circulation within
society. Marx himself has given a better exposition in Capital, vol. ii, pp. 461-2.
[92]Capital, vol. ii, p. 548.
19.
[78]Theorien über den Mehrwert (Stuttgart, 1905), vol. i, pp. 179-252.
[79]Capital, vol. ii, p. 435.
[80]Smith, op. cit., vol. ii, p. 148.
[81]Ibid., p. 149.
[82]Op. cit., vol. i, pp. 86-7.
[83]In this connection, we have disregarded the contrary conception which also
runs through the work of Smith. According to that, the price of the commodity
cannot be resolved into v + s, though the value of commodities consists in v + s.
This distinction, however, is more important with regard to Smith’s theory of
value than in the present context where we are mainly interested in his formula
v + s.
[84]For the sake of simplicity, we shall follow general usage and speak here and
in the following of annual production, though this term, strictly speaking, applies
in general to agriculture only. The periods of industrial production, or of the
turnover of capitals, need not coincide with calendar years.
[85]The distinction between intellectual and material labour need not involve
special categories of the population in a planned society, based on common
ownership of the means of production. It will always find expression in the
existence of a certain number of spiritual leaders who must be materially
maintained. The same individuals may exercise these various functions at
different times.
[86]Capital, vol. ii, p. 459.
[87]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 544-7. Cf. also p. 202 on the necessity of enlarged
reproduction under the aspect of a reserve fund.
[88]Marx’s italics.
[89]Theorien über den Mehrwert, vol. ii, part 2, p. 248.
[90]In his seventh note to the Tableau Économique, following up his arguments
against the mercantilist theory of money as identical with wealth, Quesnay says:
‘The bulk of money in a nation cannot increase unless this reproduction itself
increases; otherwise, an increase in the bulk of money would inevitably be
prejudicial to the annual production of wealth.... Therefore we must not judge
the opulence of states on the basis of a greater or smaller quantity of money: thus
a stock of money, equal to the income of the landowners, is deemed much more
than enough for an agricultural nation where the circulation proceeds in a regular
manner, and where commerce takes place in confidence and full liberty’
(Analyse du Tableau Économique, ed. Oncken, pp. 324-5).
[91]Marx (Capital, vol. ii, p. 482) takes the money spent directly by the
capitalists of Department II as the starting point of this act of exchange. As
Engels rightly says in his footnote, this does not affect the final result of
circulation, but the assumption is not the correct condition of circulation within
society. Marx himself has given a better exposition in Capital, vol. ii, pp. 461-2.
[92]Capital, vol. ii, p. 548.
Page 451
[93]Capital, vol. ii, p. 550.
[94]Ibid., p. 551.
[95]Ibid., p. 572.
[96]‘The premise of simple reproduction, that I(v + s) is equal to IIc, is
irreconcilable with capitalist production, although this does not exclude the
possibility that a certain year in an industrial cycle of ten or eleven years may
not show a smaller total production than the preceding year, so that there would
not have been even a simple reproduction, compared to the preceding year.
Indeed, considering the natural growth of population per year, simple
reproduction could take place only in so far as a correspondingly larger number
of unproductive servants would partake of the 1,500 representing the aggregate
surplus-product. But accumulation of capital, actual capitalist production, would
be impossible under such circumstances’ (Capital, vol. ii, p. 608).
[97]Ricardo, Principles, chap. viii, ‘On Taxes’. MacCulloch’s edition of
Ricardo’s Works, p. 87, note. (Reference not given in original.)
[98]‘The specifically capitalist mode of production, the development of the
productive power of labour corresponding to it, and the change thence resulting
in the organic composition of capital, do not merely keep pace with the advance
of accumulation, or with the growth of social wealth. They develop at a much
quicker rate, because mere accumulation, the absolute increase of the total social
capital, is accompanied by the centralisation of the individual capitals of which
that total is made up; and because the change in the technological composition of
the additional capital goes hand in hand with a similar change in the
technological composition of the original capital. With the advance of
accumulation, therefore, the proportion of constant to variable capital changes. If
it was originally say 1 : 1, it now becomes successively 2 : 1, 3 : 1, 4 : 1, 5 : 1,
7 : 1, etc., so that, as the capital increases, instead of 1⁄2 of its total value, only
1⁄ , 1⁄ , 1⁄ , 1⁄ , 1⁄ , etc., is transformed into labour-power, and, on the other
3 4 5 6 8
hand, 2⁄3, 3⁄4, 4⁄5, 5⁄6, 7⁄8 into means of production. Since the demand for labour
is determined not by the amount of capital as a whole, but by its variable
constituent alone, that demand falls progressively with the increase of the total
capital, instead of, as previously assumed, rising in proportion to it. It falls
relatively to the magnitude of the total capital, and at an accelerated rate, as this
magnitude increases. With the growth of the total capital, its variable constituent
or the labour incorporated in it, also does increase, but in a constantly
diminishing proportion. The intermediate pauses are shortened, in which
accumulation works as simple extension of production, on a given technical
basis. It is not merely that an accelerated accumulation of total capital,
accelerated in a constantly growing progression, is needed to absorb an
additional number of labourers, or even, on account of the constant
metamorphosis of old capital, to keep employed those already functioning. In its
turn, this increasing accumulation and centralisation becomes a source of new
changes in the composition of capital, of a more accelerated diminution of its
variable, as compared with its constant constituent’ (Capital, vol. i, pp. 642-3).
[99]‘The course characteristic of modern industry, viz., a decennial cycle
(interrupted by smaller oscillations), of periods of average activity, production at
[94]Ibid., p. 551.
[95]Ibid., p. 572.
[96]‘The premise of simple reproduction, that I(v + s) is equal to IIc, is
irreconcilable with capitalist production, although this does not exclude the
possibility that a certain year in an industrial cycle of ten or eleven years may
not show a smaller total production than the preceding year, so that there would
not have been even a simple reproduction, compared to the preceding year.
Indeed, considering the natural growth of population per year, simple
reproduction could take place only in so far as a correspondingly larger number
of unproductive servants would partake of the 1,500 representing the aggregate
surplus-product. But accumulation of capital, actual capitalist production, would
be impossible under such circumstances’ (Capital, vol. ii, p. 608).
[97]Ricardo, Principles, chap. viii, ‘On Taxes’. MacCulloch’s edition of
Ricardo’s Works, p. 87, note. (Reference not given in original.)
[98]‘The specifically capitalist mode of production, the development of the
productive power of labour corresponding to it, and the change thence resulting
in the organic composition of capital, do not merely keep pace with the advance
of accumulation, or with the growth of social wealth. They develop at a much
quicker rate, because mere accumulation, the absolute increase of the total social
capital, is accompanied by the centralisation of the individual capitals of which
that total is made up; and because the change in the technological composition of
the additional capital goes hand in hand with a similar change in the
technological composition of the original capital. With the advance of
accumulation, therefore, the proportion of constant to variable capital changes. If
it was originally say 1 : 1, it now becomes successively 2 : 1, 3 : 1, 4 : 1, 5 : 1,
7 : 1, etc., so that, as the capital increases, instead of 1⁄2 of its total value, only
1⁄ , 1⁄ , 1⁄ , 1⁄ , 1⁄ , etc., is transformed into labour-power, and, on the other
3 4 5 6 8
hand, 2⁄3, 3⁄4, 4⁄5, 5⁄6, 7⁄8 into means of production. Since the demand for labour
is determined not by the amount of capital as a whole, but by its variable
constituent alone, that demand falls progressively with the increase of the total
capital, instead of, as previously assumed, rising in proportion to it. It falls
relatively to the magnitude of the total capital, and at an accelerated rate, as this
magnitude increases. With the growth of the total capital, its variable constituent
or the labour incorporated in it, also does increase, but in a constantly
diminishing proportion. The intermediate pauses are shortened, in which
accumulation works as simple extension of production, on a given technical
basis. It is not merely that an accelerated accumulation of total capital,
accelerated in a constantly growing progression, is needed to absorb an
additional number of labourers, or even, on account of the constant
metamorphosis of old capital, to keep employed those already functioning. In its
turn, this increasing accumulation and centralisation becomes a source of new
changes in the composition of capital, of a more accelerated diminution of its
variable, as compared with its constant constituent’ (Capital, vol. i, pp. 642-3).
[99]‘The course characteristic of modern industry, viz., a decennial cycle
(interrupted by smaller oscillations), of periods of average activity, production at
Page 452
high pressure, crisis and stagnation, depends on the constant formation, the
greater or less absorption, and the re-formation of the industrial reserve army or
surplus population. In their turn, the varying phases of the industrial cycle recruit
the surplus population, and become one of the most energetic agents of its
reproduction’ (ibid., pp. 646-7).
[100]Capital, vol. i. pp. 593-4.
[101]Ibid., p. 594.
[102]Op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 596-601.
[103]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 598-9.
[104]Ibid., p. 599.
[105]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 600-1.
[106]Surplus consumption.
[107]Capital, vol. ii, p. 429.
[108]Ibid., pp. 531-2.
[109]Op. cit., vol. i, p. 594, note 1.
[110]Ibid., p. 594.
[111]Here we can leave out of account instances of products capable in part of
entering the process of production without any exchange, such as coal in the
mines. Within capitalist production as a whole such cases are rare (cf. Marx,
Theorien ..., vol. ii, part 2, pp. 255 ff.).
[112]Capital, vol. ii, p. 503.
[113]Capital, vol. ii, p. 571.
[114]Ibid., p. 572.
[115]Ibid., pp. 573-4.
[116]Capital, vol. ii, p. 375.
[117]Ibid., pp. 575-6.
[118]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 579-81.
[119]Ibid., p. 581.
[120]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 583-4.
[121]Ibid., p. 584.
[122]Capital, vol. ii, p. 585.
[123]Ibid., pp. 586-7.
[124]Ibid., pp. 588-9.
[125]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 590-1.
[126]Ibid., p. 593.
[127]Capital, vol. ii, p. 594.
[128]Ibid., p. 595.
greater or less absorption, and the re-formation of the industrial reserve army or
surplus population. In their turn, the varying phases of the industrial cycle recruit
the surplus population, and become one of the most energetic agents of its
reproduction’ (ibid., pp. 646-7).
[100]Capital, vol. i. pp. 593-4.
[101]Ibid., p. 594.
[102]Op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 596-601.
[103]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 598-9.
[104]Ibid., p. 599.
[105]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 600-1.
[106]Surplus consumption.
[107]Capital, vol. ii, p. 429.
[108]Ibid., pp. 531-2.
[109]Op. cit., vol. i, p. 594, note 1.
[110]Ibid., p. 594.
[111]Here we can leave out of account instances of products capable in part of
entering the process of production without any exchange, such as coal in the
mines. Within capitalist production as a whole such cases are rare (cf. Marx,
Theorien ..., vol. ii, part 2, pp. 255 ff.).
[112]Capital, vol. ii, p. 503.
[113]Capital, vol. ii, p. 571.
[114]Ibid., p. 572.
[115]Ibid., pp. 573-4.
[116]Capital, vol. ii, p. 375.
[117]Ibid., pp. 575-6.
[118]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 579-81.
[119]Ibid., p. 581.
[120]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 583-4.
[121]Ibid., p. 584.
[122]Capital, vol. ii, p. 585.
[123]Ibid., pp. 586-7.
[124]Ibid., pp. 588-9.
[125]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 590-1.
[126]Ibid., p. 593.
[127]Capital, vol. ii, p. 594.
[128]Ibid., p. 595.
Page 453
[129]Ibid., p. 595.
[130]Ibid., p. 596.
[131]Ibid., p. 601.
[132]Capital, vol. ii, p. 610.
[133]Capital, vol. ii, p. 572.
[134]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 380-1.
[135]Ibid., p. 381.
[136]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 381-3.
[137]Ibid., p. 383.
[138]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 384-5.
[139]Ibid., p. 385.
[140]Capital, vol. ii, p. 387.
[141]Ibid., p. 397.
[142]Ibid., p. 397.
[143]Ibid., pp. 397-8.
[144]Capital, vol. ii, p. 401.
[145]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 8 ff.
[146]Cf. e.g. Capital, vol. ii, pp. 430, 522, and 529.
[147]In the review of an essay on Observations on the injurious Consequences
of the Restrictions upon Foreign Commerce, by a Member of the late
Parliament, London, 1820 (Edinburgh Review, vol. lxvi, pp. 331 ff.). This
interesting document, from which the following extracts are taken, an essay with
a Free Trade bias, paints the general position of the workers in England in the
most dismal colours. It gives the facts as follows: ‘The manufacturing classes in
Great Britain ... have been suddenly reduced from affluence and prosperity to the
extreme of poverty and misery. In one of the debates in the late Session of
Parliament, it was stated that the wages of weavers of Glasgow and its vicinity
which, when highest, had averaged about 25s. or 27s. a week, had been reduced
in 1816 to 10s.; and in 1819 to the wretched pittance of 5-6s. or 6s. They have
not since been materially augmented.’ In Lancashire, according to the same
evidence, the direct weekly wage of the weavers was from 6s. to 12s. a week for
15 hours’ labour a day, whilst half-starved children worked 12 to 16 hours a day
for 2s. or 3s. a week. Distress in Yorkshire was, if possible, even greater. As to
the address by the frame-work knitters of Nottingham, the author says that he
himself investigated conditions and had come to the conclusion that the
declarations of the workers ‘were not in the slightest degree exaggerated’.
[148]Ibid., p. 334.
[149]Paris, 1827.
[150]Preface to the second edition. Translation by M. Mignet, in Political
Economy and the Philosophy of Government (London, 1847), pp. 114 ff.
[130]Ibid., p. 596.
[131]Ibid., p. 601.
[132]Capital, vol. ii, p. 610.
[133]Capital, vol. ii, p. 572.
[134]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 380-1.
[135]Ibid., p. 381.
[136]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 381-3.
[137]Ibid., p. 383.
[138]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 384-5.
[139]Ibid., p. 385.
[140]Capital, vol. ii, p. 387.
[141]Ibid., p. 397.
[142]Ibid., p. 397.
[143]Ibid., pp. 397-8.
[144]Capital, vol. ii, p. 401.
[145]Capital, vol. ii, pp. 8 ff.
[146]Cf. e.g. Capital, vol. ii, pp. 430, 522, and 529.
[147]In the review of an essay on Observations on the injurious Consequences
of the Restrictions upon Foreign Commerce, by a Member of the late
Parliament, London, 1820 (Edinburgh Review, vol. lxvi, pp. 331 ff.). This
interesting document, from which the following extracts are taken, an essay with
a Free Trade bias, paints the general position of the workers in England in the
most dismal colours. It gives the facts as follows: ‘The manufacturing classes in
Great Britain ... have been suddenly reduced from affluence and prosperity to the
extreme of poverty and misery. In one of the debates in the late Session of
Parliament, it was stated that the wages of weavers of Glasgow and its vicinity
which, when highest, had averaged about 25s. or 27s. a week, had been reduced
in 1816 to 10s.; and in 1819 to the wretched pittance of 5-6s. or 6s. They have
not since been materially augmented.’ In Lancashire, according to the same
evidence, the direct weekly wage of the weavers was from 6s. to 12s. a week for
15 hours’ labour a day, whilst half-starved children worked 12 to 16 hours a day
for 2s. or 3s. a week. Distress in Yorkshire was, if possible, even greater. As to
the address by the frame-work knitters of Nottingham, the author says that he
himself investigated conditions and had come to the conclusion that the
declarations of the workers ‘were not in the slightest degree exaggerated’.
[148]Ibid., p. 334.
[149]Paris, 1827.
[150]Preface to the second edition. Translation by M. Mignet, in Political
Economy and the Philosophy of Government (London, 1847), pp. 114 ff.
Page 454
[151]Nouveaux Principes ... (2nd ed.), vol. i, p. 79.
[152]Nouveaux Principes ... (2nd ed.), vol. i, p. xv.
[153]Ibid., p. 92.
[154]Ibid., pp. 111-12.
[155]Ibid., p. 335.
[156]Op. cit., vol. ii, p. 435.
[157]Ibid., p. 463.
[158]Op. cit., vol. i, p. xiii (pp. 120-1 of Mignet’s translation).
[159]Nouveaux Principes ... (2nd ed.), vol. i, p. 84.
[160]Ibid., p. 85.
[161]Ibid., p. 86.
[162]Ibid., pp. 86-7.
[163]Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, p. 87.
[164]Ibid., pp. 87-8.
[165]Ibid., pp. 88-9.
[166]Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, pp. 108-9.
[167]Ibid., pp. 93-4.
[168]Ibid., p. 95.
[169]Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, pp. 95-6.
[170]Ibid., pp. 104-5.
[171]Ibid., p. 105.
[172]Ibid., pp. 105-6.
[173]Ibid., pp. 113, 120.
[174]Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, p. 121.
[175]Vladimir Ilyich [Lenin], Economic Studies and Essays, St. Petersburg,
1899.
[176]The article in the Edinburgh Review was really directed against Owen,
sharply attacking on 24 pages of print the latter’s four treatises: (1) ‘A New View
of Society, or Essays on the formation of Human Character’, (2) ‘Observations
on the Effects of the Manufacturing System’, (3) ‘Two Memorials on Behalf of
the Working Classes, Presented to the Governments of America and Europe’,
and finally (4) ‘Three Tracts’ and ‘An Account of Public Proceedings relative to
the Employment of the Poor’. ‘Anonymous’ here attempts a detailed proof that
Owen’s reformist ideas by no means get down to the real causes of the misery of
the English proletariat, these causes being: the transition to the cultivation of
barren land (Ricardo’s theory of ground rent!), the corn laws and high taxation
pressing upon farmer and manufacturer alike. Free trade and laissez-faire thus is
his alpha and omega. Given unrestricted accumulation, all increase in production
will create for itself an increase in demand. Owen is accused of ‘profound
[152]Nouveaux Principes ... (2nd ed.), vol. i, p. xv.
[153]Ibid., p. 92.
[154]Ibid., pp. 111-12.
[155]Ibid., p. 335.
[156]Op. cit., vol. ii, p. 435.
[157]Ibid., p. 463.
[158]Op. cit., vol. i, p. xiii (pp. 120-1 of Mignet’s translation).
[159]Nouveaux Principes ... (2nd ed.), vol. i, p. 84.
[160]Ibid., p. 85.
[161]Ibid., p. 86.
[162]Ibid., pp. 86-7.
[163]Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, p. 87.
[164]Ibid., pp. 87-8.
[165]Ibid., pp. 88-9.
[166]Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, pp. 108-9.
[167]Ibid., pp. 93-4.
[168]Ibid., p. 95.
[169]Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, pp. 95-6.
[170]Ibid., pp. 104-5.
[171]Ibid., p. 105.
[172]Ibid., pp. 105-6.
[173]Ibid., pp. 113, 120.
[174]Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, p. 121.
[175]Vladimir Ilyich [Lenin], Economic Studies and Essays, St. Petersburg,
1899.
[176]The article in the Edinburgh Review was really directed against Owen,
sharply attacking on 24 pages of print the latter’s four treatises: (1) ‘A New View
of Society, or Essays on the formation of Human Character’, (2) ‘Observations
on the Effects of the Manufacturing System’, (3) ‘Two Memorials on Behalf of
the Working Classes, Presented to the Governments of America and Europe’,
and finally (4) ‘Three Tracts’ and ‘An Account of Public Proceedings relative to
the Employment of the Poor’. ‘Anonymous’ here attempts a detailed proof that
Owen’s reformist ideas by no means get down to the real causes of the misery of
the English proletariat, these causes being: the transition to the cultivation of
barren land (Ricardo’s theory of ground rent!), the corn laws and high taxation
pressing upon farmer and manufacturer alike. Free trade and laissez-faire thus is
his alpha and omega. Given unrestricted accumulation, all increase in production
will create for itself an increase in demand. Owen is accused of ‘profound
Page 455
ignorance’ as regards Say and James Mill.—‘In his reasonings, as well as in his
plans, Mr. Owen shows himself profoundly ignorant of all the laws which
regulate the production and distribution of wealth.’—From Owen, the author
proceeds to Sismondi and formulates the point of contention as follows: ‘He
[Owen] conceives that when competition is unchecked by any artificial
regulations, and industry permitted to flow in its natural channels, the use of
machinery may increase the supply of the several articles of wealth beyond the
demand for them, and by creating an excess of all commodities, throw the
working classes out of employment. This is the position which we hold to be
fundamentally erroneous; and as it is strongly insisted on by the celebrated M.
de Sismondi in his Nouveaux Principes d’Économie Politique, we must entreat
the indulgence of our readers while we endeavour to point out its fallacy, and to
demonstrate, that the power of consuming necessarily increases with every
increase in the power of producing’ (Edinburgh Review, Oct. 1819, p. 470).
[177]The original title is: Examen de cette question: Le pouvoir de consommer
s’accroît-il toujours dans la société avec le pouvoir de produire? We have not
been able to obtain a copy of Rossi’s Annales, but the essay as a whole was
incorporated by Sismondi in the second edition of his Nouveaux Principes.
[178]At the time of writing, Sismondi was still in the dark as to the identity of
‘Anonymous’ in the Edinburgh Review.
[179]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 376-8.
[180]MacCulloch, loc. cit., p. 470.
[181]Incidentally, Sismondi’s Leipsic Book Fair, as a microcosm of the capitalist
world, has staged a come-back after 55 years—in Eugen Duehring’s ‘system’.
Engels, in his devastating criticism of that unfortunate ‘universal genius’
adduces this idea as proof that Duehring, by attempting to elucidate a real
industrial crisis by means of an imaginary one on the Leipsic Book Fair, a storm
at sea by a storm in a teacup, has shown himself a ‘real German literatus’. But,
as in many other instances exposed by Engels, the great thinker has simply
borrowed here from someone else on the sly.
[182]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 381-2.
[183]MacCulloch, loc. cit., p. 470.
[184]Sismondi, op. cit, vol. ii, p. 384.
[185]MacCulloch, loc. cit., p. 471.
[186]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 394-5.
[187]Ibid., pp. 396-7.
[188]Ibid., pp. 397-8.
[189]MacCulloch, loc. cit., pp. 471-2.
[190]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 400-1.
[191]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, p. 401.
[192]Ibid., pp. 405-6.
[193]It is typical that on his election to Parliament in 1819, when he already
enjoyed the highest reputation on account of his economic writings, Ricardo
plans, Mr. Owen shows himself profoundly ignorant of all the laws which
regulate the production and distribution of wealth.’—From Owen, the author
proceeds to Sismondi and formulates the point of contention as follows: ‘He
[Owen] conceives that when competition is unchecked by any artificial
regulations, and industry permitted to flow in its natural channels, the use of
machinery may increase the supply of the several articles of wealth beyond the
demand for them, and by creating an excess of all commodities, throw the
working classes out of employment. This is the position which we hold to be
fundamentally erroneous; and as it is strongly insisted on by the celebrated M.
de Sismondi in his Nouveaux Principes d’Économie Politique, we must entreat
the indulgence of our readers while we endeavour to point out its fallacy, and to
demonstrate, that the power of consuming necessarily increases with every
increase in the power of producing’ (Edinburgh Review, Oct. 1819, p. 470).
[177]The original title is: Examen de cette question: Le pouvoir de consommer
s’accroît-il toujours dans la société avec le pouvoir de produire? We have not
been able to obtain a copy of Rossi’s Annales, but the essay as a whole was
incorporated by Sismondi in the second edition of his Nouveaux Principes.
[178]At the time of writing, Sismondi was still in the dark as to the identity of
‘Anonymous’ in the Edinburgh Review.
[179]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 376-8.
[180]MacCulloch, loc. cit., p. 470.
[181]Incidentally, Sismondi’s Leipsic Book Fair, as a microcosm of the capitalist
world, has staged a come-back after 55 years—in Eugen Duehring’s ‘system’.
Engels, in his devastating criticism of that unfortunate ‘universal genius’
adduces this idea as proof that Duehring, by attempting to elucidate a real
industrial crisis by means of an imaginary one on the Leipsic Book Fair, a storm
at sea by a storm in a teacup, has shown himself a ‘real German literatus’. But,
as in many other instances exposed by Engels, the great thinker has simply
borrowed here from someone else on the sly.
[182]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 381-2.
[183]MacCulloch, loc. cit., p. 470.
[184]Sismondi, op. cit, vol. ii, p. 384.
[185]MacCulloch, loc. cit., p. 471.
[186]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 394-5.
[187]Ibid., pp. 396-7.
[188]Ibid., pp. 397-8.
[189]MacCulloch, loc. cit., pp. 471-2.
[190]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 400-1.
[191]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, p. 401.
[192]Ibid., pp. 405-6.
[193]It is typical that on his election to Parliament in 1819, when he already
enjoyed the highest reputation on account of his economic writings, Ricardo
Page 456
wrote to a friend: ‘You will have seen that I have taken my seat in the House of
Commons. I fear I shall be of little use there. I have twice attempted to speak but
I proceeded in the most embarrassed manner, and I have no hope of conquering
the alarm with which I am assailed the moment I hear the sound of my own
voice’ (Letters of D. Ricardo to J. R. MacCulloch, N.Y., 1895, pp. 23-4). Such
diffidence was quite unknown to the gasbag MacCulloch.
[194]Nouveaux Principes ..., book iv, chap. vii.
[195]Ibid., book vii, chap. vii.
[196]D. Ricardo, On the Principles of Political Economy and Taxation (3rd
edition, London, 1821), p. 474.
[197]Ibid., p. 478.
[198]This essay, Sur la Balance des Consommations avec les Productions, is
reprinted in the second edition of Nouveaux Principes, vol. ii, pp. 408 ff.
Sismondi tells us about this discussion: ‘M. Ricardo, whose recent death has
been a profound bereavement not only to his friends and family but to all those
whom he enlightened by his brilliance, all those whom he inspired by his lofty
sentiments, stayed for some days in Geneva in the last year of his life. We
discussed in two or three sessions this fundamental question on which we
disagreed. To this enquiry he brought the urbanity, the good faith, the love of
truth which distinguished him, and a clarity which his disciples themselves had
not heard, accustomed as they were to the efforts of abstract thought he
demanded in the lecture room.’
[199]Ricardo. op. cit., p. 339.
[200]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, p. 361.
[201]Nouveaux Principes ..., book iv, chap, iv: ‘Comment la Richesse
commerciale suit l’Accroissement du Revenu’ (vol. i, p. 115).
[202]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, p. 412.
[203]Ibid., p. 416.
[204]Ibid., p. 424.
[205]Ibid., p. 417.
[206]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 425-6.
[207]Ibid., p. 429.
[208]Ibid., pp. 434-5.
[209]Thus, if Tugan Baranovski, championing Say-Ricardo’s views, tells us
about the controversy between Sismondi and Ricardo (Studies on the Theory and
History of Commercial Crises in England, p. 176), that Sismondi was compelled
‘to acknowledge as correct the doctrine he had attacked and to concede his
opponent all that is necessary’; that Sismondi himself ‘had abandoned his own
theory which still finds so many adherents’, and that ‘the victory in this
controversy lies with Ricardo’, this shows a lack of discrimination—to put it
mildly—such as is practically unheard-of in a work of serious scientific
pretensions.
Commons. I fear I shall be of little use there. I have twice attempted to speak but
I proceeded in the most embarrassed manner, and I have no hope of conquering
the alarm with which I am assailed the moment I hear the sound of my own
voice’ (Letters of D. Ricardo to J. R. MacCulloch, N.Y., 1895, pp. 23-4). Such
diffidence was quite unknown to the gasbag MacCulloch.
[194]Nouveaux Principes ..., book iv, chap. vii.
[195]Ibid., book vii, chap. vii.
[196]D. Ricardo, On the Principles of Political Economy and Taxation (3rd
edition, London, 1821), p. 474.
[197]Ibid., p. 478.
[198]This essay, Sur la Balance des Consommations avec les Productions, is
reprinted in the second edition of Nouveaux Principes, vol. ii, pp. 408 ff.
Sismondi tells us about this discussion: ‘M. Ricardo, whose recent death has
been a profound bereavement not only to his friends and family but to all those
whom he enlightened by his brilliance, all those whom he inspired by his lofty
sentiments, stayed for some days in Geneva in the last year of his life. We
discussed in two or three sessions this fundamental question on which we
disagreed. To this enquiry he brought the urbanity, the good faith, the love of
truth which distinguished him, and a clarity which his disciples themselves had
not heard, accustomed as they were to the efforts of abstract thought he
demanded in the lecture room.’
[199]Ricardo. op. cit., p. 339.
[200]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, p. 361.
[201]Nouveaux Principes ..., book iv, chap, iv: ‘Comment la Richesse
commerciale suit l’Accroissement du Revenu’ (vol. i, p. 115).
[202]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, p. 412.
[203]Ibid., p. 416.
[204]Ibid., p. 424.
[205]Ibid., p. 417.
[206]Sismondi, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 425-6.
[207]Ibid., p. 429.
[208]Ibid., pp. 434-5.
[209]Thus, if Tugan Baranovski, championing Say-Ricardo’s views, tells us
about the controversy between Sismondi and Ricardo (Studies on the Theory and
History of Commercial Crises in England, p. 176), that Sismondi was compelled
‘to acknowledge as correct the doctrine he had attacked and to concede his
opponent all that is necessary’; that Sismondi himself ‘had abandoned his own
theory which still finds so many adherents’, and that ‘the victory in this
controversy lies with Ricardo’, this shows a lack of discrimination—to put it
mildly—such as is practically unheard-of in a work of serious scientific
pretensions.
Page 457
[210]‘L’argent ne remplit qu’un office passager dans ce double échange. Les
échanges terminés, il se trouve qu’on a payé des produits avec des produits. En
conséquence, quand une nation a trop de produits dans un genre, le moyen de les
écouler est d’en créer d’un autre genre’ (J. B. Say, Traité d’Économie Politique,
Paris, 1803, vol. i, p. 154).
[211]In fact, here again, Say’s only achievement lies in having given a pompous
and dogmatic form to an idea that others had expressed before him. As
Bergmann points out, in his Theory of Crises (Stuttgart, 1895), the work of
Josiah Tucker (1752), Turgot’s annotations to the French pamphlets, the writings
of Quesnay, Dupont de Nemours, and of others contain quite similar
observations on a natural balance, or even identity, between demand and supply.
Yet the miserable Say, as Marx once called him, claims credit as the evangelist
of harmony for the great discovery of the ‘théorie des débouchés’, modestly
comparing his own work to the discovery of the principles of thermo-dynamics,
of the lever, and of the inclined plane. In the preface and table of contents, e.g. to
the 6th edition of his Traité (1841, pp. 51, 616) he says: ‘The theory of exchange
and of vents, such as it is developed in this work, will transform world politics.’
The same point of view is also expounded by James Mill in his ‘Commerce
Defended’ of 1808, and it is he whom Marx calls the real father of the doctrine
of a natural equilibrium between production and demand.
[212]Say in Revue Encyclopédique, vol. 23, July 1824, pp. 20 f.
[213]Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, p. 117.
[214]Say, loc. cit., p. 21.
[215]Say, loc. cit., p. 29. Say indicts Sismondi as the arch-enemy of bourgeois
society in the following ranting peroration: ‘It is against the modern organisation
of society, an organisation which, by despoiling the working man of all property
save his hands, gives him no security in the face of a competition directed
towards his detriment. What! Society despoils the working man because it
ensures to every kind of entrepreneur free disposition over his capital, that is to
say his property! I repeat: there is nothing more dangerous than views conducive
to a regulation of the employment of property’ for ‘hands and faculties ... are
also property’ (ibid., p. 30).
[216]Sismondi, op. cit., pp. 462-3.
[217]Ibid., p. 331.
[218]Sismondi, op. cit., p. 432-3.
[219]Ibid., p. 449.
[220]Ibid., p. 448.
[221]Marx, in his history of the opposition to Ricardo’s school and its
dissolution, makes only brief mention of Sismondi, explaining: ‘I leave
Sismondi out of this historical account, because the criticism of his views
belongs to a part with which I can deal only after this treatise, the actual
movement of capital (competition and credit)’ (Theorien über den Mehrwert,
vol. iii, p. 52). Later on, however, in connection with Malthus, he also deals with
Sismondi in a passage that, on the whole, is comprehensive: ‘Sismondi is
profoundly aware of the self-contradiction of capitalist production; he feels that
échanges terminés, il se trouve qu’on a payé des produits avec des produits. En
conséquence, quand une nation a trop de produits dans un genre, le moyen de les
écouler est d’en créer d’un autre genre’ (J. B. Say, Traité d’Économie Politique,
Paris, 1803, vol. i, p. 154).
[211]In fact, here again, Say’s only achievement lies in having given a pompous
and dogmatic form to an idea that others had expressed before him. As
Bergmann points out, in his Theory of Crises (Stuttgart, 1895), the work of
Josiah Tucker (1752), Turgot’s annotations to the French pamphlets, the writings
of Quesnay, Dupont de Nemours, and of others contain quite similar
observations on a natural balance, or even identity, between demand and supply.
Yet the miserable Say, as Marx once called him, claims credit as the evangelist
of harmony for the great discovery of the ‘théorie des débouchés’, modestly
comparing his own work to the discovery of the principles of thermo-dynamics,
of the lever, and of the inclined plane. In the preface and table of contents, e.g. to
the 6th edition of his Traité (1841, pp. 51, 616) he says: ‘The theory of exchange
and of vents, such as it is developed in this work, will transform world politics.’
The same point of view is also expounded by James Mill in his ‘Commerce
Defended’ of 1808, and it is he whom Marx calls the real father of the doctrine
of a natural equilibrium between production and demand.
[212]Say in Revue Encyclopédique, vol. 23, July 1824, pp. 20 f.
[213]Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, p. 117.
[214]Say, loc. cit., p. 21.
[215]Say, loc. cit., p. 29. Say indicts Sismondi as the arch-enemy of bourgeois
society in the following ranting peroration: ‘It is against the modern organisation
of society, an organisation which, by despoiling the working man of all property
save his hands, gives him no security in the face of a competition directed
towards his detriment. What! Society despoils the working man because it
ensures to every kind of entrepreneur free disposition over his capital, that is to
say his property! I repeat: there is nothing more dangerous than views conducive
to a regulation of the employment of property’ for ‘hands and faculties ... are
also property’ (ibid., p. 30).
[216]Sismondi, op. cit., pp. 462-3.
[217]Ibid., p. 331.
[218]Sismondi, op. cit., p. 432-3.
[219]Ibid., p. 449.
[220]Ibid., p. 448.
[221]Marx, in his history of the opposition to Ricardo’s school and its
dissolution, makes only brief mention of Sismondi, explaining: ‘I leave
Sismondi out of this historical account, because the criticism of his views
belongs to a part with which I can deal only after this treatise, the actual
movement of capital (competition and credit)’ (Theorien über den Mehrwert,
vol. iii, p. 52). Later on, however, in connection with Malthus, he also deals with
Sismondi in a passage that, on the whole, is comprehensive: ‘Sismondi is
profoundly aware of the self-contradiction of capitalist production; he feels that
Page 458
its forms, its productive conditions, spur on an untrammelled development of the
productive forces and of wealth on the one hand, yet that these conditions, on the
other, are only relative; that their contradictions of value-in-use and value-in-
exchange, of commodity and money, of sale and purchase, of production and
consumption, of capital and wage-labour, and so on, take on ever larger
dimensions, along with the forward strides of the productive forces. In particular,
he feels the fundamental conflict: here the untrammelled development of
productive power and of a wealth which, at the same time, consists in
commodities, must be monetised; and there the basis—restriction of the mass of
producers to the necessary means of subsistence. He therefore does not, like
Ricardo, conceive of the crises as merely incidental, but as essential, as eruptions
of the immanent conflicts on ever grander scale and at determinate periods.
Which faces him with the dilemma: is the state to put restrictions on the
productive forces to adapt them to the productive conditions, or upon the
productive conditions to adapt them to the productive forces? Frequently he has
recourse to the past, becomes laudator temporis acti, and seeks to master the
contradictions by a different regulation of income relative to capital, or of
distribution relative to production, quite failing to grasp that the relations of
distribution are nothing but the relations of production sub alia specie. He has a
perfect picture of the contradictions immanent in bourgeois production, yet he
does not understand them, and therefore fails also to understand the process of
their disintegration. (And indeed, how could he, seeing this production was still
in the making?—R.L.) And yet, his view is in fact grounded in the premonition
that new forms of appropriating wealth must answer to the productive forces,
developed in the womb of capitalist production, to the material and social
conditions of creating this wealth; that the bourgeois forms of appropriation are
but transitory and contradictory, wealth existing always with contrary aspects
and presenting itself at once as its opposite. Wealth is ever based on the premises
of poverty, and can develop only by developing poverty’ (ibid., p. 55).
In The Poverty of Philosophy, Marx opposes Sismondi to Proudhon in sundry
passages, yet about the man himself he only remarks tersely: ‘Those, who, like
Sismondi, wish to return to the true proportions of production, while preserving
the present basis of society, are reactionary, since, to be consistent, they must
also wish to bring back all the other conditions of industry of former times’ (The
Poverty of Philosophy, London, 1936, p. 57). Two short references to Sismondi
are in On the Critique of Political Economy: once he is ranked, as the last classic
of bourgeois economics in France, with Ricard in England; in another passage
emphasis is laid on the fact that Sismondi, contrary to Ricardo, underlined the
specifically social character of labour that creates value.—In the Communist
Manifesto, finally, Sismondi is mentioned as the head of the petty-bourgeois
school.
[222]Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. ii, p. 409.
[223]Cf. Marx, Theorien über den Mehrwert, vol. iii, pp. 1-29, which gives a
detailed analysis of Malthus’ theory of value and profits.
[224]Dedicated to James Mill and published in 1827.
[225]James Mill, Elements of Political Economy (3rd edition, London, 1826),
pp. 239-40.
[226]Malthus. Definitions in Political Economy (London, 1827), p. 51.
productive forces and of wealth on the one hand, yet that these conditions, on the
other, are only relative; that their contradictions of value-in-use and value-in-
exchange, of commodity and money, of sale and purchase, of production and
consumption, of capital and wage-labour, and so on, take on ever larger
dimensions, along with the forward strides of the productive forces. In particular,
he feels the fundamental conflict: here the untrammelled development of
productive power and of a wealth which, at the same time, consists in
commodities, must be monetised; and there the basis—restriction of the mass of
producers to the necessary means of subsistence. He therefore does not, like
Ricardo, conceive of the crises as merely incidental, but as essential, as eruptions
of the immanent conflicts on ever grander scale and at determinate periods.
Which faces him with the dilemma: is the state to put restrictions on the
productive forces to adapt them to the productive conditions, or upon the
productive conditions to adapt them to the productive forces? Frequently he has
recourse to the past, becomes laudator temporis acti, and seeks to master the
contradictions by a different regulation of income relative to capital, or of
distribution relative to production, quite failing to grasp that the relations of
distribution are nothing but the relations of production sub alia specie. He has a
perfect picture of the contradictions immanent in bourgeois production, yet he
does not understand them, and therefore fails also to understand the process of
their disintegration. (And indeed, how could he, seeing this production was still
in the making?—R.L.) And yet, his view is in fact grounded in the premonition
that new forms of appropriating wealth must answer to the productive forces,
developed in the womb of capitalist production, to the material and social
conditions of creating this wealth; that the bourgeois forms of appropriation are
but transitory and contradictory, wealth existing always with contrary aspects
and presenting itself at once as its opposite. Wealth is ever based on the premises
of poverty, and can develop only by developing poverty’ (ibid., p. 55).
In The Poverty of Philosophy, Marx opposes Sismondi to Proudhon in sundry
passages, yet about the man himself he only remarks tersely: ‘Those, who, like
Sismondi, wish to return to the true proportions of production, while preserving
the present basis of society, are reactionary, since, to be consistent, they must
also wish to bring back all the other conditions of industry of former times’ (The
Poverty of Philosophy, London, 1936, p. 57). Two short references to Sismondi
are in On the Critique of Political Economy: once he is ranked, as the last classic
of bourgeois economics in France, with Ricard in England; in another passage
emphasis is laid on the fact that Sismondi, contrary to Ricardo, underlined the
specifically social character of labour that creates value.—In the Communist
Manifesto, finally, Sismondi is mentioned as the head of the petty-bourgeois
school.
[222]Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. ii, p. 409.
[223]Cf. Marx, Theorien über den Mehrwert, vol. iii, pp. 1-29, which gives a
detailed analysis of Malthus’ theory of value and profits.
[224]Dedicated to James Mill and published in 1827.
[225]James Mill, Elements of Political Economy (3rd edition, London, 1826),
pp. 239-40.
[226]Malthus. Definitions in Political Economy (London, 1827), p. 51.
Page 459
[227]Ibid., p. 64.
[228]Malthus, Definitions in Political Economy (London, 1827), pp. 53-4.
[229]Ibid., pp. 62-3.
[230]Die Forderungen der arbeitenden Klassen.
[231]Die Handelskrisen und die Hypothekennot der Grundbesitzer.
[232]Zur Erkenntnis unserer staatswirtschaftlichen Zustände.
[233]Über die Grundrente in sozialer Beziehung.
[234]Die Tauschgesellschaft.
[235]Soziale Briefe.
[236]Rodbertus quotes v. Kirchmann’s arguments explicitly and in great detail.
But according to his editors, no complete copy of Demokratische Blätter with
the original essay is obtainable.
[237]To v. Kirchmann, in 1880.
[238]Dr. Carl Rodbertus-Jagetzow, Schriften (Berlin, 1899), vol. iii, pp. 172-4,
184.
[239]Op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 104 f.
[240]Op. cit., vol. i, p. 99.
[241]Ibid., p. 173.
[242]Ibid., p. 176.
[243]Op. cit., vol. ii, p. 65.
[244]Schriften, vol. i, pp. 182-4.
[245]Ibid., pp. 182-4.
[246]Ibid., p. 72.
[247]Schriften, vol. iii, pp. 110-11.
[248]Ibid., p. 108.
[249]Op. cit., vol. i, p. 62.
[250]Schriften, vol. iv, p. 226.
[251]In Towards the Understanding of Our Politico-Economic Conditions, part
ii, n. 1.
[252]In On Commercial Crises and the Mortgage Problem of the Landowners,
quoted above (op. cit., vol. iii, p. 186).
[253]Op. cit., vol. iv, p. 233. It is interesting to note in this connection how
Rodbertus appears in practice as an extremely sober and realistically-minded
prophet of capitalist colonial policy, in the manner of the present-day ‘Pan-
Germans’, his moral ranting about the unhappy fate of the working classes
notwithstanding. In a footnote to the above quotation, he writes: ‘We can go on
to glance briefly at the importance of the opening up of Asia, in particular of
China and Japan, the richest markets in the world, and also of the maintenance
of English rule in India. It is to defer the solution of the social problem.’ (The
[228]Malthus, Definitions in Political Economy (London, 1827), pp. 53-4.
[229]Ibid., pp. 62-3.
[230]Die Forderungen der arbeitenden Klassen.
[231]Die Handelskrisen und die Hypothekennot der Grundbesitzer.
[232]Zur Erkenntnis unserer staatswirtschaftlichen Zustände.
[233]Über die Grundrente in sozialer Beziehung.
[234]Die Tauschgesellschaft.
[235]Soziale Briefe.
[236]Rodbertus quotes v. Kirchmann’s arguments explicitly and in great detail.
But according to his editors, no complete copy of Demokratische Blätter with
the original essay is obtainable.
[237]To v. Kirchmann, in 1880.
[238]Dr. Carl Rodbertus-Jagetzow, Schriften (Berlin, 1899), vol. iii, pp. 172-4,
184.
[239]Op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 104 f.
[240]Op. cit., vol. i, p. 99.
[241]Ibid., p. 173.
[242]Ibid., p. 176.
[243]Op. cit., vol. ii, p. 65.
[244]Schriften, vol. i, pp. 182-4.
[245]Ibid., pp. 182-4.
[246]Ibid., p. 72.
[247]Schriften, vol. iii, pp. 110-11.
[248]Ibid., p. 108.
[249]Op. cit., vol. i, p. 62.
[250]Schriften, vol. iv, p. 226.
[251]In Towards the Understanding of Our Politico-Economic Conditions, part
ii, n. 1.
[252]In On Commercial Crises and the Mortgage Problem of the Landowners,
quoted above (op. cit., vol. iii, p. 186).
[253]Op. cit., vol. iv, p. 233. It is interesting to note in this connection how
Rodbertus appears in practice as an extremely sober and realistically-minded
prophet of capitalist colonial policy, in the manner of the present-day ‘Pan-
Germans’, his moral ranting about the unhappy fate of the working classes
notwithstanding. In a footnote to the above quotation, he writes: ‘We can go on
to glance briefly at the importance of the opening up of Asia, in particular of
China and Japan, the richest markets in the world, and also of the maintenance
of English rule in India. It is to defer the solution of the social problem.’ (The
Page 460
eloquent avenger of the exploited ingenuously discloses the means by which the
profiteering exploiters can continue ‘their stupid and criminal error’, their
‘flagrant injustice’ for as long as possible.) ‘For the solution of this problem, the
present lacks in unselfishness and moral resolution no less than in intelligence.’
(Rodbertus’ philosophical resignation is unparalleled!) ‘Economic advantage
cannot, admittedly, constitute a legal title to intervention by force, but on the
other hand, a strict application of modern natural and international law to all the
nations of the world, whatever their state of civilisation, is quite impracticable.’
(A comparison with Dorine’s words in Molière’s Tartuffe is irresistible: ‘Le ciel
défend, de vraie, certains contentements, mais il y a avec lui des
accommodements.’)—‘Our international law has grown from a civilisation of
Christian ethics, and since all law is based upon reciprocity, it can only provide
the standard for relations between nations of the same civilisation. If it is applied
beyond these limits, it is sentiment rather than natural and international law and
the Indian atrocities should have cured us of it. Christian Europe should rather
partake of the spirit which made the Greeks and the Romans regard all the other
peoples of the world as barbarians. The younger European nations might then
regain the drive for making world history which impelled the Ancients to spread
their native civilisation over the countries of the globe. They would reconquer
Asia for world history by joint action. Such common purpose and action would
in turn stimulate the greatest social progress, a firm foundation of peace in
Europe, a reduction of armies, a colonisation of Asia in the ancient Roman style
—in other words, a genuine solidarity of interests in all walks of social life.’ The
vision of capitalist colonial expansion inspires the prophet of the exploited and
oppressed to almost poetical flights, all the more remarkable for coming at a
time when a civilisation of Christian ethics accomplished such glorious exploits
as the Opium Wars against China and the Indian atrocities—that is to say, the
atrocities committed by the British in their bloody suppression of the Indian
Mutiny.—In his second Letter on Social Problems, in 1850, Rodbertus had
expressed the conviction that if society lacks the ‘moral resolution’ necessary to
solve the social question, in other words, to change the distribution of wealth,
history would be forced to ‘use the whip of revolution against it’ (op. cit., vol. ii,
p. 83). Eight years later, however, the stalwart Prussian prefers to crack the whip
of a colonial policy of Christian ethics over the natives of the colonial countries.
It is, of course, what one might expect of the ‘original founder of scientific
socialism in Germany’ that he should also be a warm supporter of militarism,
and his phrase about the ‘reduction of armies’ is but poetic licence in his verbal
fireworks. In his essay On the Understanding of the Social Question he explains
that the ‘entire national tax burden is perpetually gravitating towards the bottom,
sometimes in form of higher prices for wage goods, and sometimes in form of
lower money wages’. In this connection, he considers conscription ‘under the
aspect of a charge on the state’, explaining that ‘as far as the working classes are
concerned, it is nothing like a tax but rather a confiscation of their entire income
for many years’. He adds immediately: ‘To avoid misunderstanding I would
point out that I am a staunch supporter of our present military constitution (i.e.
the military constitution of counter-revolutionary Prussia)—although it may be
oppressive to the working classes and demand great financial sacrifices from the
propertied classes’ (op. cit., vol. iii, p. 34). That does not even sound like a lion’s
roar!
[254]Schriften, vol. iii, p. 182.
profiteering exploiters can continue ‘their stupid and criminal error’, their
‘flagrant injustice’ for as long as possible.) ‘For the solution of this problem, the
present lacks in unselfishness and moral resolution no less than in intelligence.’
(Rodbertus’ philosophical resignation is unparalleled!) ‘Economic advantage
cannot, admittedly, constitute a legal title to intervention by force, but on the
other hand, a strict application of modern natural and international law to all the
nations of the world, whatever their state of civilisation, is quite impracticable.’
(A comparison with Dorine’s words in Molière’s Tartuffe is irresistible: ‘Le ciel
défend, de vraie, certains contentements, mais il y a avec lui des
accommodements.’)—‘Our international law has grown from a civilisation of
Christian ethics, and since all law is based upon reciprocity, it can only provide
the standard for relations between nations of the same civilisation. If it is applied
beyond these limits, it is sentiment rather than natural and international law and
the Indian atrocities should have cured us of it. Christian Europe should rather
partake of the spirit which made the Greeks and the Romans regard all the other
peoples of the world as barbarians. The younger European nations might then
regain the drive for making world history which impelled the Ancients to spread
their native civilisation over the countries of the globe. They would reconquer
Asia for world history by joint action. Such common purpose and action would
in turn stimulate the greatest social progress, a firm foundation of peace in
Europe, a reduction of armies, a colonisation of Asia in the ancient Roman style
—in other words, a genuine solidarity of interests in all walks of social life.’ The
vision of capitalist colonial expansion inspires the prophet of the exploited and
oppressed to almost poetical flights, all the more remarkable for coming at a
time when a civilisation of Christian ethics accomplished such glorious exploits
as the Opium Wars against China and the Indian atrocities—that is to say, the
atrocities committed by the British in their bloody suppression of the Indian
Mutiny.—In his second Letter on Social Problems, in 1850, Rodbertus had
expressed the conviction that if society lacks the ‘moral resolution’ necessary to
solve the social question, in other words, to change the distribution of wealth,
history would be forced to ‘use the whip of revolution against it’ (op. cit., vol. ii,
p. 83). Eight years later, however, the stalwart Prussian prefers to crack the whip
of a colonial policy of Christian ethics over the natives of the colonial countries.
It is, of course, what one might expect of the ‘original founder of scientific
socialism in Germany’ that he should also be a warm supporter of militarism,
and his phrase about the ‘reduction of armies’ is but poetic licence in his verbal
fireworks. In his essay On the Understanding of the Social Question he explains
that the ‘entire national tax burden is perpetually gravitating towards the bottom,
sometimes in form of higher prices for wage goods, and sometimes in form of
lower money wages’. In this connection, he considers conscription ‘under the
aspect of a charge on the state’, explaining that ‘as far as the working classes are
concerned, it is nothing like a tax but rather a confiscation of their entire income
for many years’. He adds immediately: ‘To avoid misunderstanding I would
point out that I am a staunch supporter of our present military constitution (i.e.
the military constitution of counter-revolutionary Prussia)—although it may be
oppressive to the working classes and demand great financial sacrifices from the
propertied classes’ (op. cit., vol. iii, p. 34). That does not even sound like a lion’s
roar!
[254]Schriften, vol. iii, p. 182.
Page 461
[255]Published already in 1845.
[256]Schriften, vol. iv, p. 231.
[257]Schriften, vol. iii, p. 176.
[258]Op. cit., vol. i, pp. 53, 57.
[259]Schriften, vol. i, p. 206.
[260]Ibid., vol. i, p. 19.
[261]Op. cit., vol. ii, p. 110.
[262]Ibid., p. 144.
[263]Schriften, vol. ii, p. 146.
[264]Ibid., p. 155.
[265]Ibid., p. 223.
[266]Schriften, vol. ii, p. 226.
[267]Ibid., p. 156.
[268]Schriften, vol. i, p. 40.
[269]Op. cit., vol. ii, p. 25.
[270]Schriften, vol. i, p. 250.
[271]Ibid., p. 295. Rodbertus reiterates during a lifetime the ideas he had
evolved as early as 1842 in his Towards the Understanding of Our Politico-
Economic Conditions. ‘Under present conditions, we have, however, gone so far
as to consider not only the wage of labour part of the costs of the goods, but also
rents and capital profits. We must therefore refute this opinion in detail. It has a
twofold foundation: (a) a wrong conception of capital which counts the wage of
labour as part of the capital just like materials and tools, while it is on the same
level as rent and profit; (b) a confusion of the costs of the commodity and the
advances of the entrepreneur or the costs of the enterprise’ (Towards the
Understanding of Our Politico-Economic Conditions, Neubrandenburg &
Friedland, G. Barnovitz, 1842, p. 14).
[272]Schriften, vol. i, p. 304. Just so already in Towards the Understanding of
Our Politico-Economic Conditions, ‘We must distinguish between capital in its
narrow or proper sense, and the fund of enterprise, or capital in a wider sense.
The former comprises the actual reserves in tools and materials, the latter the
fund necessary for running an enterprise under present conditions of division of
labour. The former is capital absolutely necessary to production, and the latter
achieves such relative necessity only by force of present conditions. Hence only
the former is capital in the strict and proper meaning of the term; this alone is
completely congruent with the concept of national capital’ (ibid., pp. 23-4).
[273]Schriften, vol. i, p. 292.
[274]Op. cit., vol. ii, p. 136.
[275]Ibid., p. 225.
[276]A memorial of the worst kind, by the way, was that of the editors who
published his works after his death. These learned gentlemen, Messrs. Wagner,
[256]Schriften, vol. iv, p. 231.
[257]Schriften, vol. iii, p. 176.
[258]Op. cit., vol. i, pp. 53, 57.
[259]Schriften, vol. i, p. 206.
[260]Ibid., vol. i, p. 19.
[261]Op. cit., vol. ii, p. 110.
[262]Ibid., p. 144.
[263]Schriften, vol. ii, p. 146.
[264]Ibid., p. 155.
[265]Ibid., p. 223.
[266]Schriften, vol. ii, p. 226.
[267]Ibid., p. 156.
[268]Schriften, vol. i, p. 40.
[269]Op. cit., vol. ii, p. 25.
[270]Schriften, vol. i, p. 250.
[271]Ibid., p. 295. Rodbertus reiterates during a lifetime the ideas he had
evolved as early as 1842 in his Towards the Understanding of Our Politico-
Economic Conditions. ‘Under present conditions, we have, however, gone so far
as to consider not only the wage of labour part of the costs of the goods, but also
rents and capital profits. We must therefore refute this opinion in detail. It has a
twofold foundation: (a) a wrong conception of capital which counts the wage of
labour as part of the capital just like materials and tools, while it is on the same
level as rent and profit; (b) a confusion of the costs of the commodity and the
advances of the entrepreneur or the costs of the enterprise’ (Towards the
Understanding of Our Politico-Economic Conditions, Neubrandenburg &
Friedland, G. Barnovitz, 1842, p. 14).
[272]Schriften, vol. i, p. 304. Just so already in Towards the Understanding of
Our Politico-Economic Conditions, ‘We must distinguish between capital in its
narrow or proper sense, and the fund of enterprise, or capital in a wider sense.
The former comprises the actual reserves in tools and materials, the latter the
fund necessary for running an enterprise under present conditions of division of
labour. The former is capital absolutely necessary to production, and the latter
achieves such relative necessity only by force of present conditions. Hence only
the former is capital in the strict and proper meaning of the term; this alone is
completely congruent with the concept of national capital’ (ibid., pp. 23-4).
[273]Schriften, vol. i, p. 292.
[274]Op. cit., vol. ii, p. 136.
[275]Ibid., p. 225.
[276]A memorial of the worst kind, by the way, was that of the editors who
published his works after his death. These learned gentlemen, Messrs. Wagner,
Page 462
Kozak, Moritz Wuertz & Co., quarrelled in the prefaces to his posthumous
writings like a rough crowd of ill-mannered servants in an antechamber, fighting
out publicly their petty personal feuds and jealousies, and slanging one another.
They did not even bother in common decency to establish the dates for the
individual manuscripts they had found. To take an instance, it needed Mehring to
observe that the oldest manuscript of Rodbertus that had been found was not
published in 1837, as laid down autocratically by Prof. Wagner, but in 1839 at
the earliest, since it refers in its opening paragraphs to historical events
connected with the Chartist movement belonging, as a professor of economics
really ought to know, in the year 1839. In Professor Wagner’s introduction to
Rodbertus we are constantly bored by his pomposity, his harping on the
‘excessive demands on his time’; in any case Wagner addresses himself solely to
his learned colleagues and talks above the heads of the common crowd; he
passes over in silence, as befits a great man, Mehring’s elegant correction before
the assembled experts. Just as silently, Professor Diehl altered the date of 1837
to 1839 in the Handwörterbuch der Staatswissenschaften, without a word to say
when and by whom he had been thus enlightened.
But the final touch is provided by the ‘popular’, ‘new and inexpensive’ edition
of Puttkamer and Muehlbrecht (1899). Some of the quarrelling editors
collaborated on it but still continue their disputes in the introductions. Wagner’s
former vol. ii has become vol. i in this edition, yet Wagner still refers to vol. ii in
the introduction to vol. i. The first Letter on Social Problems is placed in vol. iii,
the second and third in vol. ii and the fourth in vol. i. The order of the Letters on
Social Problems, of the Controversies, of the parts of Towards the
Understanding ..., chronological and logical sequence, the dates of publication
and of writing are hopelessly mixed up, making a chaos more impenetrable than
the stratification of the soil after repeated volcanic eruptions. 1837 is maintained
as the date of Rodbertus’ earliest MS., probably out of respect to Professor
Wagner—and this in 1899, although Mehring’s rectification had been made in
1894. If we compare this with Marx’s literary heritage in Mehring’s and
Kautsky’s edition, published by Dietz, we see how such apparently superficial
matters but reflect deeper connections: one kind of care for the scientific
heritage of the authority of the class-conscious proletariat, and quite another in
which the official experts of the bourgeoisie squander the heritage of a man who,
in their own self-interested legends, had been a first-rate genius. Suum cuique—
had this not been the motto of Rodbertus?
[277]An essay in Patriotic Memoirs, May 1883.
[278]An essay in the review Russian Thought, September 1889.
[279]A book published in 1893.
[280]A book published in 1895.
[281]Patriotic Memoirs, vol. v: ‘A Contemporary Survey’, p. 4.
[282]Ibid., p. 10.
[283]Patriotic Memoirs, vol. v: ‘A Contemporary Survey’, p. 14.
[284]Outlines of Economic Theory (St. Petersburg, 1895), pp. 157 ff.
[285]‘Militarism and Capitalism’ in Russian Thought (1889), vol. ix, p. 78.
writings like a rough crowd of ill-mannered servants in an antechamber, fighting
out publicly their petty personal feuds and jealousies, and slanging one another.
They did not even bother in common decency to establish the dates for the
individual manuscripts they had found. To take an instance, it needed Mehring to
observe that the oldest manuscript of Rodbertus that had been found was not
published in 1837, as laid down autocratically by Prof. Wagner, but in 1839 at
the earliest, since it refers in its opening paragraphs to historical events
connected with the Chartist movement belonging, as a professor of economics
really ought to know, in the year 1839. In Professor Wagner’s introduction to
Rodbertus we are constantly bored by his pomposity, his harping on the
‘excessive demands on his time’; in any case Wagner addresses himself solely to
his learned colleagues and talks above the heads of the common crowd; he
passes over in silence, as befits a great man, Mehring’s elegant correction before
the assembled experts. Just as silently, Professor Diehl altered the date of 1837
to 1839 in the Handwörterbuch der Staatswissenschaften, without a word to say
when and by whom he had been thus enlightened.
But the final touch is provided by the ‘popular’, ‘new and inexpensive’ edition
of Puttkamer and Muehlbrecht (1899). Some of the quarrelling editors
collaborated on it but still continue their disputes in the introductions. Wagner’s
former vol. ii has become vol. i in this edition, yet Wagner still refers to vol. ii in
the introduction to vol. i. The first Letter on Social Problems is placed in vol. iii,
the second and third in vol. ii and the fourth in vol. i. The order of the Letters on
Social Problems, of the Controversies, of the parts of Towards the
Understanding ..., chronological and logical sequence, the dates of publication
and of writing are hopelessly mixed up, making a chaos more impenetrable than
the stratification of the soil after repeated volcanic eruptions. 1837 is maintained
as the date of Rodbertus’ earliest MS., probably out of respect to Professor
Wagner—and this in 1899, although Mehring’s rectification had been made in
1894. If we compare this with Marx’s literary heritage in Mehring’s and
Kautsky’s edition, published by Dietz, we see how such apparently superficial
matters but reflect deeper connections: one kind of care for the scientific
heritage of the authority of the class-conscious proletariat, and quite another in
which the official experts of the bourgeoisie squander the heritage of a man who,
in their own self-interested legends, had been a first-rate genius. Suum cuique—
had this not been the motto of Rodbertus?
[277]An essay in Patriotic Memoirs, May 1883.
[278]An essay in the review Russian Thought, September 1889.
[279]A book published in 1893.
[280]A book published in 1895.
[281]Patriotic Memoirs, vol. v: ‘A Contemporary Survey’, p. 4.
[282]Ibid., p. 10.
[283]Patriotic Memoirs, vol. v: ‘A Contemporary Survey’, p. 14.
[284]Outlines of Economic Theory (St. Petersburg, 1895), pp. 157 ff.
[285]‘Militarism and Capitalism’ in Russian Thought (1889), vol. ix, p. 78.
Page 463
[286]‘Militarism and Capitalism’ in Russian Thought (1889), vol. ix, p. 80.
[287]Ibid., p. 83. Cf. Outlines, p. 196.
[288]Cf. Outlines of Our Social Economy, in particular pp. 202-5, 338-41.
[289]Vladimir Ilyich [Lenin] has given detailed proof of the striking similarity
between the position of the Russian ‘populists’ and the views of Sismondi in his
essay On the Characteristics of Economic Romanticism (1897).
[290]Outlines of Our Social Economy, p. 322. Friedrich Engels appraises the
Russian situation differently. He repeatedly tries to convince Nikolayon that
Russia cannot avoid a high industrial development, and that her sufferings are
nothing but the typical capitalist contradictions. Thus he writes on September 22,
1892: ‘I therefore hold that at present industrial production necessarily implies
big industry, making use of steam power, electricity, mechanical looms and
frames, and lastly the manufacture of the machines themselves by mechanical
means. From the moment that railways are introduced in Russia, recourse to all
these extremely modern means of production becomes inevitable. It is necessary
that you should be able to mend and repair your engines, coaches, railways and
the like, but to do this cheaply, you must also be in a position to make at home
the things needing repair. As soon as the technique of war has become a branch
of industry (armour-plated cruisers, modern artillery, machine guns, steel bullets,
smokeless gun powder, etc.) a big industry that is indispensable for the
production of such items has become a political necessity for you as well. All
these items cannot be made without a highly developed metal industry which on
its part cannot develop unless there is a corresponding development of all other
branches of production, textiles in particular’ (Marx-Engels to Nikolayon, St.
Petersburg, 1908, p. 75). And further in the same letter: ‘So long as Russian
industry depends on the home market alone, it can only satisfy the internal
demand. The latter, however, can grow but slowly, and it seems to me that under
present conditions of life in Russia it is even bound to decrease, since it is one of
the unavoidable consequences of high industrial development that it destroys its
own home market by the same process which served to create it: by destroying
the bases of the peasants’ domestic industry. Yet peasants cannot live without
such a domestic industry. They are ruined as peasants, their purchasing power is
reduced to a minimum, and unless they grow new roots in new conditions of life,
unless they become proletarians, they will only represent a very small market for
the newly arising plants and factories.
‘Capitalist production is a phase of economic transition, full of inherent
contradictions which only develop and become visible to the extent that
capitalist production develops. The tendency of simultaneously creating and
destroying a market is just one of these contradictions. Another is the hopeless
situation that will ensue, all the sooner in a country like Russia which lacks
external markets than in countries more or less fit to compete in the open world
market. These latter can find some means of relief in this seemingly hopeless
situation by heroic measures of commercial policy, that is to say by forcibly
opening up new markets. China is the most recent market to be opened up for
English commerce, and it proved adequate for a temporary revival of prosperity.
That is why English capital is so insistent on railroad building in China. Yet
railways in China mean the destruction of the entire foundation of China’s small
rural enterprises and her domestic industry. In this case, there is not even a
[287]Ibid., p. 83. Cf. Outlines, p. 196.
[288]Cf. Outlines of Our Social Economy, in particular pp. 202-5, 338-41.
[289]Vladimir Ilyich [Lenin] has given detailed proof of the striking similarity
between the position of the Russian ‘populists’ and the views of Sismondi in his
essay On the Characteristics of Economic Romanticism (1897).
[290]Outlines of Our Social Economy, p. 322. Friedrich Engels appraises the
Russian situation differently. He repeatedly tries to convince Nikolayon that
Russia cannot avoid a high industrial development, and that her sufferings are
nothing but the typical capitalist contradictions. Thus he writes on September 22,
1892: ‘I therefore hold that at present industrial production necessarily implies
big industry, making use of steam power, electricity, mechanical looms and
frames, and lastly the manufacture of the machines themselves by mechanical
means. From the moment that railways are introduced in Russia, recourse to all
these extremely modern means of production becomes inevitable. It is necessary
that you should be able to mend and repair your engines, coaches, railways and
the like, but to do this cheaply, you must also be in a position to make at home
the things needing repair. As soon as the technique of war has become a branch
of industry (armour-plated cruisers, modern artillery, machine guns, steel bullets,
smokeless gun powder, etc.) a big industry that is indispensable for the
production of such items has become a political necessity for you as well. All
these items cannot be made without a highly developed metal industry which on
its part cannot develop unless there is a corresponding development of all other
branches of production, textiles in particular’ (Marx-Engels to Nikolayon, St.
Petersburg, 1908, p. 75). And further in the same letter: ‘So long as Russian
industry depends on the home market alone, it can only satisfy the internal
demand. The latter, however, can grow but slowly, and it seems to me that under
present conditions of life in Russia it is even bound to decrease, since it is one of
the unavoidable consequences of high industrial development that it destroys its
own home market by the same process which served to create it: by destroying
the bases of the peasants’ domestic industry. Yet peasants cannot live without
such a domestic industry. They are ruined as peasants, their purchasing power is
reduced to a minimum, and unless they grow new roots in new conditions of life,
unless they become proletarians, they will only represent a very small market for
the newly arising plants and factories.
‘Capitalist production is a phase of economic transition, full of inherent
contradictions which only develop and become visible to the extent that
capitalist production develops. The tendency of simultaneously creating and
destroying a market is just one of these contradictions. Another is the hopeless
situation that will ensue, all the sooner in a country like Russia which lacks
external markets than in countries more or less fit to compete in the open world
market. These latter can find some means of relief in this seemingly hopeless
situation by heroic measures of commercial policy, that is to say by forcibly
opening up new markets. China is the most recent market to be opened up for
English commerce, and it proved adequate for a temporary revival of prosperity.
That is why English capital is so insistent on railroad building in China. Yet
railways in China mean the destruction of the entire foundation of China’s small
rural enterprises and her domestic industry. In this case, there is not even a
Page 464
native big industry developed to compensate for this evil to some extent, and
hundreds of millions will consequently find it impossible to make a living at all.
The result will be mass emigration, such as the world has never yet seen, and
America, Asia and Europe will be flooded with the detested Chinese. This new
competitor on the labour market will compete with American, Australian and
European labour at the level of what the Chinese consider a satisfactory standard
of living, which is well known to be the lowest in the whole world. Well then, if
the whole system of production in Europe has not been revolutionised by then,
that will be the time to start this revolution’ (ibid., p. 79).
Engels, though he followed Russian developments with attention and keen
interest, persistently refused to take an active part in the Russian dispute. In his
letter of November 24, 1894, i.e. shortly before his death, he expressed himself
as follows: ‘My Russian friends almost daily and weekly bombard me with
requests to come forward with my objections to Russian books and reviews
which not only misinterpret but even misquote the sayings of our author (Marx).
My friends assure me that my intervention would suffice to put matters right. Yet
I invariably and firmly refuse all such proposals because I cannot afford to
become involved with a dispute held in a foreign country, in a tongue which I, at
least, cannot read as easily and freely as the more familiar W. European
languages, and in a literature which is at best accessible to me only in fortuitous
glimpses of some fragments, and which I cannot pursue anything like
systematically enough in all its stages and details without neglecting my real and
serious work. There are people everywhere who, once they have taken up a
certain stand, are not ashamed to have recourse to misinterpreting the thoughts
of others and to all kinds of dishonest manipulations for their own ends, and if
that is what has happened to our author, I am afraid they will not deal more
kindly with me, so that in the end I shall be compelled to interfere in the dispute,
first to defend others, and then in my own defence’ (ibid., p. 90).
[291]We might mention that the surviving champions of ‘populist’ pessimism,
and Vorontsov in particular, to the last remained loyal to their views, in spite of
all that happened in Russia—a fact that does more credit to their character than
to their intelligence. Referring to the 1900 and 1902 crises, Vorontsov wrote in
1902: ‘The doctrinaire dogma of the Neo-Marxists rapidly loses its power over
people’s minds. That the newest successes of the individualists are ephemeral
has obviously dawned even on their official advocates.... In the first decade of
the twentieth century, we come back to the same views about economic
development in Russia that had been the legacy of the 1870’s’ (Cf. the review
Political Economics, October 1902, quoted by A. Finn Yenotayevski in The
Contemporary Economy of Russia 1890-1910, St. Petersburg, 1911, p. 2.) Even
to-day, then, this last of the ‘populist’ Mohicans deduces the ‘ephemeral
character’, not of his own theory, but of economic reality. What of the saying of
Barrère: ‘Il n’y a que les morts qui ne reviennent pas’.
[292]Published in Sozialdemokratisches Zentralblatt, vol. iii, No. 1.
[293]Critical Comments on the Problem of Economic Development in Russia.
[294]Op. cit., p. 251.
[295]Ibid., p. 255.
[296]Ibid., p. 252.
hundreds of millions will consequently find it impossible to make a living at all.
The result will be mass emigration, such as the world has never yet seen, and
America, Asia and Europe will be flooded with the detested Chinese. This new
competitor on the labour market will compete with American, Australian and
European labour at the level of what the Chinese consider a satisfactory standard
of living, which is well known to be the lowest in the whole world. Well then, if
the whole system of production in Europe has not been revolutionised by then,
that will be the time to start this revolution’ (ibid., p. 79).
Engels, though he followed Russian developments with attention and keen
interest, persistently refused to take an active part in the Russian dispute. In his
letter of November 24, 1894, i.e. shortly before his death, he expressed himself
as follows: ‘My Russian friends almost daily and weekly bombard me with
requests to come forward with my objections to Russian books and reviews
which not only misinterpret but even misquote the sayings of our author (Marx).
My friends assure me that my intervention would suffice to put matters right. Yet
I invariably and firmly refuse all such proposals because I cannot afford to
become involved with a dispute held in a foreign country, in a tongue which I, at
least, cannot read as easily and freely as the more familiar W. European
languages, and in a literature which is at best accessible to me only in fortuitous
glimpses of some fragments, and which I cannot pursue anything like
systematically enough in all its stages and details without neglecting my real and
serious work. There are people everywhere who, once they have taken up a
certain stand, are not ashamed to have recourse to misinterpreting the thoughts
of others and to all kinds of dishonest manipulations for their own ends, and if
that is what has happened to our author, I am afraid they will not deal more
kindly with me, so that in the end I shall be compelled to interfere in the dispute,
first to defend others, and then in my own defence’ (ibid., p. 90).
[291]We might mention that the surviving champions of ‘populist’ pessimism,
and Vorontsov in particular, to the last remained loyal to their views, in spite of
all that happened in Russia—a fact that does more credit to their character than
to their intelligence. Referring to the 1900 and 1902 crises, Vorontsov wrote in
1902: ‘The doctrinaire dogma of the Neo-Marxists rapidly loses its power over
people’s minds. That the newest successes of the individualists are ephemeral
has obviously dawned even on their official advocates.... In the first decade of
the twentieth century, we come back to the same views about economic
development in Russia that had been the legacy of the 1870’s’ (Cf. the review
Political Economics, October 1902, quoted by A. Finn Yenotayevski in The
Contemporary Economy of Russia 1890-1910, St. Petersburg, 1911, p. 2.) Even
to-day, then, this last of the ‘populist’ Mohicans deduces the ‘ephemeral
character’, not of his own theory, but of economic reality. What of the saying of
Barrère: ‘Il n’y a que les morts qui ne reviennent pas’.
[292]Published in Sozialdemokratisches Zentralblatt, vol. iii, No. 1.
[293]Critical Comments on the Problem of Economic Development in Russia.
[294]Op. cit., p. 251.
[295]Ibid., p. 255.
[296]Ibid., p. 252.
Page 465
[297]Ibid., p. 260. ‘There can be no doubt that Struve’s attempt to refute what he
calls the pessimist outlook on the analogy of the U.S.A. is fallacious. He says
that Russia can overcome the evil consequences of the most recent capitalism
just as easily as the U.S.A. But what he forgets is that the U.S.A. from the first
represent a new bourgeois state, that they were founded by a petty bourgeoisie
and by peasants who had fled from European feudalism to set up a purely
bourgeois society. In Russia, on the other hand, we have a primitive communist
foundation, a society of gentes, as it were, in the pre-civilised stage which,
though it is already disintegrating, still serves as a material basis upon which the
capitalist revolution (for it is in fact a social revolution) can take place and
become effective. In America, a monetary economy had been stabilised more
than a century ago, whereas a natural economy had until recently prevailed in
Russia. It should be obvious therefore that this revolution in Russia is bound to
be much more ruthless and violent, and accompanied by immensely more
suffering than in America’ (Engels to Nikolayon, October 17, 1893, Letters ..., p.
85).
[298]Critical Comments ..., p. 284.
[299]Professor Schmoller, amongst others, clearly reveals the reactionary aspect
of the ‘Three Empire Theory’ (viz. Great Britain, Russia and the U.S.A.) evolved
by the German professors. In his handbook of commercial policy
(Handelspolitische Säkularbetrachtung), the venerable scholar dolefully frowns
upon ‘neo-mercantilism’, that is to say upon the imperialist designs of the three
arch-villains. ‘In the interests of a higher intellectual, moral and aesthetic
civilisation and social progress’ he demands a strong German navy and a
European Customs Union. ‘Out of the economic tension of the world there arises
the prime duty for Germany to create for herself a strong navy, so as to be
prepared for battle in the case of need, and to be desirable as an ally to the World
Powers’—which latter, however, Professor Schmoller says elsewhere, he does
not wish to blame for again taking the path of large-scale colonial expansion.
‘She neither can nor ought to pursue a policy of conquest like the Three World
Powers, but she must be able, if necessary, to break a foreign blockade of the
North Sea in order to protect her own colonies and her vast commerce, and she
must be able to offer the same security to the states with whom she forms an
alliance. It is the task of the Three-Partite Union (Germany, Austro-Hungary, and
Italy) to co-operate with France towards imposing some restraint, desirable for
the preservation of all other states, on the over-aggressive policy of the Three
World Powers which constitutes a threat to all smaller states, and to ensure
moderation in conquests, in colonial acquisitions, in the immoderate and
unilateral policy of protective tariffs, in the exploitation and maltreatment of all
weaker elements. The objectives of all higher intellectual, moral and aesthetic
civilisation and of social progress depend on the fact that the globe should not be
divided up among Three World Empires in the twentieth century, that these
Three Empires should not establish a brutal neo-mercantilism’ (Die Wandlungen
der Europäischen Handelspolitik des 19. Jahrhunderts, ‘Changes in the
European Commercial Policy During the 19th Century’, in Jahrb. für
Gesetzgebung, Verwaltung und Volkswirtschaft, vol. xxiv, p. 381).
[300]S. Bulgakov, On the Markets of Capitalist Production. A Study in Theory
(Moscow, 1897), p. 15.
[301]Ibid., p. 32, footnote.
calls the pessimist outlook on the analogy of the U.S.A. is fallacious. He says
that Russia can overcome the evil consequences of the most recent capitalism
just as easily as the U.S.A. But what he forgets is that the U.S.A. from the first
represent a new bourgeois state, that they were founded by a petty bourgeoisie
and by peasants who had fled from European feudalism to set up a purely
bourgeois society. In Russia, on the other hand, we have a primitive communist
foundation, a society of gentes, as it were, in the pre-civilised stage which,
though it is already disintegrating, still serves as a material basis upon which the
capitalist revolution (for it is in fact a social revolution) can take place and
become effective. In America, a monetary economy had been stabilised more
than a century ago, whereas a natural economy had until recently prevailed in
Russia. It should be obvious therefore that this revolution in Russia is bound to
be much more ruthless and violent, and accompanied by immensely more
suffering than in America’ (Engels to Nikolayon, October 17, 1893, Letters ..., p.
85).
[298]Critical Comments ..., p. 284.
[299]Professor Schmoller, amongst others, clearly reveals the reactionary aspect
of the ‘Three Empire Theory’ (viz. Great Britain, Russia and the U.S.A.) evolved
by the German professors. In his handbook of commercial policy
(Handelspolitische Säkularbetrachtung), the venerable scholar dolefully frowns
upon ‘neo-mercantilism’, that is to say upon the imperialist designs of the three
arch-villains. ‘In the interests of a higher intellectual, moral and aesthetic
civilisation and social progress’ he demands a strong German navy and a
European Customs Union. ‘Out of the economic tension of the world there arises
the prime duty for Germany to create for herself a strong navy, so as to be
prepared for battle in the case of need, and to be desirable as an ally to the World
Powers’—which latter, however, Professor Schmoller says elsewhere, he does
not wish to blame for again taking the path of large-scale colonial expansion.
‘She neither can nor ought to pursue a policy of conquest like the Three World
Powers, but she must be able, if necessary, to break a foreign blockade of the
North Sea in order to protect her own colonies and her vast commerce, and she
must be able to offer the same security to the states with whom she forms an
alliance. It is the task of the Three-Partite Union (Germany, Austro-Hungary, and
Italy) to co-operate with France towards imposing some restraint, desirable for
the preservation of all other states, on the over-aggressive policy of the Three
World Powers which constitutes a threat to all smaller states, and to ensure
moderation in conquests, in colonial acquisitions, in the immoderate and
unilateral policy of protective tariffs, in the exploitation and maltreatment of all
weaker elements. The objectives of all higher intellectual, moral and aesthetic
civilisation and of social progress depend on the fact that the globe should not be
divided up among Three World Empires in the twentieth century, that these
Three Empires should not establish a brutal neo-mercantilism’ (Die Wandlungen
der Europäischen Handelspolitik des 19. Jahrhunderts, ‘Changes in the
European Commercial Policy During the 19th Century’, in Jahrb. für
Gesetzgebung, Verwaltung und Volkswirtschaft, vol. xxiv, p. 381).
[300]S. Bulgakov, On the Markets of Capitalist Production. A Study in Theory
(Moscow, 1897), p. 15.
[301]Ibid., p. 32, footnote.
Page 466
[302]Ibid., p. 27.
[303]Ibid., pp. 2-3.
[304]On the Markets of Capitalist Production, pp. 50, 55.
[305]On the Markets of Capitalist Production, p. 132 ff.
[306]Ibid., p. 20.
[307]Bulgakov’s italics.
[308]Capital, vol. iii, p. 387.
[309]Bulgakov, op. cit., p. 161.
[310]Ibid., p. 167.
[311]Bulgakov, op. cit., p. 210 (our italics).
[312]Ibid., p. 199.
[313]K. Buecher; The Rise of National Economy (Die Entstehung der
Volkswirtschaft), 5th edition, p. 147. Professor Sombart’s theory is the most
recent contribution in this field. He argues that we are not moving towards an
international economy but rather farther and farther away from it. ‘I maintain, on
the contrary, that commercial relations to-day do not form a stronger but rather a
weaker link between the civilised nations, in relation to their economy as a
whole. Individual economy takes not more but rather less account of the world
market than it did a hundred or fifty years ago. At least ... it would be wrong to
assume that the relative importance of international relations with regard to
modern political economy is increasing. The opposite is the case.’ Sombart
scornfully rejects the assumption of a progressive international division of
labour, of a growing need for outside markets owing to an inelastic home
demand. He in his turn is convinced that ‘the individual national economies will
develop into ever more perfect microcosms and that the importance of the home
market will increasingly surpass that of the world market for all branches of
industry’ (Die Deutsche Volkswirtschaft im 19. Jahrhundert, 2nd edition, 1909,
pp. 399-420). This devastating discovery admittedly hinges on a full acceptance
of the Professor’s peculiar conception which, for some reasons, only considers
those as ‘exporting countries’ who pay for their imports with a surplus of
agricultural products over and above their own needs, who pay ‘with the soil’. In
this scheme Russia, Rumania, the U.S.A. and the Argentine are, but Germany,
England and Belgium are not, ‘exporting countries’. Since capitalist
development will sooner or later also claim the surplus of agricultural products
for the home demand in Russia and the U.S.A., it is evident that there will be
fewer and fewer ‘exporting countries’ in the world—international economy will
vanish.—Another of Sombart’s discoveries is that great capitalist ‘non-
exporting’ countries increasingly obtain ‘free’ imports in form of interest on
exported capital—but the capital exports as well as exports of industrial
commodities are of absolutely no account to Professor Sombart. ‘In the course of
time we shall probably get to a point where we import without exporting’ (p.
422). Modern, sensational, and precious!
[314]Bulgakov, op. cit., p. 132.
[303]Ibid., pp. 2-3.
[304]On the Markets of Capitalist Production, pp. 50, 55.
[305]On the Markets of Capitalist Production, p. 132 ff.
[306]Ibid., p. 20.
[307]Bulgakov’s italics.
[308]Capital, vol. iii, p. 387.
[309]Bulgakov, op. cit., p. 161.
[310]Ibid., p. 167.
[311]Bulgakov, op. cit., p. 210 (our italics).
[312]Ibid., p. 199.
[313]K. Buecher; The Rise of National Economy (Die Entstehung der
Volkswirtschaft), 5th edition, p. 147. Professor Sombart’s theory is the most
recent contribution in this field. He argues that we are not moving towards an
international economy but rather farther and farther away from it. ‘I maintain, on
the contrary, that commercial relations to-day do not form a stronger but rather a
weaker link between the civilised nations, in relation to their economy as a
whole. Individual economy takes not more but rather less account of the world
market than it did a hundred or fifty years ago. At least ... it would be wrong to
assume that the relative importance of international relations with regard to
modern political economy is increasing. The opposite is the case.’ Sombart
scornfully rejects the assumption of a progressive international division of
labour, of a growing need for outside markets owing to an inelastic home
demand. He in his turn is convinced that ‘the individual national economies will
develop into ever more perfect microcosms and that the importance of the home
market will increasingly surpass that of the world market for all branches of
industry’ (Die Deutsche Volkswirtschaft im 19. Jahrhundert, 2nd edition, 1909,
pp. 399-420). This devastating discovery admittedly hinges on a full acceptance
of the Professor’s peculiar conception which, for some reasons, only considers
those as ‘exporting countries’ who pay for their imports with a surplus of
agricultural products over and above their own needs, who pay ‘with the soil’. In
this scheme Russia, Rumania, the U.S.A. and the Argentine are, but Germany,
England and Belgium are not, ‘exporting countries’. Since capitalist
development will sooner or later also claim the surplus of agricultural products
for the home demand in Russia and the U.S.A., it is evident that there will be
fewer and fewer ‘exporting countries’ in the world—international economy will
vanish.—Another of Sombart’s discoveries is that great capitalist ‘non-
exporting’ countries increasingly obtain ‘free’ imports in form of interest on
exported capital—but the capital exports as well as exports of industrial
commodities are of absolutely no account to Professor Sombart. ‘In the course of
time we shall probably get to a point where we import without exporting’ (p.
422). Modern, sensational, and precious!
[314]Bulgakov, op. cit., p. 132.
Page 467
[315]Ibid., p. 236. A quite uncompromising version of the same view is given by
V. Ilyin [Lenin]: ‘The romanticists (as he calls the sceptics) argue as follows: the
capitalists cannot consume the surplus value; therefore they must dispose of it
abroad. I ask: Do the capitalists perhaps give away their products to foreigners
for nothing, throw it into the sea, maybe? If they sell it, it means that they obtain
an equivalent. If they export certain goods, it means that they import others’
(Economic Studies and Essays, p. 2). As a matter of fact, his explanation of the
part played by external commerce in capitalist production is far more correct
than that of Struve and Bulgakov.
[316]Studies on the Theory and History of Commercial Crises in England (Jena,
1901) and Theoretical Foundations of Marxism (1905).
[317]Studies on the Theory and History ..., p. 23.
[318]Ibid., p. 34.
[319]Ibid., p. 333.
[320]Ibid., p. 191.
[321]Ibid., p. 231, italics in the original.
[322]Ibid., p. 305.
[323]Studies on the Theory and History ..., p. 191
[324]Ibid., p. 27.
[325]Studies on the Theory and History ..., p. 58.
[326]V. Ilyin [Lenin] ‘Studies and Essays in Economics’ (Oekonomische Studien
und Artikel. Zur Charakterisierung des ökonomischen Romantizismus, St.
Petersburg, 1899), p. 20.—Incidentally, the same author is responsible for the
statement that enlarged reproduction begins only with capitalism. It quite
escapes him that under conditions of simple reproduction, which he takes to be
the rule for all pre-capitalist modes of production, we should probably never
have advanced beyond the stage of the paleolithic scraper.
[327]Die Neue Zeit, vol. xx, part 2, Krisentheorien, p. 116. Kautsky’s
mathematical demonstration to Tugan Baranovski that consumption is bound to
grow, and ‘in the precise ratio as the bulk of producer goods in terms of value’,
calls for two comments: first, like Marx, Kautsky paid no attention to the
progress in the productivity of labour so that consumption appears to have a
relatively larger volume than it would in fact have. Secondly, the increase in
consumption to which Kautsky here refers is only a consequence, a result of
enlarged reproduction, it is neither its basis nor its aim; it is mainly due to the
growth of the variable capital, the continual employment of additional workers.
The upkeep of these workers, however, neither is nor ought to be the object of
the expansion of reproduction—no more, for that matter, than the increasing
personal consumption of the capitalist class. Kautsky’s argument no doubt
refutes Tugan Baranovski’s pet notion: the whimsy to construe enlarged
reproduction with an absolute decrease in consumption. But for all that, he does
not get anywhere near the fundamental problem, the relations between
production and consumption under the aspect of the reproductive process,
though we are told in another passage of the same work: ‘With the capitalists
growing richer, and the workers they exploit increasing in numbers, they
V. Ilyin [Lenin]: ‘The romanticists (as he calls the sceptics) argue as follows: the
capitalists cannot consume the surplus value; therefore they must dispose of it
abroad. I ask: Do the capitalists perhaps give away their products to foreigners
for nothing, throw it into the sea, maybe? If they sell it, it means that they obtain
an equivalent. If they export certain goods, it means that they import others’
(Economic Studies and Essays, p. 2). As a matter of fact, his explanation of the
part played by external commerce in capitalist production is far more correct
than that of Struve and Bulgakov.
[316]Studies on the Theory and History of Commercial Crises in England (Jena,
1901) and Theoretical Foundations of Marxism (1905).
[317]Studies on the Theory and History ..., p. 23.
[318]Ibid., p. 34.
[319]Ibid., p. 333.
[320]Ibid., p. 191.
[321]Ibid., p. 231, italics in the original.
[322]Ibid., p. 305.
[323]Studies on the Theory and History ..., p. 191
[324]Ibid., p. 27.
[325]Studies on the Theory and History ..., p. 58.
[326]V. Ilyin [Lenin] ‘Studies and Essays in Economics’ (Oekonomische Studien
und Artikel. Zur Charakterisierung des ökonomischen Romantizismus, St.
Petersburg, 1899), p. 20.—Incidentally, the same author is responsible for the
statement that enlarged reproduction begins only with capitalism. It quite
escapes him that under conditions of simple reproduction, which he takes to be
the rule for all pre-capitalist modes of production, we should probably never
have advanced beyond the stage of the paleolithic scraper.
[327]Die Neue Zeit, vol. xx, part 2, Krisentheorien, p. 116. Kautsky’s
mathematical demonstration to Tugan Baranovski that consumption is bound to
grow, and ‘in the precise ratio as the bulk of producer goods in terms of value’,
calls for two comments: first, like Marx, Kautsky paid no attention to the
progress in the productivity of labour so that consumption appears to have a
relatively larger volume than it would in fact have. Secondly, the increase in
consumption to which Kautsky here refers is only a consequence, a result of
enlarged reproduction, it is neither its basis nor its aim; it is mainly due to the
growth of the variable capital, the continual employment of additional workers.
The upkeep of these workers, however, neither is nor ought to be the object of
the expansion of reproduction—no more, for that matter, than the increasing
personal consumption of the capitalist class. Kautsky’s argument no doubt
refutes Tugan Baranovski’s pet notion: the whimsy to construe enlarged
reproduction with an absolute decrease in consumption. But for all that, he does
not get anywhere near the fundamental problem, the relations between
production and consumption under the aspect of the reproductive process,
though we are told in another passage of the same work: ‘With the capitalists
growing richer, and the workers they exploit increasing in numbers, they
Page 468
constitute between them a market for the consumer goods produced by capitalist
big industry which expands continually, yet it does not grow as rapidly as the
accumulation of capital and the productivity of labour, and must therefore
remain inadequate.’ An additional market is required for these consumer goods,
a market outside their own province, among those occupational groups and
nations whose mode of production is not yet capitalistic. This market is found
and also widens increasingly, but the expansion is again too slow, since the
additional market is not nearly so elastic and capable of expansion as the
capitalist productive process. As soon as capitalist production has developed to
the big industry stage, as in England already in the first quarter of the nineteenth
century, it is capable of expanding by leaps and bounds so as soon to out-
distance all expansions of the market. Every period of prosperity subsequent to a
considerable extension of the market is thus from the outset doomed to an early
end—the inevitable crisis. This, in brief, is the theory of crises established by
Marx, and, as far as we can see, generally accepted by the “orthodox” Marxists’
(ibid., p. 80). Kautsky, however, is not interested in harmonising this conception
of the realisation of the aggregate product with Marx’s diagram of enlarged
reproduction, perhaps because, as our quotation also shows, he deals with the
problem solely from the aspect of crises, regarding, in other words, the social
product as a more or less homogeneous bulk of goods and ignoring the fact that
it is differentiated in the reproductive process.
L. Bouding seems to come closer to the crucial point. In his brilliant review on
Tugan Baranovski he gives the following formulation: ‘With a single exception
to be considered below, the existence of a surplus product in capitalist countries
does not put a spoke in the wheel of production, not because production will be
distributed more efficiently among the various spheres, or because the
manufacture of machinery will replace that of cotton goods. The reason is rather
that, capitalist development having begun sooner in some countries than in
others, and because even to-day there are still some countries that have no
developed capitalism, the capitalist countries in truth have at their disposal an
outside market in which they can get rid of their products which they cannot
consume themselves, no matter whether these are cotton or iron goods. We
would by no means deny that it is significant if iron goods replace cotton goods
as the main products of the principal capitalist countries. On the contrary, this
change is of paramount importance, but its implications are rather different from
those ascribed to it by Tugan Baranovski. It indicates the beginning of the end of
capitalism. So long as the capitalist countries exported commodities for the
purpose of consumption, there was still a hope for capitalism in these countries,
and the question did not arise how much and how long the non-capitalist outside
world would be able to absorb capitalist commodities. The growing share of
machinery at the cost of consumer goods in what is exported from the main
capitalist countries shows that areas which were formerly free of capitalism, and
therefore served as a dumping-ground for its surplus products, are now drawn
into the whirlpool of capitalism. It shows that, since they are developing a
capitalism of their own, they can by themselves produce the consumer goods
they need. At present they still require machinery produced by capitalist methods
since they are only in the initial stages of capitalist development. But all too
soon they will need them no longer. Just as they now make their own cotton and
other consumer goods, they will in future produce their own iron ware. Then
they will not only cease to absorb the surplus produce of the essentially capitalist
big industry which expands continually, yet it does not grow as rapidly as the
accumulation of capital and the productivity of labour, and must therefore
remain inadequate.’ An additional market is required for these consumer goods,
a market outside their own province, among those occupational groups and
nations whose mode of production is not yet capitalistic. This market is found
and also widens increasingly, but the expansion is again too slow, since the
additional market is not nearly so elastic and capable of expansion as the
capitalist productive process. As soon as capitalist production has developed to
the big industry stage, as in England already in the first quarter of the nineteenth
century, it is capable of expanding by leaps and bounds so as soon to out-
distance all expansions of the market. Every period of prosperity subsequent to a
considerable extension of the market is thus from the outset doomed to an early
end—the inevitable crisis. This, in brief, is the theory of crises established by
Marx, and, as far as we can see, generally accepted by the “orthodox” Marxists’
(ibid., p. 80). Kautsky, however, is not interested in harmonising this conception
of the realisation of the aggregate product with Marx’s diagram of enlarged
reproduction, perhaps because, as our quotation also shows, he deals with the
problem solely from the aspect of crises, regarding, in other words, the social
product as a more or less homogeneous bulk of goods and ignoring the fact that
it is differentiated in the reproductive process.
L. Bouding seems to come closer to the crucial point. In his brilliant review on
Tugan Baranovski he gives the following formulation: ‘With a single exception
to be considered below, the existence of a surplus product in capitalist countries
does not put a spoke in the wheel of production, not because production will be
distributed more efficiently among the various spheres, or because the
manufacture of machinery will replace that of cotton goods. The reason is rather
that, capitalist development having begun sooner in some countries than in
others, and because even to-day there are still some countries that have no
developed capitalism, the capitalist countries in truth have at their disposal an
outside market in which they can get rid of their products which they cannot
consume themselves, no matter whether these are cotton or iron goods. We
would by no means deny that it is significant if iron goods replace cotton goods
as the main products of the principal capitalist countries. On the contrary, this
change is of paramount importance, but its implications are rather different from
those ascribed to it by Tugan Baranovski. It indicates the beginning of the end of
capitalism. So long as the capitalist countries exported commodities for the
purpose of consumption, there was still a hope for capitalism in these countries,
and the question did not arise how much and how long the non-capitalist outside
world would be able to absorb capitalist commodities. The growing share of
machinery at the cost of consumer goods in what is exported from the main
capitalist countries shows that areas which were formerly free of capitalism, and
therefore served as a dumping-ground for its surplus products, are now drawn
into the whirlpool of capitalism. It shows that, since they are developing a
capitalism of their own, they can by themselves produce the consumer goods
they need. At present they still require machinery produced by capitalist methods
since they are only in the initial stages of capitalist development. But all too
soon they will need them no longer. Just as they now make their own cotton and
other consumer goods, they will in future produce their own iron ware. Then
they will not only cease to absorb the surplus produce of the essentially capitalist
Page 469
countries, but they will themselves produce surplus products which they can
place only with difficulty’ (Die Neue Zeit, vol. xxv, part 1, Mathematische
Formeln gegen Karl Marx, p. 604). Bouding here broaches an important aspect
of the general relations pertaining to the development of international capitalism.
Further, as a logical consequence, he comes to the question of imperialism but
unfortunately he finally puts the wrong kind of edge on his acute analysis by
considering the whole of militarist production together with the system of
exporting international capital to non-capitalist countries under the heading of
‘reckless expenditure’.—We must say in parenthesis that Bouding, just like
Kautsky, holds that the law of a quicker growth in the means-of-production
department relative to the means-of-subsistence department is a delusion of
Tugan Baranovski’s.
[328]‘Apart from natural conditions, such as fertility of the soil, etc., and from
the skill of independent and isolated producers (shown rather qualitatively in the
genus than quantitatively in the mass of their products), the degree of
productivity of labour, in a capitalist society, is expressed in the relative extent
of the means of production that one labourer, during a given time, with the same
tension of labour-power, turns into products. The mass of means of production
which he thus transforms, increases with the productiveness of his labour. But
those means of production play a double part. The increase of some is a
consequence, that of the others a condition of the increasing productivity of
labour. E.g., with the division of labour in manufacture, and with the use of
machinery, more raw material is worked up in the same time and, therefore, a
greater mass of raw material and auxiliary substances enter into the labour-
process. That is the consequence of the increasing productivity of labour. On the
other hand, the mass of machinery, beasts of burden, mineral manures,
drainpipes, etc., is a condition of the increasing productivity of labour. So also is
it with the means of production concentrated in buildings, furnaces, means of
transport, etc. But whether condition or consequence, the growing extent of the
means of production, as compared with the labour-power incorporated with
them, is an expression of the growing productiveness of labour. The increase of
the latter appears, therefore, in the diminution of the mass of labour in
proportion to the mass of means of production moved by it, or in the diminution
of the subjective factor of the labour-process as compared with the objective
factor’ (Capital, vol. i, pp. 635-6). And yet another passage: ‘We have seen
previously, that with the development of the productivity of labour, and therefore
with the development of the capitalist mode of production, which develops the
socially productive power of labour more than all previous modes of production,
there is a steady increase of the mass of means of production, which are
permanently embodied in the productive process as instruments of labour and
perform their function in it for a longer or shorter time at repeated intervals
(buildings, machinery, etc.); also, that this increase is at the same time the
premise and result of the development of the productivity of social labour. It is
especially capitalist production, which is characterised by relative as well as
absolute growth of this sort of wealth’ (Capital, vol. i, chap. xxiii, 2). ‘The
material forms of existence of constant capital, the means of production, do not
consist merely of such instruments of labour, but also of raw material in various
stages of finished and of auxiliary substances. With the enlargement of the scale
of production and the increase in the productivity of labour by co-operation,
division of labour, machinery, etc., the mass of raw materials and auxiliary
place only with difficulty’ (Die Neue Zeit, vol. xxv, part 1, Mathematische
Formeln gegen Karl Marx, p. 604). Bouding here broaches an important aspect
of the general relations pertaining to the development of international capitalism.
Further, as a logical consequence, he comes to the question of imperialism but
unfortunately he finally puts the wrong kind of edge on his acute analysis by
considering the whole of militarist production together with the system of
exporting international capital to non-capitalist countries under the heading of
‘reckless expenditure’.—We must say in parenthesis that Bouding, just like
Kautsky, holds that the law of a quicker growth in the means-of-production
department relative to the means-of-subsistence department is a delusion of
Tugan Baranovski’s.
[328]‘Apart from natural conditions, such as fertility of the soil, etc., and from
the skill of independent and isolated producers (shown rather qualitatively in the
genus than quantitatively in the mass of their products), the degree of
productivity of labour, in a capitalist society, is expressed in the relative extent
of the means of production that one labourer, during a given time, with the same
tension of labour-power, turns into products. The mass of means of production
which he thus transforms, increases with the productiveness of his labour. But
those means of production play a double part. The increase of some is a
consequence, that of the others a condition of the increasing productivity of
labour. E.g., with the division of labour in manufacture, and with the use of
machinery, more raw material is worked up in the same time and, therefore, a
greater mass of raw material and auxiliary substances enter into the labour-
process. That is the consequence of the increasing productivity of labour. On the
other hand, the mass of machinery, beasts of burden, mineral manures,
drainpipes, etc., is a condition of the increasing productivity of labour. So also is
it with the means of production concentrated in buildings, furnaces, means of
transport, etc. But whether condition or consequence, the growing extent of the
means of production, as compared with the labour-power incorporated with
them, is an expression of the growing productiveness of labour. The increase of
the latter appears, therefore, in the diminution of the mass of labour in
proportion to the mass of means of production moved by it, or in the diminution
of the subjective factor of the labour-process as compared with the objective
factor’ (Capital, vol. i, pp. 635-6). And yet another passage: ‘We have seen
previously, that with the development of the productivity of labour, and therefore
with the development of the capitalist mode of production, which develops the
socially productive power of labour more than all previous modes of production,
there is a steady increase of the mass of means of production, which are
permanently embodied in the productive process as instruments of labour and
perform their function in it for a longer or shorter time at repeated intervals
(buildings, machinery, etc.); also, that this increase is at the same time the
premise and result of the development of the productivity of social labour. It is
especially capitalist production, which is characterised by relative as well as
absolute growth of this sort of wealth’ (Capital, vol. i, chap. xxiii, 2). ‘The
material forms of existence of constant capital, the means of production, do not
consist merely of such instruments of labour, but also of raw material in various
stages of finished and of auxiliary substances. With the enlargement of the scale
of production and the increase in the productivity of labour by co-operation,
division of labour, machinery, etc., the mass of raw materials and auxiliary
Page 470
substances used in the daily process of reproduction, grows likewise’ (Capital,
vol. ii, p. 160).
[329]Struve says in the preface to the collection of his Russian essays (published
in 1901): ‘In 1894, when the author published his “Critical Comments on the
Problem of Economic Development in Russia”, he inclined in philosophy
towards positivism, in sociology and economics towards outspoken, though by
no means orthodox, Marxism. Since then, the author no longer sees the whole
truth in positivism and Marxism which is grounded in it (!), they no longer fully
determine his view of the world. Malignant dogmatism which not only
browbeats those who think differently, but spies upon their morals and
psychology, regards such work as a mere “Epicurean instability of mind”. It
cannot understand that criticism in its own right is to the living and thinking
individual one of the most valuable rights. The author does not intend to
renounce this right, though he might constantly be in danger of being indicted
for “instability”’ (Miscellany, St. Petersburg, 1901).
[330]Bulgakov, op. cit., p. 252.
[331]Tugan Baranovski, Studies on the Theory and History ..., p. 229.
[332]Capital, vol. i, pp. 593-4.
[333]Ibid., p. 594, note 1.
[334]Op. cit., vol. ii, p. 384.
[335]Ibid., pp. 400-1.
[336]Ibid., p. 488.
[337]Capital, vol. iii, p. 568.
[338]Theorien ..., vol. ii, part 2, ‘The Accumulation of Capital and Crises’, p.
263.
[339]‘It is never the original thinkers who draw the absurd conclusions. They
leave that to the Says and MacCullochs’ (Capital, vol. ii, p. 451).—And—we
might add—to the Tugan Baranovskis.
[340]The figures result from the difference between the amounts of constant
capital in Department I under conditions of technical progress, and under Marx’s
stable conditions.
[341]Theorien über den Mehrwert, vol. ii, part 2, p. 252.
[342]Capital, vol. iii, p. 285 ff.
[343]Theorien ..., vol. ii, part 2, p. 305.
[344]Capital, vol. iii, p. 359.
[345]‘If capital and the productivity of labour advance and the standard of
capitalist production in general is on a higher level of development, then there is
a correspondingly greater mass of commodities passing through the market from
production to individual and industrial consumption, greater certainty that each
particular capital will find the conditions for its reproduction available in the
market’ (Theorien ..., vol. ii, part 2, p. 251).
vol. ii, p. 160).
[329]Struve says in the preface to the collection of his Russian essays (published
in 1901): ‘In 1894, when the author published his “Critical Comments on the
Problem of Economic Development in Russia”, he inclined in philosophy
towards positivism, in sociology and economics towards outspoken, though by
no means orthodox, Marxism. Since then, the author no longer sees the whole
truth in positivism and Marxism which is grounded in it (!), they no longer fully
determine his view of the world. Malignant dogmatism which not only
browbeats those who think differently, but spies upon their morals and
psychology, regards such work as a mere “Epicurean instability of mind”. It
cannot understand that criticism in its own right is to the living and thinking
individual one of the most valuable rights. The author does not intend to
renounce this right, though he might constantly be in danger of being indicted
for “instability”’ (Miscellany, St. Petersburg, 1901).
[330]Bulgakov, op. cit., p. 252.
[331]Tugan Baranovski, Studies on the Theory and History ..., p. 229.
[332]Capital, vol. i, pp. 593-4.
[333]Ibid., p. 594, note 1.
[334]Op. cit., vol. ii, p. 384.
[335]Ibid., pp. 400-1.
[336]Ibid., p. 488.
[337]Capital, vol. iii, p. 568.
[338]Theorien ..., vol. ii, part 2, ‘The Accumulation of Capital and Crises’, p.
263.
[339]‘It is never the original thinkers who draw the absurd conclusions. They
leave that to the Says and MacCullochs’ (Capital, vol. ii, p. 451).—And—we
might add—to the Tugan Baranovskis.
[340]The figures result from the difference between the amounts of constant
capital in Department I under conditions of technical progress, and under Marx’s
stable conditions.
[341]Theorien über den Mehrwert, vol. ii, part 2, p. 252.
[342]Capital, vol. iii, p. 285 ff.
[343]Theorien ..., vol. ii, part 2, p. 305.
[344]Capital, vol. iii, p. 359.
[345]‘If capital and the productivity of labour advance and the standard of
capitalist production in general is on a higher level of development, then there is
a correspondingly greater mass of commodities passing through the market from
production to individual and industrial consumption, greater certainty that each
particular capital will find the conditions for its reproduction available in the
market’ (Theorien ..., vol. ii, part 2, p. 251).
Page 471
[346]Theorien ..., vol. ii, part 2, p. 250: Akkumulation von Kapital und Krisen.
(The Accumulation of Capital and the Crises.) Marx’s italics.
[347]The following figures plainly show the importance of the cotton industry
for English exports:
In 1893, cotton exports to the amount of £64,000,000 made up 23 per cent, and
iron and other metal exports not quite 17 per cent, of the total export of
manufactured goods, amounting to £277,000,000 in all.
In 1898, cotton exports to the amount of £65,000,000 made up 28 per cent, and
metal exports 22 per cent, of the total export of manufactured goods, amounting
to £233,400,000 in all.
In comparison, the figures for the German Empire show the following result: In
1898, cotton exports to the amount of £11,595,000 made up 5·75 per cent of the
total exports, amounting to £200,500,000. 5,250,000,000 yards of cotton bales
were exported in 1898, 2,250,000,000 of them to India (E. Jaffé: Die englische
Baumwollindustrie und die Organisation des Exporthandels. Schmoller’s
Jahrbücher, vol. xxiv, p. 1033).
In 1908, British exports of cotton yarn alone amounted to £13,100,000 (Statist.
Jahrb. für das Deutsche Reich, 1910).
[348]One-fifth of German aniline dyes, and one-half of her indigo, goes to
countries such as China, Japan, British India, Egypt, Asiatic Turkey, Brazil, and
Mexico.
[349]Capital, vol. i, pp. 615-16.
[350]The English Blue Book on the practices of the Peruvian Amazon Company,
Ltd., in Putumayo, has recently revealed that in the free republic of Peru and
without the political form of colonial supremacy, international capital can, to all
intents and purposes, enslave the natives, so that it may appropriate the means of
production of the primitive countries by exploitation on the greatest scale. Since
1900, this company, financed by English and foreign capitalists, has thrown
upon the London market approximately 4,000 tons of Putumayo rubber. During
this time, 30,000 natives were killed and most of the 10,000 survivors were
crippled by beatings.
[351]Capital, vol. i, p. 594. Similarly in another passage: ‘One part of the
surplus value, of the surplus means of subsistence produced, must then be
converted into variable capital for the purpose of purchasing new labour. This
can only be done if the number of workers grows or if their working time is
prolonged.... This, however, cannot be considered a ready measure for
accumulation. The working population can increase if formerly unproductive
workers are transformed into productive ones, or if parts of the population who
previously performed no work, such as women, children and paupers, are drawn
into the process of production. Here, however, we shall ignore this aspect.
Lastly, the working population can increase through an absolute increase in
population. If accumulation is to proceed steadily and continuously, it must be
grounded in an absolute growth of the population, though this may decline in
comparison with the capital employed. An expanding population appears as the
basis of accumulation conceived as a steady process. An indispensable condition
for this is an average wage which is adequate not only to the reproduction of the
(The Accumulation of Capital and the Crises.) Marx’s italics.
[347]The following figures plainly show the importance of the cotton industry
for English exports:
In 1893, cotton exports to the amount of £64,000,000 made up 23 per cent, and
iron and other metal exports not quite 17 per cent, of the total export of
manufactured goods, amounting to £277,000,000 in all.
In 1898, cotton exports to the amount of £65,000,000 made up 28 per cent, and
metal exports 22 per cent, of the total export of manufactured goods, amounting
to £233,400,000 in all.
In comparison, the figures for the German Empire show the following result: In
1898, cotton exports to the amount of £11,595,000 made up 5·75 per cent of the
total exports, amounting to £200,500,000. 5,250,000,000 yards of cotton bales
were exported in 1898, 2,250,000,000 of them to India (E. Jaffé: Die englische
Baumwollindustrie und die Organisation des Exporthandels. Schmoller’s
Jahrbücher, vol. xxiv, p. 1033).
In 1908, British exports of cotton yarn alone amounted to £13,100,000 (Statist.
Jahrb. für das Deutsche Reich, 1910).
[348]One-fifth of German aniline dyes, and one-half of her indigo, goes to
countries such as China, Japan, British India, Egypt, Asiatic Turkey, Brazil, and
Mexico.
[349]Capital, vol. i, pp. 615-16.
[350]The English Blue Book on the practices of the Peruvian Amazon Company,
Ltd., in Putumayo, has recently revealed that in the free republic of Peru and
without the political form of colonial supremacy, international capital can, to all
intents and purposes, enslave the natives, so that it may appropriate the means of
production of the primitive countries by exploitation on the greatest scale. Since
1900, this company, financed by English and foreign capitalists, has thrown
upon the London market approximately 4,000 tons of Putumayo rubber. During
this time, 30,000 natives were killed and most of the 10,000 survivors were
crippled by beatings.
[351]Capital, vol. i, p. 594. Similarly in another passage: ‘One part of the
surplus value, of the surplus means of subsistence produced, must then be
converted into variable capital for the purpose of purchasing new labour. This
can only be done if the number of workers grows or if their working time is
prolonged.... This, however, cannot be considered a ready measure for
accumulation. The working population can increase if formerly unproductive
workers are transformed into productive ones, or if parts of the population who
previously performed no work, such as women, children and paupers, are drawn
into the process of production. Here, however, we shall ignore this aspect.
Lastly, the working population can increase through an absolute increase in
population. If accumulation is to proceed steadily and continuously, it must be
grounded in an absolute growth of the population, though this may decline in
comparison with the capital employed. An expanding population appears as the
basis of accumulation conceived as a steady process. An indispensable condition
for this is an average wage which is adequate not only to the reproduction of the
Page 472
working population but permits its continual increase’ (Theorien über den
Mehrwert, vol. ii, part 2, in the chapter on ‘Transformation of Revenue Into
Capital’ (Verwandlung von Revenue in Kapital), p. 243).
[352]Capital, vol. i, pp. 642 ff.
[353]A table published in the United States shortly before the War of Secession
contained the following data about the value of the annual production of the
Slave States and the number of slaves employed—for the greatest part on cotton
plantations:
Cotton:
Year Slaves
Dollars
1800 5,200,000 893,041
1810 15,000,000 1,191,364
1820 26,300,000 1,543,688
1830 34,100,000 2,009,053
1840 74,600,000 2,487,255
1850 101,800,000 3,197,509
1851 137,300,000 3,200,000
(Simons, ‘Class Struggles in American History’. Supplement to Neue Zeit
(Klassenkämpfe in der Geschichte Amerikas. Ergänzungsheft der ‘Neuen Zeit’),
Nr. 7, p. 39.)
[354]Bryce, a former English Minister, describes a model pattern of such hybrid
forms in the South African diamond mines: ‘The most striking sight at
Kimberley, and one unique in the world, is furnished by the two so-called
“compounds” in which the natives who work in the mines are housed and
confined. They are huge inclosures, unroofed, but covered with a wire netting to
prevent anything from being thrown out of them over the walls, and with a
subterranean entrance to the adjoining mine. The mine is worked on the system
of three eight-hour shifts, so that the workman is never more than eight hours
together underground. Round the interior of the wall are built sheds or huts in
which the natives live and sleep when not working. A hospital is also provided
within the inclosure, as well as a school where the work-people can spend their
leisure in learning to read and write. No spirits are sold.... Every entrance is
strictly guarded, and no visitors, white or native, are permitted, all supplies being
obtained from the store within, kept by the company. The De Beers mine
compound contained at the time of my visit 2,600 natives, belonging to a great
variety of tribes, so that here one could see specimens of the different native
types from Natal and Pondoland, in the south, to the shores of Lake Tanganyika
in the far north. They come from every quarter, attracted by the high wages,
usually eighteen to thirty shillings a week, and remain for three months or more,
and occasionally even for longer periods.... In the vast oblong compound one
sees Zulus from Natal, Fingos, Pondos, Tembus, Basutos, Bechuanas,
Gungunhana’s subjects from the Portuguese territories, some few Matabili and
Makalaka; and plenty of Zambesi boys from the tribes on both sides of that great
river, a living ethnological collection such as can be examined nowhere else in
South Africa. Even Bushmen, or at least natives with some Bushman blood in
them, are not wanting. They live peaceably together, and amuse themselves in
their several ways during their leisure hours. Besides games of chance, we saw a
Mehrwert, vol. ii, part 2, in the chapter on ‘Transformation of Revenue Into
Capital’ (Verwandlung von Revenue in Kapital), p. 243).
[352]Capital, vol. i, pp. 642 ff.
[353]A table published in the United States shortly before the War of Secession
contained the following data about the value of the annual production of the
Slave States and the number of slaves employed—for the greatest part on cotton
plantations:
Cotton:
Year Slaves
Dollars
1800 5,200,000 893,041
1810 15,000,000 1,191,364
1820 26,300,000 1,543,688
1830 34,100,000 2,009,053
1840 74,600,000 2,487,255
1850 101,800,000 3,197,509
1851 137,300,000 3,200,000
(Simons, ‘Class Struggles in American History’. Supplement to Neue Zeit
(Klassenkämpfe in der Geschichte Amerikas. Ergänzungsheft der ‘Neuen Zeit’),
Nr. 7, p. 39.)
[354]Bryce, a former English Minister, describes a model pattern of such hybrid
forms in the South African diamond mines: ‘The most striking sight at
Kimberley, and one unique in the world, is furnished by the two so-called
“compounds” in which the natives who work in the mines are housed and
confined. They are huge inclosures, unroofed, but covered with a wire netting to
prevent anything from being thrown out of them over the walls, and with a
subterranean entrance to the adjoining mine. The mine is worked on the system
of three eight-hour shifts, so that the workman is never more than eight hours
together underground. Round the interior of the wall are built sheds or huts in
which the natives live and sleep when not working. A hospital is also provided
within the inclosure, as well as a school where the work-people can spend their
leisure in learning to read and write. No spirits are sold.... Every entrance is
strictly guarded, and no visitors, white or native, are permitted, all supplies being
obtained from the store within, kept by the company. The De Beers mine
compound contained at the time of my visit 2,600 natives, belonging to a great
variety of tribes, so that here one could see specimens of the different native
types from Natal and Pondoland, in the south, to the shores of Lake Tanganyika
in the far north. They come from every quarter, attracted by the high wages,
usually eighteen to thirty shillings a week, and remain for three months or more,
and occasionally even for longer periods.... In the vast oblong compound one
sees Zulus from Natal, Fingos, Pondos, Tembus, Basutos, Bechuanas,
Gungunhana’s subjects from the Portuguese territories, some few Matabili and
Makalaka; and plenty of Zambesi boys from the tribes on both sides of that great
river, a living ethnological collection such as can be examined nowhere else in
South Africa. Even Bushmen, or at least natives with some Bushman blood in
them, are not wanting. They live peaceably together, and amuse themselves in
their several ways during their leisure hours. Besides games of chance, we saw a
Page 473
game resembling “fox and geese” played with pebbles on a board; and music
was being discoursed on two rude native instruments, the so-called “Kaffir
piano” made of pieces of iron of unequal length fastened side by side in a frame,
and a still ruder contrivance of hard bits of wood, also of unequal size, which
when struck by a stick emit different notes, the first beginning of a tune. A very
few were reading or writing letters, the rest busy with their cooking or talking to
one another. Some tribes are incessant talkers, and in this strange mixing-pot of
black men one may hear a dozen languages spoken as one passes from group to
group’ (James Bryce, Impressions of South Africa, London, 1897, pp. 242 ff.).
After several months of work, the negro as a rule leaves the mine with the wages
he has saved up. He returns to his tribe, buying a wife with his money, and lives
again his traditional life. Cf. also in the same book the most lively description of
the methods used in South Africa to solve the ‘labour-problem’. Here we are told
that the negroes are compelled to work in the mines and plantations of
Kimberley, Witwatersrand, Natal, Matabeleland, by stripping them of all land
and cattle, i.e. depriving them of their means of existence, by making them into
proletarians and also demoralising them with alcohol. (Later, when they are
already within the ‘enclosure’ of capital, spirits, to which they have just been
accustomed, are strictly prohibited—the object of exploitation must be kept fit
for use.) Finally, they are simply pressed into the wage system of capital by
force, by imprisonment, and flogging.
[355]The relations between Germany and England provide a typical example.
[356]Mill, in his History of British India, substantiates the thesis that under
primitive conditions the land belongs always and everywhere to the sovereign,
on evidence collected at random and quite indiscriminately from the most varied
sources (Mungo Park, Herodotus, Volney, Acosta, Garcilasso de la Vega, Abbé
Grosier, Barrow, Diodorus, Strabo and others). Applying this thesis to India, he
goes on to say: ‘From these facts only one conclusion can be drawn, that the
property of the soil resided in the sovereign; for if it did not reside in him, it will
be impossible to show to whom it belonged’ (James Mill, History of British
India (4th edition, 1840), vol. i, p. 311). Mill’s editor, H. H. Wilson who, as
Professor of Sanskrit at Oxford University, was thoroughly versed in the legal
relations of Ancient India, gives an interesting commentary to this classical
deduction. Already in his preface he characterises the author as a partisan who
has juggled with the whole history of British India in order to justify the theories
of Mr. Bentham and who, with this end, has used the most dubious means for his
portrait of the Hindus which in no way resembles the original and almost
outrages humanity. He appends the following footnote to our quotation: ‘The
greater part of the text and of the notes here is wholly irrelevant. The
illustrations drawn from the Mahometan practice, supposing them to be correct,
have nothing to do with the laws and rights of the Hindus. They are not,
however, even accurate and Mr. Mill’s guides have misled him.’ Wilson then
contests outright the theory of the sovereign’s right of ownership in land,
especially with reference to India. (Ibid., p. 305, footnote.) Henry Maine, too, is
of the opinion that the British attempted to derive their claim to Indian land from
the Mahometans in the first place, and he recognises this claim to be completely
unjustified. ‘The assumption which the English first made was one which they
inherited from their Mahometan predecessors. It was that all the soil belonged in
absolute property to the sovereign,—and that all private property in land existed
was being discoursed on two rude native instruments, the so-called “Kaffir
piano” made of pieces of iron of unequal length fastened side by side in a frame,
and a still ruder contrivance of hard bits of wood, also of unequal size, which
when struck by a stick emit different notes, the first beginning of a tune. A very
few were reading or writing letters, the rest busy with their cooking or talking to
one another. Some tribes are incessant talkers, and in this strange mixing-pot of
black men one may hear a dozen languages spoken as one passes from group to
group’ (James Bryce, Impressions of South Africa, London, 1897, pp. 242 ff.).
After several months of work, the negro as a rule leaves the mine with the wages
he has saved up. He returns to his tribe, buying a wife with his money, and lives
again his traditional life. Cf. also in the same book the most lively description of
the methods used in South Africa to solve the ‘labour-problem’. Here we are told
that the negroes are compelled to work in the mines and plantations of
Kimberley, Witwatersrand, Natal, Matabeleland, by stripping them of all land
and cattle, i.e. depriving them of their means of existence, by making them into
proletarians and also demoralising them with alcohol. (Later, when they are
already within the ‘enclosure’ of capital, spirits, to which they have just been
accustomed, are strictly prohibited—the object of exploitation must be kept fit
for use.) Finally, they are simply pressed into the wage system of capital by
force, by imprisonment, and flogging.
[355]The relations between Germany and England provide a typical example.
[356]Mill, in his History of British India, substantiates the thesis that under
primitive conditions the land belongs always and everywhere to the sovereign,
on evidence collected at random and quite indiscriminately from the most varied
sources (Mungo Park, Herodotus, Volney, Acosta, Garcilasso de la Vega, Abbé
Grosier, Barrow, Diodorus, Strabo and others). Applying this thesis to India, he
goes on to say: ‘From these facts only one conclusion can be drawn, that the
property of the soil resided in the sovereign; for if it did not reside in him, it will
be impossible to show to whom it belonged’ (James Mill, History of British
India (4th edition, 1840), vol. i, p. 311). Mill’s editor, H. H. Wilson who, as
Professor of Sanskrit at Oxford University, was thoroughly versed in the legal
relations of Ancient India, gives an interesting commentary to this classical
deduction. Already in his preface he characterises the author as a partisan who
has juggled with the whole history of British India in order to justify the theories
of Mr. Bentham and who, with this end, has used the most dubious means for his
portrait of the Hindus which in no way resembles the original and almost
outrages humanity. He appends the following footnote to our quotation: ‘The
greater part of the text and of the notes here is wholly irrelevant. The
illustrations drawn from the Mahometan practice, supposing them to be correct,
have nothing to do with the laws and rights of the Hindus. They are not,
however, even accurate and Mr. Mill’s guides have misled him.’ Wilson then
contests outright the theory of the sovereign’s right of ownership in land,
especially with reference to India. (Ibid., p. 305, footnote.) Henry Maine, too, is
of the opinion that the British attempted to derive their claim to Indian land from
the Mahometans in the first place, and he recognises this claim to be completely
unjustified. ‘The assumption which the English first made was one which they
inherited from their Mahometan predecessors. It was that all the soil belonged in
absolute property to the sovereign,—and that all private property in land existed
Page 474
by his sufferance. The Mahometan theory and the corresponding Mahometan
practice had put out of sight the ancient view of the sovereign’s rights which,
though it assigned to him a far larger share of the produce of the land than any
Western ruler has ever claimed, yet in nowise denied the existence of private
property in land’ (Village Communities in the East and West (5th edition, vol. 2,
1890), p. 104). Maxim Kovalevski, on the other hand, has proved thoroughly
that this alleged ‘Mahometan theory and practice’ is an exclusively British
legend. (Cf. his excellent study, written in Russian, On the Causes, the
Development and the Consequences of the Disintegration of Communal
Ownership of Land (Moscow, 1879), part i.) Incidentally, British experts and
their French colleagues at the time of writing maintain an analogous legend
about China, for example, asserting that all the land there had been the
Emperor’s property. (Cf. the refutation of this legend by Dr. O. Franke, Die
Rechtsverhältnisse am Grundeigentum in China, 1903.)
[357]‘The partitions of inheritances and execution for debt levied on land are
destroying the communities—this is the formula heard nowadays everywhere in
India’ (Henry Maine, op. cit., p. 113).
[358]This view of British colonial policy, expounded e.g. by Lord Roberts of
Kandahar (for many years a representative of British power in India) is typical.
He can give no other explanation for the Sepoy Mutiny than mere
‘misunderstandings’ of the paternal intentions of the British rulers. ‘... the
alleged unfairness of what was known in India as the land settlement, under
which system the right and title of each landholder to his property was
examined, and the amount of revenue to be paid by him to the paramount Power,
as owner of the soil, was regulated ... as peace and order were established, the
system of land revenue, which had been enforced in an extremely oppressive and
corrupt manner under successive Native Rulers and dynasties, had to be
investigated and revised. With this object in view, surveys were made, and
inquiries instituted into the rights of ownership and occupancy, the result being
that in many cases it was found that families of position and influence had either
appropriated the property of their humbler neighbours, or evaded an assessment
proportionate to the value of their estates. Although these inquiries were carried
out with the best intentions, they were extremely distasteful to the higher classes,
while they failed to conciliate the masses. The ruling families deeply resented
our endeavours to introduce an equitable determination of rights and assessment
of land revenue.... On the other hand, although the agricultural population
greatly benefited by our rule, they could not realise the benevolent intentions of
a Government which tried to elevate their position and improve their prospects’
(Forty One Years in India, London, 1901, p. 233).
[359]In his Maxims on Government (translated from the Persian into English in
1783), Timur says: ‘And I commanded that they should build places of worship,
and monasteries in every city; and that they should erect structures for the
reception of travellers on the high roads, and that they should make bridges
across the rivers.
‘And I commanded that the ruined bridges should be repaired; and that bridges
should be constructed over the rivulets, and over the rivers; and that on the
roads, at the distance of one stage from each other, Kauruwansarai should be
erected; and that guards and watchmen should be stationed on the road, and that
in every Kauruwansarai people should be appointed to reside....
practice had put out of sight the ancient view of the sovereign’s rights which,
though it assigned to him a far larger share of the produce of the land than any
Western ruler has ever claimed, yet in nowise denied the existence of private
property in land’ (Village Communities in the East and West (5th edition, vol. 2,
1890), p. 104). Maxim Kovalevski, on the other hand, has proved thoroughly
that this alleged ‘Mahometan theory and practice’ is an exclusively British
legend. (Cf. his excellent study, written in Russian, On the Causes, the
Development and the Consequences of the Disintegration of Communal
Ownership of Land (Moscow, 1879), part i.) Incidentally, British experts and
their French colleagues at the time of writing maintain an analogous legend
about China, for example, asserting that all the land there had been the
Emperor’s property. (Cf. the refutation of this legend by Dr. O. Franke, Die
Rechtsverhältnisse am Grundeigentum in China, 1903.)
[357]‘The partitions of inheritances and execution for debt levied on land are
destroying the communities—this is the formula heard nowadays everywhere in
India’ (Henry Maine, op. cit., p. 113).
[358]This view of British colonial policy, expounded e.g. by Lord Roberts of
Kandahar (for many years a representative of British power in India) is typical.
He can give no other explanation for the Sepoy Mutiny than mere
‘misunderstandings’ of the paternal intentions of the British rulers. ‘... the
alleged unfairness of what was known in India as the land settlement, under
which system the right and title of each landholder to his property was
examined, and the amount of revenue to be paid by him to the paramount Power,
as owner of the soil, was regulated ... as peace and order were established, the
system of land revenue, which had been enforced in an extremely oppressive and
corrupt manner under successive Native Rulers and dynasties, had to be
investigated and revised. With this object in view, surveys were made, and
inquiries instituted into the rights of ownership and occupancy, the result being
that in many cases it was found that families of position and influence had either
appropriated the property of their humbler neighbours, or evaded an assessment
proportionate to the value of their estates. Although these inquiries were carried
out with the best intentions, they were extremely distasteful to the higher classes,
while they failed to conciliate the masses. The ruling families deeply resented
our endeavours to introduce an equitable determination of rights and assessment
of land revenue.... On the other hand, although the agricultural population
greatly benefited by our rule, they could not realise the benevolent intentions of
a Government which tried to elevate their position and improve their prospects’
(Forty One Years in India, London, 1901, p. 233).
[359]In his Maxims on Government (translated from the Persian into English in
1783), Timur says: ‘And I commanded that they should build places of worship,
and monasteries in every city; and that they should erect structures for the
reception of travellers on the high roads, and that they should make bridges
across the rivers.
‘And I commanded that the ruined bridges should be repaired; and that bridges
should be constructed over the rivulets, and over the rivers; and that on the
roads, at the distance of one stage from each other, Kauruwansarai should be
erected; and that guards and watchmen should be stationed on the road, and that
in every Kauruwansarai people should be appointed to reside....
Page 475
‘And I ordained, whoever undertook the cultivation of waste lands, or built an
aqueduct, or made a canal, or planted a grove, or restored to culture a deserted
district, that in the first year nothing should be taken from him, and that in the
second year, whatever the subject voluntarily offered should be received, and
that in the third year, duties should be collected according to the regulation’
(James Mill, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 493, 498).
[360]Count Warren, De l’État moral de la population indigène. Quoted by
Kovalevski, op. cit., p. 164.
[361]Historical and Descriptive Account of British India from the most remote
period to the conclusion of the Afghan war by Hugh Murray, James Wilson,
Greville, Professor Jameson, William Wallace and Captain Dalrymple
(Edinburgh, 4th edition, 1843), vol. ii, p. 427. Quoted by Kovalevski, op. cit.
[362]Victor v. Leyden, Agrarverfassung und Grundsteuer in Britisch Ostindien.
Jahrb. f. Ges., Verw. u. Volksw., vol. xxxvi, no. 4, p. 1855.
[363]‘When dying, the father of the family nearly always advises his children to
live in unity, according to the example of their elders. This is his last exhortation,
his dearest wish’ (A. Hanotaux et A. Letournaux, La Kabylie et les Coûtumes
Kabyles, vol. ii, 1873, ‘Droit Civil’, pp. 468-73). The authors, by the way,
appraised this impressive description of communism in the clan with this
peculiar sentence: ‘Within the industrious fold of the family association, all are
united in a common purpose, all work for the general interest—but no one gives
up his freedom or renounces his hereditary rights. In no other nation does the
organisation approach so closely to equality, being yet so far removed from
communism.’
[364]‘We must lose no time in dissolving the family associations, since they are
the lever of all opposition against our rule’ (Deputy Didier in the National
Assembly of 1851).
[365]Quoted by Kovalevski, op. cit., p. 217. Since the Great Revolution, of
course, it had become the fashion in France to dub all opposition to the
government an open or covert defence of feudalism.
[366]G. Anton, Neuere Agrarpolitik in Algerien und Tunesien. Jahrb. f.
Gesetzgebung, Verwaltung und Volkswirtschaft (1900), pp. 1341 ff.
[367]On June 20, 1912, M. Albin Rozet, on behalf of the Commission for the
Reform of the ‘Indigenat’ (Administrative Justice) in Algeria, stated in his
speech to the French Chamber of Deputies that thousands of Algerians were
migrating from the Setif district, and that 1,200 natives had emigrated from
Tlemcen during the last year, their destination being Syria. One immigrant wrote
from his new home: ‘I have now settled in Damascus and am perfectly happy.
There are many Algerians here in Syria who, like me, have emigrated. The
government has given us land and facilities to cultivate it.’ The Algerian
government combats this exodus—by denying passports to prospective
emigrants. (Cf. Journal Officiel, June 21, 1912, pp. 1594 ff.)
[368]77,379 chests were imported in 1854. Later, the imports somewhat
declined, owing to increased home production. Nevertheless, China remained
the chief buyer. India produced just under 6,400,000 tons of opium in 1873/4, of
which 6,100,000 tons were sold to the Chinese. To-day [1912] India still exports
aqueduct, or made a canal, or planted a grove, or restored to culture a deserted
district, that in the first year nothing should be taken from him, and that in the
second year, whatever the subject voluntarily offered should be received, and
that in the third year, duties should be collected according to the regulation’
(James Mill, op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 493, 498).
[360]Count Warren, De l’État moral de la population indigène. Quoted by
Kovalevski, op. cit., p. 164.
[361]Historical and Descriptive Account of British India from the most remote
period to the conclusion of the Afghan war by Hugh Murray, James Wilson,
Greville, Professor Jameson, William Wallace and Captain Dalrymple
(Edinburgh, 4th edition, 1843), vol. ii, p. 427. Quoted by Kovalevski, op. cit.
[362]Victor v. Leyden, Agrarverfassung und Grundsteuer in Britisch Ostindien.
Jahrb. f. Ges., Verw. u. Volksw., vol. xxxvi, no. 4, p. 1855.
[363]‘When dying, the father of the family nearly always advises his children to
live in unity, according to the example of their elders. This is his last exhortation,
his dearest wish’ (A. Hanotaux et A. Letournaux, La Kabylie et les Coûtumes
Kabyles, vol. ii, 1873, ‘Droit Civil’, pp. 468-73). The authors, by the way,
appraised this impressive description of communism in the clan with this
peculiar sentence: ‘Within the industrious fold of the family association, all are
united in a common purpose, all work for the general interest—but no one gives
up his freedom or renounces his hereditary rights. In no other nation does the
organisation approach so closely to equality, being yet so far removed from
communism.’
[364]‘We must lose no time in dissolving the family associations, since they are
the lever of all opposition against our rule’ (Deputy Didier in the National
Assembly of 1851).
[365]Quoted by Kovalevski, op. cit., p. 217. Since the Great Revolution, of
course, it had become the fashion in France to dub all opposition to the
government an open or covert defence of feudalism.
[366]G. Anton, Neuere Agrarpolitik in Algerien und Tunesien. Jahrb. f.
Gesetzgebung, Verwaltung und Volkswirtschaft (1900), pp. 1341 ff.
[367]On June 20, 1912, M. Albin Rozet, on behalf of the Commission for the
Reform of the ‘Indigenat’ (Administrative Justice) in Algeria, stated in his
speech to the French Chamber of Deputies that thousands of Algerians were
migrating from the Setif district, and that 1,200 natives had emigrated from
Tlemcen during the last year, their destination being Syria. One immigrant wrote
from his new home: ‘I have now settled in Damascus and am perfectly happy.
There are many Algerians here in Syria who, like me, have emigrated. The
government has given us land and facilities to cultivate it.’ The Algerian
government combats this exodus—by denying passports to prospective
emigrants. (Cf. Journal Officiel, June 21, 1912, pp. 1594 ff.)
[368]77,379 chests were imported in 1854. Later, the imports somewhat
declined, owing to increased home production. Nevertheless, China remained
the chief buyer. India produced just under 6,400,000 tons of opium in 1873/4, of
which 6,100,000 tons were sold to the Chinese. To-day [1912] India still exports
Page 476
4,800,000 tons, value £7,500,000,000, almost exclusively to China and the
Malay Archipelago.
[369]Quoted by J. Scheibert, Der Krieg in China (1903), vol. 2, p. 179.
[370]Scheibert, op. cit., p. 207.
[371]An Imperial Edict issued on the third day of the eighth moon in the tenth
year of Hsien-Feng (6/9/1860) said amongst other things: ‘We have never
forbidden England and France to trade with China, and for long years there has
been peace between them and us. But three years ago the English, for no good
cause, invaded our city of Canton, and carried off our officials into captivity. We
refrained at that time from taking any retaliatory measures, because we were
compelled to recognise that the obstinacy of the Viceroy Yeh had been in some
measure a cause of the hostilities. Two years ago, the barbarian Commander
Elgin came north and we then commanded the Viceroy of Chihli, T’an Ting-
hsiang, to look into matters preparatory to negotiations. But the barbarian took
advantage of our unreadiness, attacking the Taku forts and pressing on to
Tientsin. Being anxious to spare our people the horrors of war, we again
refrained from retaliation and ordered Kuei Liang to discuss terms of peace.
Notwithstanding the outrageous nature of the barbarians’ demands we
subsequently ordered Kuei Liang to proceed to Shanghai in connection with the
proposed Treaty of Commerce and even permitted its ratification as earnest of
our good faith.
‘In spite of all this, the barbarian leader Bruce again displayed intractability of
the most unreasonable kind, and once more appeared off Taku with a squadron
of warships in the eighth Moon. Seng Ko Lin Ch’in thereupon attacked him
fiercely and compelled him to make a rapid retreat. From all these facts it is
clear that China has committed no breach of faith and that the barbarians have
been in the wrong. During the present year the barbarian leaders Elgin and Gros
have again appeared off our coasts, but China, unwilling to resort to extreme
measures, agreed to their landing and permitted them to come to Peking for the
ratification of the Treaty.
‘Who could have believed that all this time the barbarians have been darkly
plotting, and that they had brought with them an army of soldiers and artillery
with which they attacked the Taku forts from the rear, and, having driven out our
forces, advanced upon Tientsin!’ (I. O. Bland and E. T. Blackhouse, China under
the Empress Dowager (London, 1910), pp. 24-5. Cf. also in this work the entire
chapter, ‘The Flight to Yehol’.)
[372]These European exploits to make China receptive to commodity exchange,
provide the setting for a charming episode of China’s internal history: Straight
from looting the Manchu Emperor’s Summer Palace, the ‘Gordon of China’
went on a campaign against the rebels of Taiping. In 1863 he even took over
command of the Imperial fighting forces. In fact, the suppression of the revolt
was the work of the British army. But while a considerable number of
Europeans, among them a French admiral, gave their lives to preserve China for
the Manchu dynasty, the representatives of European commerce were eagerly
grasping this opportunity to make capital out of these fights, supplying arms
both to their own champions and to the rebels who went to war against them.
‘Moreover, the worthy merchant was tempted, by the opportunity for making
some money, to supply both armies with arms and munitions, and since the
Malay Archipelago.
[369]Quoted by J. Scheibert, Der Krieg in China (1903), vol. 2, p. 179.
[370]Scheibert, op. cit., p. 207.
[371]An Imperial Edict issued on the third day of the eighth moon in the tenth
year of Hsien-Feng (6/9/1860) said amongst other things: ‘We have never
forbidden England and France to trade with China, and for long years there has
been peace between them and us. But three years ago the English, for no good
cause, invaded our city of Canton, and carried off our officials into captivity. We
refrained at that time from taking any retaliatory measures, because we were
compelled to recognise that the obstinacy of the Viceroy Yeh had been in some
measure a cause of the hostilities. Two years ago, the barbarian Commander
Elgin came north and we then commanded the Viceroy of Chihli, T’an Ting-
hsiang, to look into matters preparatory to negotiations. But the barbarian took
advantage of our unreadiness, attacking the Taku forts and pressing on to
Tientsin. Being anxious to spare our people the horrors of war, we again
refrained from retaliation and ordered Kuei Liang to discuss terms of peace.
Notwithstanding the outrageous nature of the barbarians’ demands we
subsequently ordered Kuei Liang to proceed to Shanghai in connection with the
proposed Treaty of Commerce and even permitted its ratification as earnest of
our good faith.
‘In spite of all this, the barbarian leader Bruce again displayed intractability of
the most unreasonable kind, and once more appeared off Taku with a squadron
of warships in the eighth Moon. Seng Ko Lin Ch’in thereupon attacked him
fiercely and compelled him to make a rapid retreat. From all these facts it is
clear that China has committed no breach of faith and that the barbarians have
been in the wrong. During the present year the barbarian leaders Elgin and Gros
have again appeared off our coasts, but China, unwilling to resort to extreme
measures, agreed to their landing and permitted them to come to Peking for the
ratification of the Treaty.
‘Who could have believed that all this time the barbarians have been darkly
plotting, and that they had brought with them an army of soldiers and artillery
with which they attacked the Taku forts from the rear, and, having driven out our
forces, advanced upon Tientsin!’ (I. O. Bland and E. T. Blackhouse, China under
the Empress Dowager (London, 1910), pp. 24-5. Cf. also in this work the entire
chapter, ‘The Flight to Yehol’.)
[372]These European exploits to make China receptive to commodity exchange,
provide the setting for a charming episode of China’s internal history: Straight
from looting the Manchu Emperor’s Summer Palace, the ‘Gordon of China’
went on a campaign against the rebels of Taiping. In 1863 he even took over
command of the Imperial fighting forces. In fact, the suppression of the revolt
was the work of the British army. But while a considerable number of
Europeans, among them a French admiral, gave their lives to preserve China for
the Manchu dynasty, the representatives of European commerce were eagerly
grasping this opportunity to make capital out of these fights, supplying arms
both to their own champions and to the rebels who went to war against them.
‘Moreover, the worthy merchant was tempted, by the opportunity for making
some money, to supply both armies with arms and munitions, and since the
Page 477
rebels had greater difficulties in obtaining supplies than the Emperor’s men and
were therefore compelled and prepared to pay higher prices, they were given
priority and could thus resist not only the troops of their own government, but
also those of England and France’ (M. v. Brandt, 33 Jahre in Ostasien, 1911, vol.
iii, China, p. 11).
[373]Dr. O. Franke, Die Rechtsverhältnisse am Grundeigentum in China
(Leipzig, 1903), p. 82.
[374]Bland and Blackhouse, op. cit., p. 338.
[375]Ibid., p. 337.
[376]Until recently, in China the domestic industries were widely practised even
by the bourgeoisie and in such large and ancient towns as Ningpo with its
300,000 inhabitants. ‘Only a generation ago, the family’s shoes, hats, shirts, etc.,
were made by the women themselves. At that time, it was practically unheard-of
for a young woman to buy from a merchant what she could have made with the
labour of her own hands’ (Dr. Nyok-Ching Tsur, ‘Forms of Industry in the Town
of Ningpo’ (Die gewerblichen Betriebsformen der Stadt Ningpo), Tuebingen,
1909, p. 51).
[377]Admittedly, this relation is reversed in the last stages of the history of
peasant economy when capitalist production has made its full impact. Once the
small peasants are ruined, the entire work of farming frequently devolves on the
women, old people and children, while the men are made to work for their living
for capitalist entrepreneurs in the domestic industries or as wage-slaves in the
factories. A typical instance is the small peasant in Wuerttemberg.
[378]W. A. Peffer, The Farmer’s Side. His Troubles and Their Remedy (New
York, 1891), Part ii, ‘How We Got Here’, chap. i, ‘Changed Conditions of the
Farmer’, pp. 56-7. Cf. also A. M. Simmons, The American Farmer (2nd edition,
Chicago, 1906), pp. 74 ff.
[379]Report of the U.S.A. Commissioner of Agriculture for the year 1867
(Washington, 1868). Quoted by Lafargue: Getreidebau und Getreidehandel in
den Vereinigten Staaten in Die Neue Zeit (1885), p. 344. This essay on grain
cultivation and the grain trade in the U.S.A. was first published in a Russian
periodical in 1883.
[380]‘The three Revenue Acts of June 30, 1864, practically formed one measure,
and that probably the greatest measure of taxation which the world has seen....
The Internal Revenue Act was arranged, as Mr. David A. Wells has said, on the
principle of the Irishman at Donnybrook Fair: “whenever you see a head, hit it,
whenever you see a commodity, tax it”’ (F. W. Taussig, The Tariff History of the
United States (New York-London, 1888), pp. 163-4).
[381]Ibid., pp. 166-7.
[382]‘The necessity of the situation, the critical state of the country, the urgent
need of revenue, may have justified this haste, which, it is safe to say, is
unexampled in the history of civilised countries’ (Taussig, op. cit., p. 168).
[383]Peffer, op. cit., pp. 58 ff.
[384]Ibid., p. 6.
were therefore compelled and prepared to pay higher prices, they were given
priority and could thus resist not only the troops of their own government, but
also those of England and France’ (M. v. Brandt, 33 Jahre in Ostasien, 1911, vol.
iii, China, p. 11).
[373]Dr. O. Franke, Die Rechtsverhältnisse am Grundeigentum in China
(Leipzig, 1903), p. 82.
[374]Bland and Blackhouse, op. cit., p. 338.
[375]Ibid., p. 337.
[376]Until recently, in China the domestic industries were widely practised even
by the bourgeoisie and in such large and ancient towns as Ningpo with its
300,000 inhabitants. ‘Only a generation ago, the family’s shoes, hats, shirts, etc.,
were made by the women themselves. At that time, it was practically unheard-of
for a young woman to buy from a merchant what she could have made with the
labour of her own hands’ (Dr. Nyok-Ching Tsur, ‘Forms of Industry in the Town
of Ningpo’ (Die gewerblichen Betriebsformen der Stadt Ningpo), Tuebingen,
1909, p. 51).
[377]Admittedly, this relation is reversed in the last stages of the history of
peasant economy when capitalist production has made its full impact. Once the
small peasants are ruined, the entire work of farming frequently devolves on the
women, old people and children, while the men are made to work for their living
for capitalist entrepreneurs in the domestic industries or as wage-slaves in the
factories. A typical instance is the small peasant in Wuerttemberg.
[378]W. A. Peffer, The Farmer’s Side. His Troubles and Their Remedy (New
York, 1891), Part ii, ‘How We Got Here’, chap. i, ‘Changed Conditions of the
Farmer’, pp. 56-7. Cf. also A. M. Simmons, The American Farmer (2nd edition,
Chicago, 1906), pp. 74 ff.
[379]Report of the U.S.A. Commissioner of Agriculture for the year 1867
(Washington, 1868). Quoted by Lafargue: Getreidebau und Getreidehandel in
den Vereinigten Staaten in Die Neue Zeit (1885), p. 344. This essay on grain
cultivation and the grain trade in the U.S.A. was first published in a Russian
periodical in 1883.
[380]‘The three Revenue Acts of June 30, 1864, practically formed one measure,
and that probably the greatest measure of taxation which the world has seen....
The Internal Revenue Act was arranged, as Mr. David A. Wells has said, on the
principle of the Irishman at Donnybrook Fair: “whenever you see a head, hit it,
whenever you see a commodity, tax it”’ (F. W. Taussig, The Tariff History of the
United States (New York-London, 1888), pp. 163-4).
[381]Ibid., pp. 166-7.
[382]‘The necessity of the situation, the critical state of the country, the urgent
need of revenue, may have justified this haste, which, it is safe to say, is
unexampled in the history of civilised countries’ (Taussig, op. cit., p. 168).
[383]Peffer, op. cit., pp. 58 ff.
[384]Ibid., p. 6.
Page 478
[385]‘Agricultural Competition in North America’ (Die landwirtschaftliche
Konkurrenz Nordamerikas) Leipzig, 1887, p. 431.
[386]Lafargue, op. cit., p. 345.
[387]The Thirteenth Annual Report of the Commissioner of Labour
(Washington, 1899) tables the advantages of machinery methods over hand
methods so far achieved as follows:
Labour time per unit
Type of work Machine Hand
hrs. min. hrs. min.
Planting small corn — 32·7 10 55
Harvesting and threshing small corn 1 — 46 40
Planting corn — 37·5 6 15
Cutting corn 3 4·5 5 —
Shelling corn — 3·6 66 40
Planting cotton 1 3 8 48
Cultivating cotton 12 5 60 —
Mowing grass (scythe v. mower) 1 0·6 7 20
Harvesting and baling hay 11 3·4 35 30
Planting potatoes 1 2·5 15 —
Planting tomatoes 1 4 10 —
Cultivating and harvesting tomatoes 134 5·2 324 20
[388]Wheat exports from the Union to Europe:
Year Million bushels Year Million bushels
1868-9 17·9 1885-6 57·7
1874-5 71·8 1890-1 55·1
1879-80 153·2 1899-1900 101·9
(Juraschek’s Uebersichten der Weltwirtschaft, vol. vii, part i, p. 32).
Simultaneously, the price per bushel wheat loco farm (in cents) declined as
follows:
1870-9 105 1896 73
1880-9 83 1897 81
1895 51 1898 58
Since 1899, when it had reached the low level of 58 cents per bushel, the price is
moving up again:
1900 62 1903 78
1901 62 1904 92
1902 63
(Ibid., p. 18).
According to the ‘Monthly Returns on External Trade’ (Monatliche Nachweise
über den Auswärtigen Handel), the price (in marks) per 1,000 kg., was in June
1912:
Konkurrenz Nordamerikas) Leipzig, 1887, p. 431.
[386]Lafargue, op. cit., p. 345.
[387]The Thirteenth Annual Report of the Commissioner of Labour
(Washington, 1899) tables the advantages of machinery methods over hand
methods so far achieved as follows:
Labour time per unit
Type of work Machine Hand
hrs. min. hrs. min.
Planting small corn — 32·7 10 55
Harvesting and threshing small corn 1 — 46 40
Planting corn — 37·5 6 15
Cutting corn 3 4·5 5 —
Shelling corn — 3·6 66 40
Planting cotton 1 3 8 48
Cultivating cotton 12 5 60 —
Mowing grass (scythe v. mower) 1 0·6 7 20
Harvesting and baling hay 11 3·4 35 30
Planting potatoes 1 2·5 15 —
Planting tomatoes 1 4 10 —
Cultivating and harvesting tomatoes 134 5·2 324 20
[388]Wheat exports from the Union to Europe:
Year Million bushels Year Million bushels
1868-9 17·9 1885-6 57·7
1874-5 71·8 1890-1 55·1
1879-80 153·2 1899-1900 101·9
(Juraschek’s Uebersichten der Weltwirtschaft, vol. vii, part i, p. 32).
Simultaneously, the price per bushel wheat loco farm (in cents) declined as
follows:
1870-9 105 1896 73
1880-9 83 1897 81
1895 51 1898 58
Since 1899, when it had reached the low level of 58 cents per bushel, the price is
moving up again:
1900 62 1903 78
1901 62 1904 92
1902 63
(Ibid., p. 18).
According to the ‘Monthly Returns on External Trade’ (Monatliche Nachweise
über den Auswärtigen Handel), the price (in marks) per 1,000 kg., was in June
1912:
Page 479
Berlin 227·82 London 170·96
New York 178·08 Odessa 173·94
Mannheim 247·93 Paris 243·69
[389]Peffer, op. cit., part i, ‘Where We Are’, chap, ii, ‘Progress of Agriculture’,
pp. 30-1.
[390]Ibid., p. 4.
[391]Sering, op. cit., p. 433.
[392]Peffer, op. cit., pp. 34 f.
[393]Quoted by Nikolayon, op. cit., p. 224.
[394]49,199 people immigrated to Canada in 1902. In 1912, the number of
immigrants was more than 400,000—138,000 of them British, and 134,000
American. According to a report from Montreal, the influx of American farmers
continued into the spring of the present year [1912].
[395]‘Travelling in the West of Canada, I have visited only one farm of less than
a thousand acres. According to the census of the Dominion of Canada, in 1881,
when the census was taken, no more than 9,077 farmers occupied 2,384,337
acres of land between them; accordingly, the share of an individual (farmer)
amounted to no less than 2,047 acres—in no state of the Union is the average
anywhere near that’ (Sering, op. cit., p. 376). In the early eighties, farming on a
large scale was admittedly not very widely spread in Canada. But already in
1887, Sering describes the ‘Bell Farm’, owned by a limited company, which
comprised no fewer than 56,700 acres, and was obviously modelled on the
pattern of the Dalrymple farm. In the eighties, Sering, who regarded the
prospects of Canadian competition with some scepticism, put the ‘fertile belt’ of
Western Canada at three-fifths of the entire acreage of Germany, and estimated
that actually only 38,400,000 acres of this were arable land, and no more than
15,000,000 acres at best were prospective wheat land (Sering, op. cit., pp. 337-
8). The Manitoba Free Press in June 1912, worked out that in summer, 1912,
11,200,000 acres were sown with spring wheat in Canada, as against 19,200,000
acres under spring wheat in the United States. (Cf. Berliner Tageblatt,
Handelszeitung, No. 305, June 18, 1912.)
[396]Sering, op. cit., pp. 361 ff.
[397]Ernst Schultze, ‘Das Wirtschaftsleben der Vereinigten Staaten’, Jahrb. f.
Gesetzg., Verw. u. Volkswirtschaft 1912, no. 17, p. 1724.
[398]Article 9.
[399]‘Moshesh, the great Basuto leader, to whose courage and statesmanship the
Basutos owed their very existence as a people, was still alive at the time, but
constant war with the Boers of the Orange Free State had brought him and his
followers to the last stage of distress. Two thousand Basuto warriors had been
killed, cattle had been carried off, native homes had been broken up and crops
destroyed. The tribe was reduced to the position of starving refugees, and
nothing could save them but the protection of the British government which they
had repeatedly implored’ (C. P. Lucas, A Historical Geography of the British
Colonies, part ii, vol. iv (Geography of South and East Africa), Oxford, 1904, p.
39).
New York 178·08 Odessa 173·94
Mannheim 247·93 Paris 243·69
[389]Peffer, op. cit., part i, ‘Where We Are’, chap, ii, ‘Progress of Agriculture’,
pp. 30-1.
[390]Ibid., p. 4.
[391]Sering, op. cit., p. 433.
[392]Peffer, op. cit., pp. 34 f.
[393]Quoted by Nikolayon, op. cit., p. 224.
[394]49,199 people immigrated to Canada in 1902. In 1912, the number of
immigrants was more than 400,000—138,000 of them British, and 134,000
American. According to a report from Montreal, the influx of American farmers
continued into the spring of the present year [1912].
[395]‘Travelling in the West of Canada, I have visited only one farm of less than
a thousand acres. According to the census of the Dominion of Canada, in 1881,
when the census was taken, no more than 9,077 farmers occupied 2,384,337
acres of land between them; accordingly, the share of an individual (farmer)
amounted to no less than 2,047 acres—in no state of the Union is the average
anywhere near that’ (Sering, op. cit., p. 376). In the early eighties, farming on a
large scale was admittedly not very widely spread in Canada. But already in
1887, Sering describes the ‘Bell Farm’, owned by a limited company, which
comprised no fewer than 56,700 acres, and was obviously modelled on the
pattern of the Dalrymple farm. In the eighties, Sering, who regarded the
prospects of Canadian competition with some scepticism, put the ‘fertile belt’ of
Western Canada at three-fifths of the entire acreage of Germany, and estimated
that actually only 38,400,000 acres of this were arable land, and no more than
15,000,000 acres at best were prospective wheat land (Sering, op. cit., pp. 337-
8). The Manitoba Free Press in June 1912, worked out that in summer, 1912,
11,200,000 acres were sown with spring wheat in Canada, as against 19,200,000
acres under spring wheat in the United States. (Cf. Berliner Tageblatt,
Handelszeitung, No. 305, June 18, 1912.)
[396]Sering, op. cit., pp. 361 ff.
[397]Ernst Schultze, ‘Das Wirtschaftsleben der Vereinigten Staaten’, Jahrb. f.
Gesetzg., Verw. u. Volkswirtschaft 1912, no. 17, p. 1724.
[398]Article 9.
[399]‘Moshesh, the great Basuto leader, to whose courage and statesmanship the
Basutos owed their very existence as a people, was still alive at the time, but
constant war with the Boers of the Orange Free State had brought him and his
followers to the last stage of distress. Two thousand Basuto warriors had been
killed, cattle had been carried off, native homes had been broken up and crops
destroyed. The tribe was reduced to the position of starving refugees, and
nothing could save them but the protection of the British government which they
had repeatedly implored’ (C. P. Lucas, A Historical Geography of the British
Colonies, part ii, vol. iv (Geography of South and East Africa), Oxford, 1904, p.
39).
Page 480
[400]‘The Eastern section of the territory is Mashonaland where, with the
permission of King Lobengula, who claimed it, the British South Africa
Company first established themselves’ (ibid., p. 72).
[401]The Permanent Way (in kilometres).
Year Europe America Asia Africa Australia
1840 2,925 4,754 — — —
1850 23,405 16,064 — — —
1860 51,862 53,955 1,393 455 376
1870 104,914 93,193 8,185 1,786 1,765
1880 168,983 174,666 16,287 4,646 7,847
1890 223,869 331,417 33,724 9,386 18,889
1900 283,878 402,171 60,301 20,114 24,014
1910 333,848 526,382 101,916 36,854 31,014
Accordingly, the increase was as follows:
% % % % %
1840/50 710 215 — — —
1860/70 102 73 486 350 350
1870/80 61 88 99 156 333
1880/90 32 89 107 104 142
1890/1900 27 21 79 114 27
[402]Tugan Baranovski, Studies on the Theory and History of Commercial
Crises in England, p. 74.
[403]Sismondi, Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, book iv, chap. iv: ‘Commercial
Wealth Follows the Growth of Income’, pp. 368-70.
[404]Engineer Eyth, a representative of Fowler’s, tells us: ‘Now there was a
feverish exchange of telegrams between Cairo, London and Leeds.—“When can
Fowler’s deliver 150 steam ploughs?”—Answer: “Working to capacity, within
one year.”—“Not good enough. Expect unloading Alexandria by spring 150
steam ploughs.”—A.: “Impossible.”—The works at that time were barely big
enough to turn out 3 steam ploughs per week. N.B. a machine of this type costs
£2,500 so that the order involved £m. 3·75. Ismail Pasha’s next wire: “Quote
cost immediate factory expansion. Viceroy willing foot bill."”—You can
imagine that Leeds made hay while the sun shone. And in addition, other
factories in England and France as well were made to supply steam ploughs. The
Alexandria warehouses, where goods destined for the vice-regal estates were
unloaded, were crammed to the roof with boilers, wheels, drums, wire-rope and
all sorts of chests and boxes. The second-rate hostelries of Cairo swarmed with
newly qualified steam ploughmen, promoted in a hurry from anvil or share-
plough, young hopefuls, fit for anything and nothing, since every steam plough
must be manned by at least one expert pioneer of civilisation. Wagonloads of
this assorted cargo were sent into the interior, just so that the next ship could
unload. You cannot imagine in what condition they arrived at their destination,
or rather anywhere but their destination. Ten boilers were lying on the banks of
the Nile, and the machine to which they belonged was ten miles further. Here
was a little heap of wire-rope, but you had to travel another 20 hours to find the
permission of King Lobengula, who claimed it, the British South Africa
Company first established themselves’ (ibid., p. 72).
[401]The Permanent Way (in kilometres).
Year Europe America Asia Africa Australia
1840 2,925 4,754 — — —
1850 23,405 16,064 — — —
1860 51,862 53,955 1,393 455 376
1870 104,914 93,193 8,185 1,786 1,765
1880 168,983 174,666 16,287 4,646 7,847
1890 223,869 331,417 33,724 9,386 18,889
1900 283,878 402,171 60,301 20,114 24,014
1910 333,848 526,382 101,916 36,854 31,014
Accordingly, the increase was as follows:
% % % % %
1840/50 710 215 — — —
1860/70 102 73 486 350 350
1870/80 61 88 99 156 333
1880/90 32 89 107 104 142
1890/1900 27 21 79 114 27
[402]Tugan Baranovski, Studies on the Theory and History of Commercial
Crises in England, p. 74.
[403]Sismondi, Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, book iv, chap. iv: ‘Commercial
Wealth Follows the Growth of Income’, pp. 368-70.
[404]Engineer Eyth, a representative of Fowler’s, tells us: ‘Now there was a
feverish exchange of telegrams between Cairo, London and Leeds.—“When can
Fowler’s deliver 150 steam ploughs?”—Answer: “Working to capacity, within
one year.”—“Not good enough. Expect unloading Alexandria by spring 150
steam ploughs.”—A.: “Impossible.”—The works at that time were barely big
enough to turn out 3 steam ploughs per week. N.B. a machine of this type costs
£2,500 so that the order involved £m. 3·75. Ismail Pasha’s next wire: “Quote
cost immediate factory expansion. Viceroy willing foot bill."”—You can
imagine that Leeds made hay while the sun shone. And in addition, other
factories in England and France as well were made to supply steam ploughs. The
Alexandria warehouses, where goods destined for the vice-regal estates were
unloaded, were crammed to the roof with boilers, wheels, drums, wire-rope and
all sorts of chests and boxes. The second-rate hostelries of Cairo swarmed with
newly qualified steam ploughmen, promoted in a hurry from anvil or share-
plough, young hopefuls, fit for anything and nothing, since every steam plough
must be manned by at least one expert pioneer of civilisation. Wagonloads of
this assorted cargo were sent into the interior, just so that the next ship could
unload. You cannot imagine in what condition they arrived at their destination,
or rather anywhere but their destination. Ten boilers were lying on the banks of
the Nile, and the machine to which they belonged was ten miles further. Here
was a little heap of wire-rope, but you had to travel another 20 hours to find the
Page 481
appropriate pulleys. In one place an Englishman who was to set up the machines
squatted desolate and hungry on a pile of French crates, and in another place his
mate had taken to native liquor in his despair. Effendis and Katibs, invoking the
help of Allah, rushed to and fro between Siut and Alexandria and compiled
endless lists of items the names of which they did not even know. And yet, in the
end, some of this apparatus was set in motion. In Upper Egypt, the ploughs
belched steam—civilisation and progress had made another step forward’
(Lebendige Kräfte, 7 Vorträge aus dem Gebiete der Technik, Berlin, 1908, p. 21).
[405]Cf. Evelyn Baring, Earl of Cromer, Egypt Today (London, 1908), vol. i, p.
11.
[406]Incidentally, the money wrested from the Egyptian fellah further fell, by
way of Turkey, to European capital. The Turkish loans of 1854, 1855, 1871,
1877 and 1886 were based on the contributions from Egypt which were
increased several times and paid direct into the Bank of England.
[407]‘It is stated by residents in the Delta’, reports The Times of March 31,
1879, ‘that the third quarter of the year’s taxation is now collected, and the old
methods of collection applied. This sounds strangely by the side of the news that
people are starving by the roadside, that great tracts of country are uncultivated,
because of the physical burdens, and that the farmers have sold their cattle, the
women their finery, and that the usurers are filling the mortgage offices with
their bonds, and the courts with their suits of foreclosure’ (quoted by Th.
Rothstein, Egypt’s Ruin, 1910, pp. 69-70).
[408]‘This produce’, wrote the correspondent of The Times from Alexandria,
‘consists wholly of taxes paid by the peasants in kind, and when one thinks of
the poverty-stricken, overdriven, under-paid fellaheen in their miserable hovels,
working late and early to fill the pockets of the creditors, the punctual payment
of the coupon ceases to be wholly a subject of gratification’ (quoted by
Rothstein, op. cit., p. 49).
[409]Eyth, an outstanding exponent of capitalist civilisation in the primitive
countries, characteristically concludes his masterly sketch on Egypt, from which
we have taken the main data, with the following imperialist articles of faith:
‘What we have learnt from the past also holds true for the future. Europe must
and will lay firm hands upon those countries which can no longer keep up with
modern conditions on their own, though this will not be possible without all
kinds of struggle, when the difference between right and wrong will become
blurred, when political and historical justice will often enough mean disaster for
millions and their salvation depend upon what is politically wrong. All the world
over, the strongest hand will make an end to confusion, and so it will even on the
banks of the Nile’ (op. cit., p. 247). Rothstein has made it clear enough what
kind of ‘order’ the British created ‘on the banks of the Nile’.
[410]Already in the early twenties of the last century, the Anglo-Indian
government commissioned Colonel Chesney to investigate the navigability of
the River Euphrates in order to establish the shortest possible connection
between the Mediterranean and the Persian Gulf, resp. India. After detailed
preparations and a preliminary reconnaissance in winter 1831, the expedition
proper set out in 1835/7. In due course, British staff and officials investigated
and surveyed a wider area in Eastern Mesopotamia. These efforts dragged on
until 1866 without any useful results for the British government. But at a later
squatted desolate and hungry on a pile of French crates, and in another place his
mate had taken to native liquor in his despair. Effendis and Katibs, invoking the
help of Allah, rushed to and fro between Siut and Alexandria and compiled
endless lists of items the names of which they did not even know. And yet, in the
end, some of this apparatus was set in motion. In Upper Egypt, the ploughs
belched steam—civilisation and progress had made another step forward’
(Lebendige Kräfte, 7 Vorträge aus dem Gebiete der Technik, Berlin, 1908, p. 21).
[405]Cf. Evelyn Baring, Earl of Cromer, Egypt Today (London, 1908), vol. i, p.
11.
[406]Incidentally, the money wrested from the Egyptian fellah further fell, by
way of Turkey, to European capital. The Turkish loans of 1854, 1855, 1871,
1877 and 1886 were based on the contributions from Egypt which were
increased several times and paid direct into the Bank of England.
[407]‘It is stated by residents in the Delta’, reports The Times of March 31,
1879, ‘that the third quarter of the year’s taxation is now collected, and the old
methods of collection applied. This sounds strangely by the side of the news that
people are starving by the roadside, that great tracts of country are uncultivated,
because of the physical burdens, and that the farmers have sold their cattle, the
women their finery, and that the usurers are filling the mortgage offices with
their bonds, and the courts with their suits of foreclosure’ (quoted by Th.
Rothstein, Egypt’s Ruin, 1910, pp. 69-70).
[408]‘This produce’, wrote the correspondent of The Times from Alexandria,
‘consists wholly of taxes paid by the peasants in kind, and when one thinks of
the poverty-stricken, overdriven, under-paid fellaheen in their miserable hovels,
working late and early to fill the pockets of the creditors, the punctual payment
of the coupon ceases to be wholly a subject of gratification’ (quoted by
Rothstein, op. cit., p. 49).
[409]Eyth, an outstanding exponent of capitalist civilisation in the primitive
countries, characteristically concludes his masterly sketch on Egypt, from which
we have taken the main data, with the following imperialist articles of faith:
‘What we have learnt from the past also holds true for the future. Europe must
and will lay firm hands upon those countries which can no longer keep up with
modern conditions on their own, though this will not be possible without all
kinds of struggle, when the difference between right and wrong will become
blurred, when political and historical justice will often enough mean disaster for
millions and their salvation depend upon what is politically wrong. All the world
over, the strongest hand will make an end to confusion, and so it will even on the
banks of the Nile’ (op. cit., p. 247). Rothstein has made it clear enough what
kind of ‘order’ the British created ‘on the banks of the Nile’.
[410]Already in the early twenties of the last century, the Anglo-Indian
government commissioned Colonel Chesney to investigate the navigability of
the River Euphrates in order to establish the shortest possible connection
between the Mediterranean and the Persian Gulf, resp. India. After detailed
preparations and a preliminary reconnaissance in winter 1831, the expedition
proper set out in 1835/7. In due course, British staff and officials investigated
and surveyed a wider area in Eastern Mesopotamia. These efforts dragged on
until 1866 without any useful results for the British government. But at a later
Page 482
date Great Britain returned to the plan of connecting the Mediterranean with
India by way of the Gulf of Persia, though in a different form, i.e. the Tigris
railway project. In 1879, Cameron travelled through Mesopotamia for the British
government to study the lie of the land for the projected railway (Max Freiherr v.
Oppenheim, Vom Mittelmeer zum Persischen Golf durch den Hauran, die
Syrische Wüste und Mesopotamien, vol. ii, pp. 5 and 36).
[411]S. Schneider, Die Deutsche Bagdadbahn (1900), p. 3.
[412]Saling, Börsenjahrbuch 1911/12, p. 2211.
[413]Saling, op. cit., pp. 360-1. Engineer Pressel of Wuerttemberg, who as
assistant to Baron v. Hirsch was actively engaged in these transactions in
European Turkey, neatly accounts for the total grants towards railway-building
in Turkey which European capital wrested from the Turkish government:
Length in Paid guarantee
km. in francs
3 lines in European Turkey 1888·8 33,099,352
Turkish permanent way in Asia completed before
2313·2 53,811,538
1900
Commissions and other costs connected with the
9,351,209
guaranteed railway grants paid to the A.D.P.O.
Total 96,262,099
All this refers only to the period before 1899; not until that date were the
revenue grants paid in part. The tithes of no less than 28 out of the 74 sandshaks
in Asiatic Turkey had been pledged for the revenue grants, and with these grants,
between 1856 and 1900, a grand total of 1,576 miles of rails had been laid down
in Asiatic Turkey. Pressel, the expert, by the way gives an instance of the
underhand methods employed by the railway company at Turkish expense; he
states that under the 1893 agreement the Anatolian company promised to run the
railway to Baghdad via Angora, but later decided that this plan of theirs would
not work and, having qualified for the guarantee, left the line to its fate and got
busy with another route via Konya. ‘No sooner have the companies succeeded in
acquiring the Smyrna-Aydin-Diner line, than they will demand the extension of
this line to Konya, and the moment these branch lines are completed, the
companies will move heaven and earth to force the goods traffic to use these
new routes for which there are no guarantees, and which, more important still,
need never share their takings, whereas the other lines must pay part of their
surplus to the government, once their gross revenue exceeds a certain amount. In
consequence, the government will gain nothing by the Aydin line, and the
companies will make millions. The government will foot the bill for practically
the entire revenue guarantee for the Kassaba-Angora line, and can never hope to
profit by its contracted 25 per cent share in the surplus above £600 gross
takings’ (W. V. Pressel, Les Chemins de Fer en Turquie d’Asie (Zurich, 1900), p.
7).
[414]Charles Moravitz, Die Türkei im Spiegel ihrer Finanzen (1903), p. 84.
[415]‘Incidentally, in this country everything is difficult and complicated. If the
government wishes to create a monopoly in cigarette paper or playing cards,
France and Austro-Hungary immediately are on the spot to veto the project in
India by way of the Gulf of Persia, though in a different form, i.e. the Tigris
railway project. In 1879, Cameron travelled through Mesopotamia for the British
government to study the lie of the land for the projected railway (Max Freiherr v.
Oppenheim, Vom Mittelmeer zum Persischen Golf durch den Hauran, die
Syrische Wüste und Mesopotamien, vol. ii, pp. 5 and 36).
[411]S. Schneider, Die Deutsche Bagdadbahn (1900), p. 3.
[412]Saling, Börsenjahrbuch 1911/12, p. 2211.
[413]Saling, op. cit., pp. 360-1. Engineer Pressel of Wuerttemberg, who as
assistant to Baron v. Hirsch was actively engaged in these transactions in
European Turkey, neatly accounts for the total grants towards railway-building
in Turkey which European capital wrested from the Turkish government:
Length in Paid guarantee
km. in francs
3 lines in European Turkey 1888·8 33,099,352
Turkish permanent way in Asia completed before
2313·2 53,811,538
1900
Commissions and other costs connected with the
9,351,209
guaranteed railway grants paid to the A.D.P.O.
Total 96,262,099
All this refers only to the period before 1899; not until that date were the
revenue grants paid in part. The tithes of no less than 28 out of the 74 sandshaks
in Asiatic Turkey had been pledged for the revenue grants, and with these grants,
between 1856 and 1900, a grand total of 1,576 miles of rails had been laid down
in Asiatic Turkey. Pressel, the expert, by the way gives an instance of the
underhand methods employed by the railway company at Turkish expense; he
states that under the 1893 agreement the Anatolian company promised to run the
railway to Baghdad via Angora, but later decided that this plan of theirs would
not work and, having qualified for the guarantee, left the line to its fate and got
busy with another route via Konya. ‘No sooner have the companies succeeded in
acquiring the Smyrna-Aydin-Diner line, than they will demand the extension of
this line to Konya, and the moment these branch lines are completed, the
companies will move heaven and earth to force the goods traffic to use these
new routes for which there are no guarantees, and which, more important still,
need never share their takings, whereas the other lines must pay part of their
surplus to the government, once their gross revenue exceeds a certain amount. In
consequence, the government will gain nothing by the Aydin line, and the
companies will make millions. The government will foot the bill for practically
the entire revenue guarantee for the Kassaba-Angora line, and can never hope to
profit by its contracted 25 per cent share in the surplus above £600 gross
takings’ (W. V. Pressel, Les Chemins de Fer en Turquie d’Asie (Zurich, 1900), p.
7).
[414]Charles Moravitz, Die Türkei im Spiegel ihrer Finanzen (1903), p. 84.
[415]‘Incidentally, in this country everything is difficult and complicated. If the
government wishes to create a monopoly in cigarette paper or playing cards,
France and Austro-Hungary immediately are on the spot to veto the project in
Page 483
the interest of their trade. If the issue is oil, Russia will raise objections, and
even the Powers who are least concerned will make their agreement dependent
on some other agreement. Turkey’s fate is that of Sancho Panza and his dinner:
as soon as the minister of finance wishes to do anything, some diplomat gets up,
interrupts him and throws a veto in his teeth’ (Moravitz, op. cit., p. 70).
[416]And not only in England. ‘Even in 1859, a pamphlet, ascribed to Diergardt
of Viersen, a factory owner, was disseminated all over Germany, urging that
country to make sure of the East-Asiatic markets in good time. It advocated the
display of military force as the only means for getting commercial advantages
from the Japanese and the Eastern Asiatic nations in general. A German fleet,
built with the people’s small savings, had been a youthful dream, long since
brought under the hammer by Hannibal Fischer. Though Prussia had a few ships,
her naval power was not impressive. But in order to enter into commercial
negotiations with Eastern Asia, it was decided to equip a ship. Graf zu
Eulenburg, one of the ablest and most prudent Prussian statesmen, was
appointed chief of this mission which also had scientific objects. Under most
difficult conditions he carried out his commission with great skill, and though
the plan for simultaneous negotiations with the Hawaiian islands had to be given
up, the mission was otherwise successful. Though the Berlin press of that time
knew better, declaring whenever a new difficulty was reported, that it was only
to be expected, and denouncing all expenditure on naval demonstrations as a
waste of the taxpayers’ money, the ministry of the new era remained steadfast,
and the harvest of success was reaped by the ministry that followed’ (W. Lotz,
Die Ideen der deutschen Handelspolitik, p. 80).
[417]Following on the preliminary discussion between Michel Chevalier and
Richard Cobden on behalf of the French and English governments, ‘official
negotiations were shortly entered upon and were conducted with the greatest
secrecy. On January 1, 1860, Napoleon III announced his intentions in a
memorandum addressed to M. Fould, the Minister of State. This declaration
came like a bolt from the blue. After the events of the past year, the general
belief was that no attempt would be made to modify the tariff system before
1861. Feelings ran high, but all the same the treaty was signed on January 23’
(Auguste Devers, La politique commerciale de la France depuis 1860. Schriften
des Vereins für Sozialpolitik, vol. 51, p. 136).
[418]Between 1857 and 1868, the revision along liberal lines of the Russian
tariffs and the ultimate writing-off of the insane system of kantrin with regard to
protective tariffs were a manifestation and corollary of the progressive reforms
which the disastrous Crimean wars had made inevitable. But the reduction of
customs duties reflected the concern of the landowning gentry who, both as
consumers of foreign goods and as producers of grain for export, were interested
in unrestricted commerce between Russia and Western Europe. The champion of
agrarian interests, the ‘Free Economic Association’ stated: ‘During the last sixty
years, between 1822 and 1882, agriculture, Russia’s largest producer, was
brought to a precarious position owing to four great setbacks. These could in
every case be directly attributed to excessive tariffs. On the other hand, the
thirty-two years between 1845 and 1877 when tariffs were moderate went by
without any such emergency, in spite of three foreign wars and one civil war
[meaning the Polish insurrection of 1863—R. L.], every one of which proved a
greater or less strain on the financial resources of the state’ (Memorandum of the
even the Powers who are least concerned will make their agreement dependent
on some other agreement. Turkey’s fate is that of Sancho Panza and his dinner:
as soon as the minister of finance wishes to do anything, some diplomat gets up,
interrupts him and throws a veto in his teeth’ (Moravitz, op. cit., p. 70).
[416]And not only in England. ‘Even in 1859, a pamphlet, ascribed to Diergardt
of Viersen, a factory owner, was disseminated all over Germany, urging that
country to make sure of the East-Asiatic markets in good time. It advocated the
display of military force as the only means for getting commercial advantages
from the Japanese and the Eastern Asiatic nations in general. A German fleet,
built with the people’s small savings, had been a youthful dream, long since
brought under the hammer by Hannibal Fischer. Though Prussia had a few ships,
her naval power was not impressive. But in order to enter into commercial
negotiations with Eastern Asia, it was decided to equip a ship. Graf zu
Eulenburg, one of the ablest and most prudent Prussian statesmen, was
appointed chief of this mission which also had scientific objects. Under most
difficult conditions he carried out his commission with great skill, and though
the plan for simultaneous negotiations with the Hawaiian islands had to be given
up, the mission was otherwise successful. Though the Berlin press of that time
knew better, declaring whenever a new difficulty was reported, that it was only
to be expected, and denouncing all expenditure on naval demonstrations as a
waste of the taxpayers’ money, the ministry of the new era remained steadfast,
and the harvest of success was reaped by the ministry that followed’ (W. Lotz,
Die Ideen der deutschen Handelspolitik, p. 80).
[417]Following on the preliminary discussion between Michel Chevalier and
Richard Cobden on behalf of the French and English governments, ‘official
negotiations were shortly entered upon and were conducted with the greatest
secrecy. On January 1, 1860, Napoleon III announced his intentions in a
memorandum addressed to M. Fould, the Minister of State. This declaration
came like a bolt from the blue. After the events of the past year, the general
belief was that no attempt would be made to modify the tariff system before
1861. Feelings ran high, but all the same the treaty was signed on January 23’
(Auguste Devers, La politique commerciale de la France depuis 1860. Schriften
des Vereins für Sozialpolitik, vol. 51, p. 136).
[418]Between 1857 and 1868, the revision along liberal lines of the Russian
tariffs and the ultimate writing-off of the insane system of kantrin with regard to
protective tariffs were a manifestation and corollary of the progressive reforms
which the disastrous Crimean wars had made inevitable. But the reduction of
customs duties reflected the concern of the landowning gentry who, both as
consumers of foreign goods and as producers of grain for export, were interested
in unrestricted commerce between Russia and Western Europe. The champion of
agrarian interests, the ‘Free Economic Association’ stated: ‘During the last sixty
years, between 1822 and 1882, agriculture, Russia’s largest producer, was
brought to a precarious position owing to four great setbacks. These could in
every case be directly attributed to excessive tariffs. On the other hand, the
thirty-two years between 1845 and 1877 when tariffs were moderate went by
without any such emergency, in spite of three foreign wars and one civil war
[meaning the Polish insurrection of 1863—R. L.], every one of which proved a
greater or less strain on the financial resources of the state’ (Memorandum of the
Page 484
Imperial Free Economic Association on Revising Russian Tariffs (St. Petersburg,
1890), p. 148). As late as the nineties, then, the scientific spokesman of the Free
Trade Movement, the said ‘Free Economic Association’, had to agitate against
protective tariffs as a ‘contrivance to transplant’ capitalist industry to Russia. In
a reactionary ‘populist’ spirit, it denounced capitalism as a breeding ground for
the modern proletariat, ‘those masses of shiftless people without home or
property who have nothing to lose and have long been in ill repute’ (p. 191).
This is proof enough that until most recent times the Russian champions of Free
Trade, or at least of moderate tariffs, did not to any appreciable extent represent
the interests of industrial capital. Cf. also K. Lodyshenski: The History of the
Russian Tariffs (St. Petersburg, 1886), pp. 239-58.
[419]This is also the opinion of F. Engels. In one of his letters to Nikolayon, on
June 18, 1892, he writes: ‘English authors, blinded by their patriotic interests,
completely fail to grasp why the whole world so stubbornly rejects England’s
example of free trade and adopts in its place the principle of protective tariffs. Of
course, they simply dare not admit even to themselves that the system of
protective tariffs, by now almost universal, is merely a defensive measure
against English free trade which was instrumental in perfecting England’s
industrial monopoly. Such a defence policy may be more or less reasonable—in
some cases it is downright stupid, as for instance in Germany who under the
system of free trade had become a great industrial power and now imposes
protective tariffs on agricultural products and raw materials, thus increasing the
cost of her industrial production. In my view this universal reversion to
protective tariffs is not a mere accident but the reaction against England’s
intolerable industrial monopoly. The form which this reaction takes, as I said
before, may be wrong, inadequate and even worse, but its historical necessity
seems to me quite clear and obvious’ (Letters of Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
to Nikolayon (St. Petersburg, 1908), p. 71).
[420]Dr. Renner indeed makes this assumption the basis of his treatise on
taxation. ‘Every particle of value created in the course of one year is made up of
these four parts: profit, interest, rent, and wages; and annual taxation, then, can
only be levied upon these’ (Das arbeitende Volk und die Steuern, Vienna, 1909).
Though Renner immediately goes on to mention peasants, he cursorily dismisses
them in a single sentence: ‘A peasant e.g. is simultaneously entrepreneur,
worker, and landowner, his agricultural proceeds yield him wage, profit, and
rent, all in one.’ Obviously, it is an empty abstraction to apply simultaneously all
the categories of capitalist production to the peasantry, to conceive of the peasant
as entrepreneur, wage labourer and landlord all in one person. If, like Renner, we
want to put the peasant into a single category, his peculiarity for economics lies
in the very fact that he belongs neither to the class of capitalist entrepreneurs nor
to that of the wage proletariat, that he is not a representative of capitalism at all
but of simple commodity production.
[421]It would go beyond the scope of the present treatise to deal with cartels and
trusts as specific phenomena of the imperialist phase. They are due to the
internal competitive struggle between individual capitalist groups for a
monopoly of the existing spheres for accumulation and for the distribution of
profits.
[422]In a reply to Vorontsov, Professor Manuilov, for example, wrote what was
then greatly praised by the Russian Marxists: ‘In this context, we must
1890), p. 148). As late as the nineties, then, the scientific spokesman of the Free
Trade Movement, the said ‘Free Economic Association’, had to agitate against
protective tariffs as a ‘contrivance to transplant’ capitalist industry to Russia. In
a reactionary ‘populist’ spirit, it denounced capitalism as a breeding ground for
the modern proletariat, ‘those masses of shiftless people without home or
property who have nothing to lose and have long been in ill repute’ (p. 191).
This is proof enough that until most recent times the Russian champions of Free
Trade, or at least of moderate tariffs, did not to any appreciable extent represent
the interests of industrial capital. Cf. also K. Lodyshenski: The History of the
Russian Tariffs (St. Petersburg, 1886), pp. 239-58.
[419]This is also the opinion of F. Engels. In one of his letters to Nikolayon, on
June 18, 1892, he writes: ‘English authors, blinded by their patriotic interests,
completely fail to grasp why the whole world so stubbornly rejects England’s
example of free trade and adopts in its place the principle of protective tariffs. Of
course, they simply dare not admit even to themselves that the system of
protective tariffs, by now almost universal, is merely a defensive measure
against English free trade which was instrumental in perfecting England’s
industrial monopoly. Such a defence policy may be more or less reasonable—in
some cases it is downright stupid, as for instance in Germany who under the
system of free trade had become a great industrial power and now imposes
protective tariffs on agricultural products and raw materials, thus increasing the
cost of her industrial production. In my view this universal reversion to
protective tariffs is not a mere accident but the reaction against England’s
intolerable industrial monopoly. The form which this reaction takes, as I said
before, may be wrong, inadequate and even worse, but its historical necessity
seems to me quite clear and obvious’ (Letters of Karl Marx and Frederick Engels
to Nikolayon (St. Petersburg, 1908), p. 71).
[420]Dr. Renner indeed makes this assumption the basis of his treatise on
taxation. ‘Every particle of value created in the course of one year is made up of
these four parts: profit, interest, rent, and wages; and annual taxation, then, can
only be levied upon these’ (Das arbeitende Volk und die Steuern, Vienna, 1909).
Though Renner immediately goes on to mention peasants, he cursorily dismisses
them in a single sentence: ‘A peasant e.g. is simultaneously entrepreneur,
worker, and landowner, his agricultural proceeds yield him wage, profit, and
rent, all in one.’ Obviously, it is an empty abstraction to apply simultaneously all
the categories of capitalist production to the peasantry, to conceive of the peasant
as entrepreneur, wage labourer and landlord all in one person. If, like Renner, we
want to put the peasant into a single category, his peculiarity for economics lies
in the very fact that he belongs neither to the class of capitalist entrepreneurs nor
to that of the wage proletariat, that he is not a representative of capitalism at all
but of simple commodity production.
[421]It would go beyond the scope of the present treatise to deal with cartels and
trusts as specific phenomena of the imperialist phase. They are due to the
internal competitive struggle between individual capitalist groups for a
monopoly of the existing spheres for accumulation and for the distribution of
profits.
[422]In a reply to Vorontsov, Professor Manuilov, for example, wrote what was
then greatly praised by the Russian Marxists: ‘In this context, we must
Page 485
distinguish strictly between a group of entrepreneurs producing weapons of war
and the capitalist class as a whole. For the manufacturers of guns, rifles and
other war materials, the existence of militarism is no doubt profitable and
indispensable. It is indeed quite possible that the abolition of the system of
armed peace would spell ruin for Krupp. The point at issue, however, is not a
special group of entrepreneurs but the capitalists as a class, capitalist production
as a whole.’ In this connection, however, it should be noted that ‘if the burden of
taxation falls chiefly on the working population, every increase of this burden
diminishes the purchasing power of the population and hence the demand for
commodities’. This fact is taken as proof that militarism, under the aspect of
armament production, does indeed ‘enrich one group of capitalists, but at the
same time it injures all others, spelling gain on the one hand but loss on the
other’ (Vesnik Prava, Journal of the Law Society (St. Petersburg, 1890), no. 1,
‘Militarism and Capitalism’).
[423]Ultimately, the deterioration of the normal conditions under which labour
power is renewed will bring about a deterioration of labour itself, it will
diminish the average efficiency and productivity of labour, and thus jeopardise
the conditions for the production of surplus value. But capital will not feel these
results for a long time, and so they do not immediately enter into its economic
calculations, except in so far as they bring about more drastic defensive
measures of the wage labourers in general.
and the capitalist class as a whole. For the manufacturers of guns, rifles and
other war materials, the existence of militarism is no doubt profitable and
indispensable. It is indeed quite possible that the abolition of the system of
armed peace would spell ruin for Krupp. The point at issue, however, is not a
special group of entrepreneurs but the capitalists as a class, capitalist production
as a whole.’ In this connection, however, it should be noted that ‘if the burden of
taxation falls chiefly on the working population, every increase of this burden
diminishes the purchasing power of the population and hence the demand for
commodities’. This fact is taken as proof that militarism, under the aspect of
armament production, does indeed ‘enrich one group of capitalists, but at the
same time it injures all others, spelling gain on the one hand but loss on the
other’ (Vesnik Prava, Journal of the Law Society (St. Petersburg, 1890), no. 1,
‘Militarism and Capitalism’).
[423]Ultimately, the deterioration of the normal conditions under which labour
power is renewed will bring about a deterioration of labour itself, it will
diminish the average efficiency and productivity of labour, and thus jeopardise
the conditions for the production of surplus value. But capital will not feel these
results for a long time, and so they do not immediately enter into its economic
calculations, except in so far as they bring about more drastic defensive
measures of the wage labourers in general.
Page 486
INDEX
Abstinence, 43, 102, 108, 118, 150, 235, 240, 280, 334
Accumulation, its impossibility respective unrestricted possibility 23, 188f.,
198ff., 216, 237, 268, 303, 311, 325
— primitive, 161, 272, 364, 369f., 454
Africa, 352, 363f., 382, 386;
South, 411ff., 420, 451
Algeria, under French rule, 371, 377ff.;
under Turkish rule, 378
Allard, General, 381
America, 290, 352, 420, 422, 428;
United States of, 173, 293ff., 297, 307f., 357f., 362f., 379, 396, 398, 402,
404f., 409ff., 424ff., 432;
States of South, 420, 422ff.
American Civil War (War of Secession), 357f., 363, 396, 398f., 402, 424f.,
430
Anton, G., 385
Arabs, 377, 380, 382ff.
Asia, 247, 290, 420ff., 443ff., 450
Australia, 420, 426f.
Baring, E., Earl of Cromer, 434
Barter, 213, 215f., 222, 229
Bastiat-Schultze, F., 238, 268
Bentham, J., 372
Bergmann, 211
Bismarck, 448
Blackhouse, E. T., 392, 394
Blanc, L., 227
Bland, L. O., 392, 394
Blanqui, 227
Boer Republics, 411, 414ff.
— War, 415
Bouding, 319f.
Abstinence, 43, 102, 108, 118, 150, 235, 240, 280, 334
Accumulation, its impossibility respective unrestricted possibility 23, 188f.,
198ff., 216, 237, 268, 303, 311, 325
— primitive, 161, 272, 364, 369f., 454
Africa, 352, 363f., 382, 386;
South, 411ff., 420, 451
Algeria, under French rule, 371, 377ff.;
under Turkish rule, 378
Allard, General, 381
America, 290, 352, 420, 422, 428;
United States of, 173, 293ff., 297, 307f., 357f., 362f., 379, 396, 398, 402,
404f., 409ff., 424ff., 432;
States of South, 420, 422ff.
American Civil War (War of Secession), 357f., 363, 396, 398f., 402, 424f.,
430
Anton, G., 385
Arabs, 377, 380, 382ff.
Asia, 247, 290, 420ff., 443ff., 450
Australia, 420, 426f.
Baring, E., Earl of Cromer, 434
Barter, 213, 215f., 222, 229
Bastiat-Schultze, F., 238, 268
Bentham, J., 372
Bergmann, 211
Bismarck, 448
Blackhouse, E. T., 392, 394
Blanc, L., 227
Bland, L. O., 392, 394
Blanqui, 227
Boer Republics, 411, 414ff.
— War, 415
Bouding, 319f.
Page 487
Brandt, M. V., 392
Bright, 447
Brissot, 265
Bruce, General, 391
Bryce, J., 363, 412
Buecher, Prof., 307f.
Bulgakov, 275, 298-310, 311, 313, 315, 317, 320, 324ff.
Cabet, 227
Cameron, 439
Canada, 408f.
Capital and income (Marx), 108;
(Rodbertus), 262ff.;
(Say), 56;
(Sismondi), 179ff., 215, 423;
(Adam Smith), 53f., 58ff., 74ff., 83
— circulating, 37, 57ff., 64, 74ff., 83, 85f., 156f., 166, 183ff., 259, 354
— constant, 13f., 18f., 22f., 38, 44, 51, 53, 64, 72f., 83, 85f., 88, 94f., 97,
100ff., 109ff., 123ff., 137, 141, 143, 147, 149, 153, 156ff., 187ff., 200, 208,
236, 256, 258, 298f., 302, 304f., 336f., 339, 344, 354ff., 359, 361, 365f.,
458, 463
— — definition of, 37, 72, 76f.
— fixed, 19, 50, 53, 57ff., 74ff., 83, 85ff., 111, 140, 147, 158, 166, 184ff.,
259, 341, 354
— national (per se), 54, 263
— productive, 43f., 97, 140, 148f., 157, 163, 420
— total social, 31, 49f., 53f., 59, 65, 79, 83, 86, 88, 96f., 101, 103, 107f.,
110, 118, 147, 156, 169, 180, 341, 349f.
— variable, 14, 18f., 22, 38, 44, 74f., 85, 94ff., 99, 101, 105, 109ff., 114ff.,
123, 125ff., 134, 137, 151ff., 156, 159, 161, 182f., 185ff., 207, 209, 234,
253, 256, 258, 302, 306, 334, 336, 344, 346, 350, 354f., 357, 359ff., 365f.,
428, 457f., 460, 463f.;
definition, 37, 77;
in relation to surplus value, 252, 258, 337;
in relation to constant capital, 111, 303, 317, 321, 337, 339f.
Cavour, 449
Chartist movement, 227, 267
Chernishevski, 273
Bright, 447
Brissot, 265
Bruce, General, 391
Bryce, J., 363, 412
Buecher, Prof., 307f.
Bulgakov, 275, 298-310, 311, 313, 315, 317, 320, 324ff.
Cabet, 227
Cameron, 439
Canada, 408f.
Capital and income (Marx), 108;
(Rodbertus), 262ff.;
(Say), 56;
(Sismondi), 179ff., 215, 423;
(Adam Smith), 53f., 58ff., 74ff., 83
— circulating, 37, 57ff., 64, 74ff., 83, 85f., 156f., 166, 183ff., 259, 354
— constant, 13f., 18f., 22f., 38, 44, 51, 53, 64, 72f., 83, 85f., 88, 94f., 97,
100ff., 109ff., 123ff., 137, 141, 143, 147, 149, 153, 156ff., 187ff., 200, 208,
236, 256, 258, 298f., 302, 304f., 336f., 339, 344, 354ff., 359, 361, 365f.,
458, 463
— — definition of, 37, 72, 76f.
— fixed, 19, 50, 53, 57ff., 74ff., 83, 85ff., 111, 140, 147, 158, 166, 184ff.,
259, 341, 354
— national (per se), 54, 263
— productive, 43f., 97, 140, 148f., 157, 163, 420
— total social, 31, 49f., 53f., 59, 65, 79, 83, 86, 88, 96f., 101, 103, 107f.,
110, 118, 147, 156, 169, 180, 341, 349f.
— variable, 14, 18f., 22, 38, 44, 74f., 85, 94ff., 99, 101, 105, 109ff., 114ff.,
123, 125ff., 134, 137, 151ff., 156, 159, 161, 182f., 185ff., 207, 209, 234,
253, 256, 258, 302, 306, 334, 336, 344, 346, 350, 354f., 357, 359ff., 365f.,
428, 457f., 460, 463f.;
definition, 37, 77;
in relation to surplus value, 252, 258, 337;
in relation to constant capital, 111, 303, 317, 321, 337, 339f.
Cavour, 449
Chartist movement, 227, 267
Chernishevski, 273
Page 488
Chesney, Colonel, 439
Chevalier, M., 448
China, 41, 247, 289, 353, 373, 386ff., 419, 428;
Dowager Empress of, 392ff.
Class antagonism, 181
— rule, 78, 452, 456, 464
— society, 41
Cobden, R., 447f.
Colonial policy, 185, 247, 363f., 369ff., 419, 425, 451f., 454, 466
— — English in India, 88, 247, 371, 374f., 383
— — French in North Africa, 371, 380, 382
Commodity economy, see Economy
— Exchange, 81f., 85, 93f., 97ff., 118, 129f., 193f., 233, 270, 386, 428,
438, 443, 452, 454
— surplus, 195ff., 276-83
Communism, 263, 369, 378, 384
Compensation, theory of, 203
Competition, 21, 23, 40, 46, 48, 191, 202, 205, 207, 209, 230, 242, 259,
283, 297, 332, 342, 344, 368, 416, 419, 446, 450, 457, 466;
‘peaceful —’, 386, 452
Contradictions latent in capitalism, 202, 218, 227f., 239, 271, 286ff.
Corn Laws, 231
Corvée, 33, 39, 42, 84, 369, 395
Crises, 14, 35f., 41, 46, 103f., 173, 176f., 191, 194, 199, 201ff., 211, 213,
216, 218, 222, 227f., 232, 235ff., 244ff., 261, 268, 272, 274, 281f., 286,
298, 305, 312ff., 318f., 323f., 332, 342, 346f., 419, 422, 424, 426, 428, 467
Crusoe, Robinson, 179, 182, 185, 261ff.
Chevalier, M., 448
China, 41, 247, 289, 353, 373, 386ff., 419, 428;
Dowager Empress of, 392ff.
Class antagonism, 181
— rule, 78, 452, 456, 464
— society, 41
Cobden, R., 447f.
Colonial policy, 185, 247, 363f., 369ff., 419, 425, 451f., 454, 466
— — English in India, 88, 247, 371, 374f., 383
— — French in North Africa, 371, 380, 382
Commodity economy, see Economy
— Exchange, 81f., 85, 93f., 97ff., 118, 129f., 193f., 233, 270, 386, 428,
438, 443, 452, 454
— surplus, 195ff., 276-83
Communism, 263, 369, 378, 384
Compensation, theory of, 203
Competition, 21, 23, 40, 46, 48, 191, 202, 205, 207, 209, 230, 242, 259,
283, 297, 332, 342, 344, 368, 416, 419, 446, 450, 457, 466;
‘peaceful —’, 386, 452
Contradictions latent in capitalism, 202, 218, 227f., 239, 271, 286ff.
Corn Laws, 231
Corvée, 33, 39, 42, 84, 369, 395
Crises, 14, 35f., 41, 46, 103f., 173, 176f., 191, 194, 199, 201ff., 211, 213,
216, 218, 222, 227f., 232, 235ff., 244ff., 261, 268, 272, 274, 281f., 286,
298, 305, 312ff., 318f., 323f., 332, 342, 346f., 419, 422, 424, 426, 428, 467
Crusoe, Robinson, 179, 182, 185, 261ff.
Page 489
Dalrymple, Oliver, 403f., 409
Declining wage rate, 20f., 229, 241, 244, 250f., 253, 258f.
Delamarre, Abbé, 393
Demand and supply (production), 36, 46, 133, 192f., 195, 200, 206, 212,
220ff., 230f., 242, 248, 324
— effective, 20, 34, 39, 131, 134, 155, 164f., 193f., 286, 329, 458, 461,
465f.
Devers, A., 448
Dialectical approach, 69, 205, 209, 265, 366
Diehl, Prof., 228f., 256, 266f.
Division of Labour, 79, 104, 128f., 148, 193, 233, 278, 297, 307f., 319,
321f.
Duehring, 194
East India Company, 375f., 386f., 411
Economics, bourgeois, 31, 49, 51, 68f., 106, 108, 112, 137, 170, 173f., 177,
179, 181, 189f., 209, 215, 218, 244, 268, 271, 279f., 295, 310, 325f.;
classical, 35, 57, 65, 67ff., 105, 108f., 179, 188f., 200, 203, 208, 210,
216, 227ff., 237, 238-252, 254, 256, 258, 266, 279, 325, 383, 446;
vulgar, 35f., 81, 108, 177, 211f., 320
Economy, commodity, 368ff., 386-394, 402, 417, 419f., 427f., 449, 465
— natural, 42, 255, 293, 368-385, 386, 402, 415, 417, 419, 427, 443
— peasant, handicrafts and domestic industries, 41, 289, 296, 358, 369,
374, 395-418, 435, 438, 444f., 465
— rural, 272
Egypt, 41, 201f., 353, 358, 425, 429ff., 450f.
Elgin, Lord, 391f.
Engels, Friedrich, 95, 102, 154, 166, 168, 194, 228, 241, 250, 275, 288ff.,
294, 449f.
England, 173ff., 191, 218f., 227ff., 241, 245, 277, 286, 293, 297, 307f.,
313, 316, 318, 352, 357, 366f., 391, 393, 410, 412, 420ff., 447ff.
English cotton industry, 297, 342, 352, 357f., 362, 422
Exploitation, 17, 21ff., 46, 73f., 108, 116, 181ff., 196, 220, 228, 241, 247,
255, 334, 343f., 358ff., 364, 374, 386, 428, 445, 451, 456
Eyth, Engineer, 431, 437
Family Associations, 374, 377, 380f.
Feudal system, 210, 293, 365, 368f., 381f.
Declining wage rate, 20f., 229, 241, 244, 250f., 253, 258f.
Delamarre, Abbé, 393
Demand and supply (production), 36, 46, 133, 192f., 195, 200, 206, 212,
220ff., 230f., 242, 248, 324
— effective, 20, 34, 39, 131, 134, 155, 164f., 193f., 286, 329, 458, 461,
465f.
Devers, A., 448
Dialectical approach, 69, 205, 209, 265, 366
Diehl, Prof., 228f., 256, 266f.
Division of Labour, 79, 104, 128f., 148, 193, 233, 278, 297, 307f., 319,
321f.
Duehring, 194
East India Company, 375f., 386f., 411
Economics, bourgeois, 31, 49, 51, 68f., 106, 108, 112, 137, 170, 173f., 177,
179, 181, 189f., 209, 215, 218, 244, 268, 271, 279f., 295, 310, 325f.;
classical, 35, 57, 65, 67ff., 105, 108f., 179, 188f., 200, 203, 208, 210,
216, 227ff., 237, 238-252, 254, 256, 258, 266, 279, 325, 383, 446;
vulgar, 35f., 81, 108, 177, 211f., 320
Economy, commodity, 368ff., 386-394, 402, 417, 419f., 427f., 449, 465
— natural, 42, 255, 293, 368-385, 386, 402, 415, 417, 419, 427, 443
— peasant, handicrafts and domestic industries, 41, 289, 296, 358, 369,
374, 395-418, 435, 438, 444f., 465
— rural, 272
Egypt, 41, 201f., 353, 358, 425, 429ff., 450f.
Elgin, Lord, 391f.
Engels, Friedrich, 95, 102, 154, 166, 168, 194, 228, 241, 250, 275, 288ff.,
294, 449f.
England, 173ff., 191, 218f., 227ff., 241, 245, 277, 286, 293, 297, 307f.,
313, 316, 318, 352, 357, 366f., 391, 393, 410, 412, 420ff., 447ff.
English cotton industry, 297, 342, 352, 357f., 362, 422
Exploitation, 17, 21ff., 46, 73f., 108, 116, 181ff., 196, 220, 228, 241, 247,
255, 334, 343f., 358ff., 364, 374, 386, 428, 445, 451, 456
Eyth, Engineer, 431, 437
Family Associations, 374, 377, 380f.
Feudal system, 210, 293, 365, 368f., 381f.
Page 490
Foreign trade, 136, 205f., 236, 246, 282, 297, 306, 309, 313, 350;
see also market
Fowler’s Works, 431
France, 174, 177, 191, 214, 218, 227, 291, 296, 379, 391, 393, 420f., 431f.,
445, 448ff.
Franke, O., 373, 393
Free Trade, 205, 238, 242, 447ff.
General public (grand public), 135, 295, 298
Germany, 173, 271, 296f., 308, 366f., 420ff., 427, 442, 448ff.
Gold, production of, 99ff., 141, 154, 301f.
Great Britain, see England
Gros, 392
Hangers-on of the capitalist class, cf. also Third persons, 14, 81f., 112,
134f., 222f., 295, 332f., 350, 420, 454ff., 464
Hanotaux, A., 378
Hansen, 26
Harmony, doctrine of, 173, 177, 200, 203f., 211ff., 228f., 238, 271, 305,
325f., 446f.
Harrod, 19
Hermann, 243
Herodotus, 88f., 372
Hertzen, 273
Hicks, 28
Hobson, 21, 314
Ilyin, V., 189, 275, 287, 303, 309, 317, 320
Imperialism, 28, 320, 368, 416ff., 421, 445f., 452
India, 41f., 72, 88, 247, 286, 308, 352f., 365, 371ff., 380, 387, 425, 428,
454
Indian famine, 376, 382
— mutiny, 247, 374
Industrial reserve army, 15, 108, 111, 361
Intelligentsia, 273ff.
Ismail Pasha, 33, 431ff., 438
Issayev, Prof., 275
Italy, 173, 449ff.
see also market
Fowler’s Works, 431
France, 174, 177, 191, 214, 218, 227, 291, 296, 379, 391, 393, 420f., 431f.,
445, 448ff.
Franke, O., 373, 393
Free Trade, 205, 238, 242, 447ff.
General public (grand public), 135, 295, 298
Germany, 173, 271, 296f., 308, 366f., 420ff., 427, 442, 448ff.
Gold, production of, 99ff., 141, 154, 301f.
Great Britain, see England
Gros, 392
Hangers-on of the capitalist class, cf. also Third persons, 14, 81f., 112,
134f., 222f., 295, 332f., 350, 420, 454ff., 464
Hanotaux, A., 378
Hansen, 26
Harmony, doctrine of, 173, 177, 200, 203f., 211ff., 228f., 238, 271, 305,
325f., 446f.
Harrod, 19
Hermann, 243
Herodotus, 88f., 372
Hertzen, 273
Hicks, 28
Hobson, 21, 314
Ilyin, V., 189, 275, 287, 303, 309, 317, 320
Imperialism, 28, 320, 368, 416ff., 421, 445f., 452
India, 41f., 72, 88, 247, 286, 308, 352f., 365, 371ff., 380, 387, 425, 428,
454
Indian famine, 376, 382
— mutiny, 247, 374
Industrial reserve army, 15, 108, 111, 361
Intelligentsia, 273ff.
Ismail Pasha, 33, 431ff., 438
Issayev, Prof., 275
Italy, 173, 449ff.
Page 491
Japan, 247, 353
Kablukov, Prof., 275
Kaffir, 411ff.
— Wars, 411, 413
Kalecki, 23
Kant, I., 326
Kareyev, 274
Kautsky, K., 228, 267, 318ff.
Keynes, Lord, 20f., 26
Kirchmann, v., 227-37, 238, 244, 248, 250, 252f., 260f., 266, 268, 309f.,
351, 366
Kovalevski, M., 373, 375f., 384
Labour, abstract and concrete, 67ff., 72, 105
— intellectual and material, 77
— paid and unpaid, 37ff., 55, 62, 65ff., 71, 73, 75, 98, 322f., 343
— past and present, 66f., 70, 75, 80, 88f.
— problem, 363f.
Labour, progressive productivity of, its capitalist and general social
expression, 258, 321f., 335f., 349, 357
Lafargue, 399, 404
Laissez-faire, 173, 238, 274
Lassalle, F., 228
Lavrov, P., 274
Lenin, Vladimir Ilyich, see Ilyin
Letournaux, A., 378
Lexis, 266
Leyden, V. v., 377
List, F., 307
Livingstone, Dr., 411
Loans, international, 387, 419-45, 451f.
Lodyshenski, K., 449
Lotz, W., 448
Lucas, C. P., 414
Luxury goods, 81, 102, 163, 197ff., 208, 235ff., 260, 277
MacCulloch, J. R., 177, 189, 191-202, 203, 206f., 211, 220, 222, 229, 233,
264, 335
Kablukov, Prof., 275
Kaffir, 411ff.
— Wars, 411, 413
Kalecki, 23
Kant, I., 326
Kareyev, 274
Kautsky, K., 228, 267, 318ff.
Keynes, Lord, 20f., 26
Kirchmann, v., 227-37, 238, 244, 248, 250, 252f., 260f., 266, 268, 309f.,
351, 366
Kovalevski, M., 373, 375f., 384
Labour, abstract and concrete, 67ff., 72, 105
— intellectual and material, 77
— paid and unpaid, 37ff., 55, 62, 65ff., 71, 73, 75, 98, 322f., 343
— past and present, 66f., 70, 75, 80, 88f.
— problem, 363f.
Labour, progressive productivity of, its capitalist and general social
expression, 258, 321f., 335f., 349, 357
Lafargue, 399, 404
Laissez-faire, 173, 238, 274
Lassalle, F., 228
Lavrov, P., 274
Lenin, Vladimir Ilyich, see Ilyin
Letournaux, A., 378
Lexis, 266
Leyden, V. v., 377
List, F., 307
Livingstone, Dr., 411
Loans, international, 387, 419-45, 451f.
Lodyshenski, K., 449
Lotz, W., 448
Lucas, C. P., 414
Luxury goods, 81, 102, 163, 197ff., 208, 235ff., 260, 277
MacCulloch, J. R., 177, 189, 191-202, 203, 206f., 211, 220, 222, 229, 233,
264, 335
Page 492
Maine, Sir Henry, 373f.
Malthus, 24, 181, 211, 217, 219-23, 229, 298, 305, 309, 350
Manuilov, Prof., 275, 460
Market, internal and external, 236, 246, 277f., 283ff., 292, 294f., 299,
306ff., 316
— concept revised, 366
— problem of, 229f., 235, 277, 284, 289, 312ff., 345ff.
Marx, K., 13f., 16ff., 31, 36f., 43, 49, 51, 54, 60, 62ff., 76-92, 95, 99ff.,
120-38, 139-54, 155ff., 189, 203, 205, 212, 215, 217f., 220, 223, 228, 233,
241, 243f., 255f., 258, 264, 268, 274f., 281f., 287, 295, 298-310, 311f.,
316ff., 320, 324f., 329ff., 348, 350f., 357, 359ff., 417;
his diagram of capitalist reproduction, 84, 97, 99ff., 104, 113, 118f., 127,
274, 298-310, 311, 417, 428, 455;
his diagram of enlarged reproduction, 120-138, 304f., 313ff., 318, 323f.,
329-47, 348, 353f., 359, 361, 417, 458ff.;
his diagram of simple reproduction, 76, 92, 103, 107, 112, 114, 173, 264,
299, 351, 361, 418
Marxism, 272ff., 310, 326;
‘legalist’, 275, 292, 294, 303, 305f., 317, 323, 324-6460;
‘orthodox’, 318
Mehemet Ali, 429, 435
Mehring, F., 228, 266f.
Mikhailovski, Prof., 274
Militarism, 27, 248, 276, 282, 298, 309, 350, 371, 439, 454-67
Mill, James, 191, 212, 220ff., 372f., 375, 383
Mill, John Stuart, 279
Money, as form of pure value, 38f., 43f., 76, 140
— circulation, 20, 50, 93-106, 139ff., 148, 193, 213, 300ff., 324
— sources, 144ff., 151ff., 156, 158ff., 300ff.
Monroe, President, 402
Moravitz, C., 443, 445
Most Favoured Nations Clause, 448
Napoleon Bonaparte, 173
Napoleon III, 431, 448
Negroes, 362ff., 411ff.
Neo-Marxists, 291
Neo-Mercantilism, 296
Malthus, 24, 181, 211, 217, 219-23, 229, 298, 305, 309, 350
Manuilov, Prof., 275, 460
Market, internal and external, 236, 246, 277f., 283ff., 292, 294f., 299,
306ff., 316
— concept revised, 366
— problem of, 229f., 235, 277, 284, 289, 312ff., 345ff.
Marx, K., 13f., 16ff., 31, 36f., 43, 49, 51, 54, 60, 62ff., 76-92, 95, 99ff.,
120-38, 139-54, 155ff., 189, 203, 205, 212, 215, 217f., 220, 223, 228, 233,
241, 243f., 255f., 258, 264, 268, 274f., 281f., 287, 295, 298-310, 311f.,
316ff., 320, 324f., 329ff., 348, 350f., 357, 359ff., 417;
his diagram of capitalist reproduction, 84, 97, 99ff., 104, 113, 118f., 127,
274, 298-310, 311, 417, 428, 455;
his diagram of enlarged reproduction, 120-138, 304f., 313ff., 318, 323f.,
329-47, 348, 353f., 359, 361, 417, 458ff.;
his diagram of simple reproduction, 76, 92, 103, 107, 112, 114, 173, 264,
299, 351, 361, 418
Marxism, 272ff., 310, 326;
‘legalist’, 275, 292, 294, 303, 305f., 317, 323, 324-6460;
‘orthodox’, 318
Mehemet Ali, 429, 435
Mehring, F., 228, 266f.
Mikhailovski, Prof., 274
Militarism, 27, 248, 276, 282, 298, 309, 350, 371, 439, 454-67
Mill, James, 191, 212, 220ff., 372f., 375, 383
Mill, John Stuart, 279
Money, as form of pure value, 38f., 43f., 76, 140
— circulation, 20, 50, 93-106, 139ff., 148, 193, 213, 300ff., 324
— sources, 144ff., 151ff., 156, 158ff., 300ff.
Monroe, President, 402
Moravitz, C., 443, 445
Most Favoured Nations Clause, 448
Napoleon Bonaparte, 173
Napoleon III, 431, 448
Negroes, 362ff., 411ff.
Neo-Marxists, 291
Neo-Mercantilism, 296
Page 493
Nikolayon, 275, 284-91, 292f., 299, 309, 351, 366, 408
Non-capitalist strata necessary for accumulation, 319f., 351ff., 357, 359,
361ff., 368, 386, 416, 427, 429, 446, 450, 452, 466
Nyok Ching Tsur, Dr., 395
Obshchina, 273, 288, 290
Opium Wars, 27, 247, 387, 391, 393, 447
Oppenheim, M. v., 439
Ort, 231f., 248, 252
Over-production, 91, 104, 149, 195, 199f., 213, 221, 235, 250, 252, 254,
279, 281f., 298, 324, 342
Owen, Robert, 174f., 191, 240
Palikao, Count, 392
Pan-Germans, 247
Peasantry, 27;
their expropriation, 288, 296, 362, 364, 369, 374f.
Peel, Sir Robert, 245
Peffer, Senator, 396, 398, 400f., 406f.
Physiocrats, 31, 49, 51, 56f., 62, 68, 71, 106, 233
Planned economy, 78f., 103f., 128ff., 195, 248, 312, 323
Plekhanov, Prof., 272, 275
Population increase, 15, 41, 78, 91, 107, 133f., 239, 360f., 371
Populism, 272ff., 283, 286ff., 303, 306, 309, 317, 325, 351
Positivism, 326
Pressel, Engineer, 441f.
Primitive social organisations, 32, 39, 41f., 72, 362, 368ff., 377, 415, 428,
454
Private enterprise, 79, 103, 248
Production, and consumption, 45f., 204, 211, 218, 244, 253, 260, 304f.,
324, 326, 343, 349
— for social requirements, 37, 42, 129, 133, 139, 220, 260, 285, 304f., 316
— its two departments, 16, 18f., 23, 25, 83ff., 95ff., 99, 102, 114ff., 123ff.,
127ff., 137, 233, 299, 323, 334, 336, 339ff., 353, 355, 417, 434
— capitalist, as creation of surplus value, 37ff., 42, 78, 84, 107, 343, 367,
427
— — as end in itself, 311, 316f., 320, 333, 346
— — its universal domination, 216f., 331, 333, 348, 351, 353, 361, 365,
Non-capitalist strata necessary for accumulation, 319f., 351ff., 357, 359,
361ff., 368, 386, 416, 427, 429, 446, 450, 452, 466
Nyok Ching Tsur, Dr., 395
Obshchina, 273, 288, 290
Opium Wars, 27, 247, 387, 391, 393, 447
Oppenheim, M. v., 439
Ort, 231f., 248, 252
Over-production, 91, 104, 149, 195, 199f., 213, 221, 235, 250, 252, 254,
279, 281f., 298, 324, 342
Owen, Robert, 174f., 191, 240
Palikao, Count, 392
Pan-Germans, 247
Peasantry, 27;
their expropriation, 288, 296, 362, 364, 369, 374f.
Peel, Sir Robert, 245
Peffer, Senator, 396, 398, 400f., 406f.
Physiocrats, 31, 49, 51, 56f., 62, 68, 71, 106, 233
Planned economy, 78f., 103f., 128ff., 195, 248, 312, 323
Plekhanov, Prof., 272, 275
Population increase, 15, 41, 78, 91, 107, 133f., 239, 360f., 371
Populism, 272ff., 283, 286ff., 303, 306, 309, 317, 325, 351
Positivism, 326
Pressel, Engineer, 441f.
Primitive social organisations, 32, 39, 41f., 72, 362, 368ff., 377, 415, 428,
454
Private enterprise, 79, 103, 248
Production, and consumption, 45f., 204, 211, 218, 244, 253, 260, 304f.,
324, 326, 343, 349
— for social requirements, 37, 42, 129, 133, 139, 220, 260, 285, 304f., 316
— its two departments, 16, 18f., 23, 25, 83ff., 95ff., 99, 102, 114ff., 123ff.,
127ff., 137, 233, 299, 323, 334, 336, 339ff., 353, 355, 417, 434
— capitalist, as creation of surplus value, 37ff., 42, 78, 84, 107, 343, 367,
427
— — as end in itself, 311, 316f., 320, 333, 346
— — its universal domination, 216f., 331, 333, 348, 351, 353, 361, 365,
Page 494
410, 417, 467
Productive consumption, 236f., 316
Profit, of enterprise, 38, 232, 234
— motive, 34, 305, 322f.
Profit, rate, 17, 23f., 79f., 167;
(declining) 259, 320, 326, 338, 343f., 367
Progress, 28, 79, 89, 130f., 204, 216, 245, 249, 258f., 274, 296, 320, 323,
339
Property, ownership, 214, 248f., 265, 380f., 413
— communal, 77, 248, 289, 379, 381
— in land, 256, 262, 264f., 370
— — vested in Sovereign, 372f., 380f.
— private, 196, 240, 322, 378, 380, 382ff.
Proudhon, 137, 227, 241, 264f.
Punjab Alienation Act, 376
Quesnay, 31, 48ff., 57, 62, 104f., 211
Railway construction, 289, 353, 398, 402, 409, 419ff., 425ff., 439, 445
Renner, K., 455
Rent, 38, 50ff., 57ff., 64, 68, 135, 181, 254f., 257, 266
Rentier, 223, 254
Reproduction, enlarged, 13, 40ff., 80, 89ff., 102, 107-19, 151, 155, 169,
184, 197, 209, 268, 300, 303, 312, 317f., 329, 335, 339f., 351, 353, 355,
429
— simple, 13, 15, 19, 41, 48, 98, 102, 104, 107f., 112f., 115, 127f., 130,
139, 143ff., 155f., 160ff., 165, 169, 187, 190, 197, 199f., 298, 300, 302,
312, 317, 329, 334, 338, 348, 351, 354
— transition from simple to enlarged, 123, 144f., 147, 150, 162f., 318;
see also Marx
Rhodes, Cecil, 413f., 416
Ricardo, D., 53f., 57, 62, 67f., 105f., 109f., 179, 181, 189, 191, 194ff., 203-
10, 211, 215ff., 229f., 232f., 237, 240f., 243ff., 248, 254, 257, 261, 266,
268, 271, 279ff., 305, 324f., 345f., 350, 366, 383, 447
‘Right to Work’, 227, 229f.
Roberts of Kandahar, Lord, 374
Rodbertus, 22f., 54, 227ff., 237, 238-51, 252-68, 271, 274, 281f., 351
Rothstein, Th., 436ff.
Productive consumption, 236f., 316
Profit, of enterprise, 38, 232, 234
— motive, 34, 305, 322f.
Profit, rate, 17, 23f., 79f., 167;
(declining) 259, 320, 326, 338, 343f., 367
Progress, 28, 79, 89, 130f., 204, 216, 245, 249, 258f., 274, 296, 320, 323,
339
Property, ownership, 214, 248f., 265, 380f., 413
— communal, 77, 248, 289, 379, 381
— in land, 256, 262, 264f., 370
— — vested in Sovereign, 372f., 380f.
— private, 196, 240, 322, 378, 380, 382ff.
Proudhon, 137, 227, 241, 264f.
Punjab Alienation Act, 376
Quesnay, 31, 48ff., 57, 62, 104f., 211
Railway construction, 289, 353, 398, 402, 409, 419ff., 425ff., 439, 445
Renner, K., 455
Rent, 38, 50ff., 57ff., 64, 68, 135, 181, 254f., 257, 266
Rentier, 223, 254
Reproduction, enlarged, 13, 40ff., 80, 89ff., 102, 107-19, 151, 155, 169,
184, 197, 209, 268, 300, 303, 312, 317f., 329, 335, 339f., 351, 353, 355,
429
— simple, 13, 15, 19, 41, 48, 98, 102, 104, 107f., 112f., 115, 127f., 130,
139, 143ff., 155f., 160ff., 165, 169, 187, 190, 197, 199f., 298, 300, 302,
312, 317, 329, 334, 338, 348, 351, 354
— transition from simple to enlarged, 123, 144f., 147, 150, 162f., 318;
see also Marx
Rhodes, Cecil, 413f., 416
Ricardo, D., 53f., 57, 62, 67f., 105f., 109f., 179, 181, 189, 191, 194ff., 203-
10, 211, 215ff., 229f., 232f., 237, 240f., 243ff., 248, 254, 257, 261, 266,
268, 271, 279ff., 305, 324f., 345f., 350, 366, 383, 447
‘Right to Work’, 227, 229f.
Roberts of Kandahar, Lord, 374
Rodbertus, 22f., 54, 227ff., 237, 238-51, 252-68, 271, 274, 281f., 351
Rothstein, Th., 436ff.
Page 495
Rozet, A., 385
Rusk, Secretary, 406
Russia, 167, 173, 271f., 275ff., 283f., 287ff., 297, 308, 326, 357, 419ff.,
445, 449f., 452
St. Simon, 191
Said Pasha, 433ff.
Saling, 441
Saving, 17f., 20ff., 22f., 27, 163, 236f., 239, 260f., 265f.
Say, J. B., 53ff., 62f., 177ff., 189, 191, 204, 206, 210, 211-18, 219f., 222,
229ff., 237, 248, 254, 257, 264, 266, 268, 279, 305, 324f., 335, 366
Schaeffle, Prof., 293, 295, 307, 424
Scheibert, J., 388, 390
Schmoller, Prof., 293, 295ff.
Schneider, S., 440
Schultze, E., 410
Sering, 401, 407, 409f.
Severance of labour power from the means of production, 181, 210, 402
— of agriculture and trade (industry), 369, 395f.
Simmons, A. M., 398
Simons, 363
Sismondi, 24, 35, 53, 115, 173-90, 191-202, 203-10, 211-18, 219f., 222f.,
227ff., 237, 240, 245, 248ff., 256, 260, 264, 268, 271, 274, 281f., 287f.,
292, 309, 312, 317, 342, 350ff., 365f., 423ff.
Skvortsov, Prof., 275
Slavery, 33, 39, 72f., 84, 161, 209f., 241, 243, 255f., 359, 363, 369, 379,
400, 412, 432
Slavophiles, 273, 276
Smith, Adam, 36, 48, 50ff., 83, 105f., 108ff., 166, 169, 180, 185, 187ff.,
191, 210f., 215, 228, 230f., 233, 256f., 260ff., 264, 266, 271, 346, 351, 383
Socialism, 228f., 266, 274, 325f., 467;
English, 244;
Utopian, 217;
and Marx’s analysis, 131
Sombart, Prof., 308
Spheres of interest, 445, 447, 452
State as consumer, 223, 454ff., 458, 460, 463, 466
Struve, Peter v., 275, 292-97, 298, 307, 309ff., 325f., 350
Rusk, Secretary, 406
Russia, 167, 173, 271f., 275ff., 283f., 287ff., 297, 308, 326, 357, 419ff.,
445, 449f., 452
St. Simon, 191
Said Pasha, 433ff.
Saling, 441
Saving, 17f., 20ff., 22f., 27, 163, 236f., 239, 260f., 265f.
Say, J. B., 53ff., 62f., 177ff., 189, 191, 204, 206, 210, 211-18, 219f., 222,
229ff., 237, 248, 254, 257, 264, 266, 268, 279, 305, 324f., 335, 366
Schaeffle, Prof., 293, 295, 307, 424
Scheibert, J., 388, 390
Schmoller, Prof., 293, 295ff.
Schneider, S., 440
Schultze, E., 410
Sering, 401, 407, 409f.
Severance of labour power from the means of production, 181, 210, 402
— of agriculture and trade (industry), 369, 395f.
Simmons, A. M., 398
Simons, 363
Sismondi, 24, 35, 53, 115, 173-90, 191-202, 203-10, 211-18, 219f., 222f.,
227ff., 237, 240, 245, 248ff., 256, 260, 264, 268, 271, 274, 281f., 287f.,
292, 309, 312, 317, 342, 350ff., 365f., 423ff.
Skvortsov, Prof., 275
Slavery, 33, 39, 72f., 84, 161, 209f., 241, 243, 255f., 359, 363, 369, 379,
400, 412, 432
Slavophiles, 273, 276
Smith, Adam, 36, 48, 50ff., 83, 105f., 108ff., 166, 169, 180, 185, 187ff.,
191, 210f., 215, 228, 230f., 233, 256f., 260ff., 264, 266, 271, 346, 351, 383
Socialism, 228f., 266, 274, 325f., 467;
English, 244;
Utopian, 217;
and Marx’s analysis, 131
Sombart, Prof., 308
Spheres of interest, 445, 447, 452
State as consumer, 223, 454ff., 458, 460, 463, 466
Struve, Peter v., 275, 292-97, 298, 307, 309ff., 325f., 350
Page 496
Suez Canal, 33, 430f., 433, 435ff.
Surplus value, 14, 18f., 38, 62, 78, 109ff., 128, 135, 139, 141, 185ff., 199,
207, 220, 234f., 253, 255ff., 265ff., 298, 301f., 310, 317, 332ff., 342f., 350,
353f., 357f., 365ff., 454, 456, 463, 466;
its capitalisation, 108, 112ff., 132, 136, 140, 142, 146f., 151f., 163, 165,
170, 184, 188, 196, 198, 237, 330f., 338, 340f., 345, 355, 357, 359f., 367,
417, 421, 428, 446, 451, 456, 464;
its consumption, 159ff., 169, 197, 254, 298, 303, 348, 354;
‘destruction’, 281f., 310, 344;
definition, 37f., 77;
realisation, 98ff., 132, 139, 142, 155ff., 165, 170, 200, 205ff., 278, 292f.,
300, 303, 309f., 329, 341f., 346, 351, 355, 359, 365, 386, 417, 419, 421,
426, 428f., 442, 444, 451, 454, 461f.;
contradiction between its production and realisation, 345, 365
Sweezy, 13, 21
Tariffs, protective, 231, 297, 399, 446-53, 456
Taussig, 399f.
Taxation, 369, 373f., 379, 381, 383, 394, 396, 399, 435ff., 443, 455, 458,
464f.;
indirect, 455ff., 460f., 463f.
Tax collector, 372f., 443f.
‘Third Persons’, 135, 159, 292-7, 298, 305, 348, 350, 458
‘Three World Empires’, 292-7
Timur (Tamerlane), 375
Tooke, 156
Trade Unions, 271, 461
Tucker, Josiah, 211
Tugan Baranovski, Prof., 23, 210, 275, 303, 305f., 310, 311-23, 324ff., 330,
335f., 346, 366, 422ff.
Turkey, 353, 385, 419, 425f., 436, 439, 442, 445
Unemployment, 177, 208, 240, 282
Usury, 373, 377, 381, 383f.
Utopianism, 249, 262, 264, 268, 288, 291
Value, problem of pure, 35f.
— Marx’s theory of, 66, 68, 105, 281
— Ricardo’s theory of, 68, 105
Surplus value, 14, 18f., 38, 62, 78, 109ff., 128, 135, 139, 141, 185ff., 199,
207, 220, 234f., 253, 255ff., 265ff., 298, 301f., 310, 317, 332ff., 342f., 350,
353f., 357f., 365ff., 454, 456, 463, 466;
its capitalisation, 108, 112ff., 132, 136, 140, 142, 146f., 151f., 163, 165,
170, 184, 188, 196, 198, 237, 330f., 338, 340f., 345, 355, 357, 359f., 367,
417, 421, 428, 446, 451, 456, 464;
its consumption, 159ff., 169, 197, 254, 298, 303, 348, 354;
‘destruction’, 281f., 310, 344;
definition, 37f., 77;
realisation, 98ff., 132, 139, 142, 155ff., 165, 170, 200, 205ff., 278, 292f.,
300, 303, 309f., 329, 341f., 346, 351, 355, 359, 365, 386, 417, 419, 421,
426, 428f., 442, 444, 451, 454, 461f.;
contradiction between its production and realisation, 345, 365
Sweezy, 13, 21
Tariffs, protective, 231, 297, 399, 446-53, 456
Taussig, 399f.
Taxation, 369, 373f., 379, 381, 383, 394, 396, 399, 435ff., 443, 455, 458,
464f.;
indirect, 455ff., 460f., 463f.
Tax collector, 372f., 443f.
‘Third Persons’, 135, 159, 292-7, 298, 305, 348, 350, 458
‘Three World Empires’, 292-7
Timur (Tamerlane), 375
Tooke, 156
Trade Unions, 271, 461
Tucker, Josiah, 211
Tugan Baranovski, Prof., 23, 210, 275, 303, 305f., 310, 311-23, 324ff., 330,
335f., 346, 366, 422ff.
Turkey, 353, 385, 419, 425f., 436, 439, 442, 445
Unemployment, 177, 208, 240, 282
Usury, 373, 377, 381, 383f.
Utopianism, 249, 262, 264, 268, 288, 291
Value, problem of pure, 35f.
— Marx’s theory of, 66, 68, 105, 281
— Ricardo’s theory of, 68, 105
Page 497
— Rodbertus’ theory of, 240ff., 256, 259
Value, Adam Smith’s theory of, 62, 64ff., 105f.
— relationships and material points of view, 81f., 105, 112, 264, 336, 354,
417
Victoria, Queen, 393
Violence, 371, 446, 452
Vorontsov, V., 24, 274f., 276-83, 287, 291ff., 299, 303, 309f., 350, 366, 460
Wagner, Prof., 256, 266f., 293, 295, 297, 307
Warren, Count, 375
Wilson, H. H., 372f.
Wilson, James, 376
World (international) Commerce, 205, 307f., 359
World Market, 200, 202, 205, 296f., 308
Zadruga, 378
Value, Adam Smith’s theory of, 62, 64ff., 105f.
— relationships and material points of view, 81f., 105, 112, 264, 336, 354,
417
Victoria, Queen, 393
Violence, 371, 446, 452
Vorontsov, V., 24, 274f., 276-83, 287, 291ff., 299, 303, 309f., 350, 366, 460
Wagner, Prof., 256, 266f., 293, 295, 297, 307
Warren, Count, 375
Wilson, H. H., 372f.
Wilson, James, 376
World (international) Commerce, 205, 307f., 359
World Market, 200, 202, 205, 296f., 308
Zadruga, 378
Page 498
[Transcriber’s notes:
List of errors:
Page 20 "stook" changed to "stock" ("requires an increase in the stock")
Page 31 "Quesney" changed to "Quesnay" ("of this problem: one by Quesney,")
Page 121 missing "(" added ("(800v + 25v + 55v)")
Pages 175 and 192 "E" replaced with "É" ("Nouveaux Principes d’Économie Politique")
Page 220 Footnote reference to 224 altered from original 9, assumed to be 2
Page 227 "simulated" changed to "stimulated" ("the working class had stimulated
Sismondi’s opposition")
Page 255 "irelevant" changed to "irrelevant" ("irrelevant to the productive process,")
Page 275 "." changed to "," ("One of the two champions of the ‘populist’ movement,")
Page 275 second "." added as in "V. V." ("Vorontsov, known in Russia mainly under the
nom de plume V. V.,")
Page 293 "’" added ("open whether these ‘third persons’")
Page 293 """ changed to "’" ("entirely on the basis of the home market.’")
Page 300 Two instances of "formulae" changed to "formulæ"
Page 340 space added to betweenthe ("determined by the relations between the two
departments")
Page 354 "producduction" changed to "production" ("the sphere of capitalist production,")
page 379 "57,500,000,000 acres" changed to "57,000,000 acres" [based on the German
text "23.000.000 Hektar" converted to acres and rounded]
Page 381 "assocations" changed to "associations" ("of accelerating the process of
dissolving the family associations")
Page 434 "." removed after "per cent" ("an annual charge of 9 per cent")
Page 441 "Alleppo" changed to "Aleppo" ("vilayets Aydin, Baghdad, Mossul, Diarbekir,
Ursa and Aleppo")
Page 474 "," changed to ";" ("443, 455, 458, 464f.;")
Footnote 180 missing "." added to "470." ("MacCulloch, loc. cit., p. 470.")
Footnote 213 "Noveaux" changed to "Nouveaux" ("Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, p. 117.")
Footnote 233 "socialer" changed to "sozialer" ("Über die Grundrente in sozialer
Beziehung.")
Footnote 239 "f," changed to "f." ("Op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 104 f.")
Footnote 260 missing "." added to "Ibid.," ("Ibid., vol. i, p. 19.")]
List of errors:
Page 20 "stook" changed to "stock" ("requires an increase in the stock")
Page 31 "Quesney" changed to "Quesnay" ("of this problem: one by Quesney,")
Page 121 missing "(" added ("(800v + 25v + 55v)")
Pages 175 and 192 "E" replaced with "É" ("Nouveaux Principes d’Économie Politique")
Page 220 Footnote reference to 224 altered from original 9, assumed to be 2
Page 227 "simulated" changed to "stimulated" ("the working class had stimulated
Sismondi’s opposition")
Page 255 "irelevant" changed to "irrelevant" ("irrelevant to the productive process,")
Page 275 "." changed to "," ("One of the two champions of the ‘populist’ movement,")
Page 275 second "." added as in "V. V." ("Vorontsov, known in Russia mainly under the
nom de plume V. V.,")
Page 293 "’" added ("open whether these ‘third persons’")
Page 293 """ changed to "’" ("entirely on the basis of the home market.’")
Page 300 Two instances of "formulae" changed to "formulæ"
Page 340 space added to betweenthe ("determined by the relations between the two
departments")
Page 354 "producduction" changed to "production" ("the sphere of capitalist production,")
page 379 "57,500,000,000 acres" changed to "57,000,000 acres" [based on the German
text "23.000.000 Hektar" converted to acres and rounded]
Page 381 "assocations" changed to "associations" ("of accelerating the process of
dissolving the family associations")
Page 434 "." removed after "per cent" ("an annual charge of 9 per cent")
Page 441 "Alleppo" changed to "Aleppo" ("vilayets Aydin, Baghdad, Mossul, Diarbekir,
Ursa and Aleppo")
Page 474 "," changed to ";" ("443, 455, 458, 464f.;")
Footnote 180 missing "." added to "470." ("MacCulloch, loc. cit., p. 470.")
Footnote 213 "Noveaux" changed to "Nouveaux" ("Nouveaux Principes ..., vol. i, p. 117.")
Footnote 233 "socialer" changed to "sozialer" ("Über die Grundrente in sozialer
Beziehung.")
Footnote 239 "f," changed to "f." ("Op. cit., vol. ii, pp. 104 f.")
Footnote 260 missing "." added to "Ibid.," ("Ibid., vol. i, p. 19.")]
Page 499
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
ACCUMULATION OF CAPITAL ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright royalties.
Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license,
apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic
works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and
trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not
be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of
the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project
Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may
use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative
works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks
may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically
ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S.
copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license,
especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
ACCUMULATION OF CAPITAL ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright royalties.
Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license,
apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic
works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and
trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not
be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of
the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project
Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may
use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative
works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks
may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically
ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S.
copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license,
especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
Page 500
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or
any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing
Project Gutenberg electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg electronic
work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept
all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg electronic works in your possession. If
you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg
electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this
agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom
you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people
who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg electronic
works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or
any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing
Project Gutenberg electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg electronic
work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept
all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg electronic works in your possession. If
you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg
electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this
agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom
you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people
who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg electronic
works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the
Page 501
collection of Project Gutenberg electronic works. Nearly all the
individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the
United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in
the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg mission of promoting free
access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg works
in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project
Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can easily comply with
the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format
with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when you share it
without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work on which
the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase
“Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed,
viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License included with
individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the
United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in
the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg mission of promoting free
access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg works
in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project
Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can easily comply with
the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format
with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when you share it
without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work on which
the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase
“Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed,
viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License included with
Page 502
this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located
in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is derived
from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a
notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright
holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United
States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or
providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”
associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with
the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain
permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg License for all works posted
with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of
this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide
access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is derived
from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a
notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright
holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United
States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or
providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”
associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with
the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain
permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg License for all works posted
with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of
this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide
access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
Page 503
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of
obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works provided
that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the
use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method you
already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the
owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has agreed to donate
royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days
following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to
prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly
marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about
donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does
not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You
must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works
possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all
access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of
obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works provided
that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the
use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method you
already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the
owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has agreed to donate
royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days
following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to
prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly
marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about
donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does
not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You
must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works
possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all
access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
Page 504
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution
of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth
in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the
Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in
Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend
considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and
proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the
Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be
stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete,
inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES -
Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in
paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation,
the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party
distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this
agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and
expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO
REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH
OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE
FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY
DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT,
CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES
of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth
in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the
Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in
Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend
considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and
proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the
Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be
stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete,
inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES -
Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in
paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation,
the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party
distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this
agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and
expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO
REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH
OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE
FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY
DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT,
CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES
Page 505
EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you
discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it,
you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by
sending a written explanation to the person you received the work
from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return
the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that
provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a
replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work
electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to
give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu
of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a
refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in
paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF
MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If
any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law
of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the
Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the
Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any
volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability,
costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly
from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a)
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you
discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it,
you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by
sending a written explanation to the person you received the work
from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return
the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that
provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a
replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work
electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to
give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu
of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a
refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in
paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF
MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If
any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law
of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the
Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the
Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any
volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability,
costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly
from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a)
Page 506
distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg work, (b) alteration,
modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg work,
and (c) any Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project
Gutenberg
Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg’s goals
and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg collection will remain freely
available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and
permanent future for Project Gutenberg and future generations. To
learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and
the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state
of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue
Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is
64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S.
federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 41 Watchung Plaza
#516, Montclair NJ 07042, USA, +1 (862) 621-9288. Email contact
modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg work,
and (c) any Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project
Gutenberg
Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg’s goals
and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg collection will remain freely
available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and
permanent future for Project Gutenberg and future generations. To
learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and
the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state
of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue
Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is
64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S.
federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 41 Watchung Plaza
#516, Montclair NJ 07042, USA, +1 (862) 621-9288. Email contact
Page 507
links and up to date contact information can be found at the
Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without
widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small
donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax
exempt status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States.
Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable
effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these
requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have
not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without
widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small
donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax
exempt status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States.
Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable
effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these
requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have
not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Page 508
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg
electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility:
www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg, including
how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility:
www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg, including
how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.