#volume I

[basicallyanotherwitchesthing]

Southern Voices, magazine, Number 3, Volume I, Pat Watters, AugSept 1974

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter VI. Fourth Period. — Monopoly

1. — Necessity of monopoly.

Thus monopoly is the inevitable end of competition, which engenders it by a continual denial of itself: this generation of monopoly is already its justification. For, since competition is inherent in society as motion is in living beings, monopoly which comes in its train, which is its object and its end, and without which competition would not have been accepted, — monopoly is and will remain legitimate as long as competition, as long as mechanical processes and industrial combinations, as long, in fact, as the division of labor and the constitution of values shall be necessities and laws.

Therefore by the single fact of its logical generation monopoly is justified. Nevertheless this justification would seem of little force and would end only in a more energetic rejection of competition than ever, if monopoly could not in turn posit itself by itself and as a principle.

In the preceding chapters we have seen that division of labor is the specification of the workman considered especially as intelligence; that the creation of machinery and the organization of the workshop express his liberty; and that, by competition, man, or intelligent liberty, enters into action. Now, monopoly is the expression of victorious liberty, the prize of the struggle, the glorification of genius; it is the strongest stimulant of all the steps in progress taken since the beginning of the world: so true is this that, as we said just now, society, which cannot exist with it, would not have been formed without it.

Where, then, does monopoly get this singular virtue, which the etymology of the word and the vulgar aspect of the thing would never lead us to suspect?

Monopoly is at bottom simply the autocracy of man over himself: it is the dictatorial right accorded by nature to every producer of using his faculties as he pleases, of giving free play to his thought in whatever direction it prefers, of speculating, in such specialty as he may please to choose, with all the power of his resources, of disposing sovereignly of the instruments which he has created and of the capital accumulated by his economy for any enterprise the risks of which he may see fit to accept on the express condition of enjoying alone the fruits of his discovery and the profits of his venture.

This right belongs so thoroughly to the essence of liberty that to deny it is to mutilate man in his body, in his soul, and in the exercise of his faculties, and society, which progresses only by the free initiative of individuals, soon lacking explorers, finds itself arrested in its onward march.

It is time to give body to all these ideas by the testimony of facts.

I know a commune where from time immemorial there had been no roads either for the clearing of lands or for communication with the outside world. During three-fourths of the year all importation or exportation of goods was prevented; a barrier of mud and marsh served as a protection at once against any invasion from without and any excursion of the inhabitants of the holy and sacred community. Six horses, in the finest weather, scarcely sufficed to move a load that any jade could easily have taken over a good road. The mayor resolved, in spite of the council, to build a road through the town. For a long time he was derided, cursed, execrated. They had got along well enough without a road up to the time of his administration: why need he spend the money of the commune and waste the time of farmers in road-duty, cartage, and compulsory service? It was to satisfy his pride that Monsieur the Mayor desired, at the expense of the poor farmers, to open such a fine avenue for his city friends who would come to visit him! In spite of everything the road was made and the peasants applauded! What a difference! they said: it used to take eight horses to carry thirty sacks to market, and we were gone three days; now we start in the morning with two horses, and are back at night. But in all these remarks nothing further was heard of the mayor. The event having justified him, they spoke of him no more: most of them, in fact, as I found out, felt a spite against him.

This mayor acted after the manner of Aristides. Suppose that, wearied by the absurd clamor, he had from the beginning proposed to his constituents to build the road at his expense, provided they would pay him toll for fifty years, each, however, remaining free to travel through the fields, as in the past: in what respect would this transaction have been fraudulent?

That is the history of society and monopolists.

Everybody is not in a position to make a present to his fellow-citizens of a road or a machine: generally the inventor, after exhausting his health and substance, expects reward. Deny then, while still scoffing at them, to Arkwright, Watt, and Jacquard the privilege of their discoveries; they will shut themselves up in order to work, and possibly will carry their secret to the grave. Deny to the settler possession of the soil which he clears, and no one will clear it.

But, they say, is that true right, social right, fraternal right? That which is excusable on emerging from primitive communism, an effect of necessity, is only a temporary expedient which must disappear in face of a fuller understanding of the rights and duties of man and society.

I recoil from no hypothesis: let us see, let us investigate. It is already a great point that the opponents confess that, during the first period of civilization, things could not have gone otherwise. It remains to ascertain whether the institutions of this period are really, as has been said, only temporary, or whether they are the result of laws immanent in society and eternal. Now, the thesis which I maintain at this moment is the more difficult because in direct opposition to the general tendency, and because I must directly overturn it myself by its contradiction.

I pray, then, that I may be told how it is possible to make appeal to the principles of sociability, fraternity, and solidarity, when society itself rejects every solidary and fraternal transaction? At the beginning of each industry, at the first gleam of a discovery, the man who invents is isolated; society abandons him and remains in the background. To put it better, this man, relatively to the idea which he has conceived and the realization of which he pursues, becomes in himself alone entire society. He has no longer any associates, no longer any collaborators, no longer any sureties; everybody shuns him: on him alone falls the responsibility; to him alone, then, the advantages of the speculation.

But, it is insisted, this is blindness on the part of society, an abandonment of its most sacred rights and interests, of the welfare of future generations; and the speculator, better informed or more fortunate, cannot fairly profit by the monopoly which universal ignorance gives into his hands.

I maintain that this conduct on the part of society is, as far as the present is concerned, an act of high prudence; and, as for the future, I shall prove that it does not lose thereby. I have already shown in the second chapter, by the solution of the antinomy of value, that the advantage of every useful discovery is incomparably less to the inventor, whatever he may do, than to society; I have carried the demonstration of this point even to mathematical accuracy. Later I shall show further that, in addition to the profit assured it by every discovery, society exercises over the privileges which it concedes, whether temporarily or perpetually, claims of several kinds, which largely palliate the excess of certain private fortunes, and the effect of which is a prompt restoration of equilibrium. But let us not anticipate.

I observe, then, that social life manifests itself in a double fashion, — preservation and development.

Development is effected by the free play of individual energies; the mass is by its nature barren, passive, and hostile to everything new. It is, if I may venture to use the comparison, the womb, sterile by itself, but to which come to deposit themselves the germs created by private activity, which, in hermaphroditic society, really performs the function of the male organ.

But society preserves itself only so far as it avoids solidarity with private speculations and leaves every innovation absolutely to the risk and peril of individuals. It would take but a few pages to contain the list of useful inventions. The enterprises that have been carried to a successful issue may be numbered; no figure would express the multitude of false ideas and imprudent ventures which every day are hatched in human brains. There is not an inventor, not a workman, who, for one sane and correct conception, has not given birth to thousands of chimeras; not an intelligence which, for one spark of reason, does not emit whirlwinds of smoke. If it were possible to divide all the products of the human reason into two parts, putting on one side those that are useful, and on the other those on which strength, thought, capital, and time have been spent in error, we should be startled by the discovery that the excess of the latter over the former is perhaps a billion per cent. What would become of society, if it had to discharge these liabilities and settle all these bankruptcies? What, in turn, would become of the responsibility and dignity of the laborer, if, secured by the social guarantee, he could, without personal risk, abandon himself to all the caprices of a delirious imagination and trifle at every moment with the existence of humanity?

Wherefore I conclude that what has been practised from the beginning will be practised to the end, and that, on this point, as on every other, if our aim is reconciliation, it is absurd to think that anything that exists can be abolished. For, the world of ideas being infinite, like nature, and men, today as ever, being subject to speculation, — that is, to error, — individuals have a constant stimulus to speculate and society a constant reason to be suspicious and cautious, wherefore monopoly never lacks material.

To avoid this dilemma what is proposed? Compensation? In the first place, compensation is impossible: all values being monopolized, where would society get the means to indemnify the monopolists? What would be its mortgage? On the other hand, compensation would be utterly useless: after all the monopolies had been compensated, it would remain to organize industry. Where is the system? Upon what is opinion settled? What problems have been solved? If the organization is to be of the hierarchical type, we reenter the system of monopoly; if of the democratic, we return to the point of departure, for the compensated industries will fall into the public domain, — that is, into competition, — and gradually will become monopolies again; if, finally, of the communistic, we shall simply have passed from one impossibility to another, for, as we shall demonstrate at the proper time, communism, like competition and monopoly, is antinomical, impossible.

In order not to involve the social wealth in an unlimited and consequently disastrous solidarity, will they content themselves with imposing rules upon the spirit of invention and enterprise? Will they establish a censorship to distinguish between men of genius and fools? That is to suppose that society knows in advance precisely that which is to be discovered. To submit the projects of schemers to an advance examination is an a priori prohibition of all movement. For, once more, relatively to the end which he has in view, there is a moment when each manufacturer represents in his own person society itself, sees better and farther than all other men combined, and frequently without being able to explain himself or make himself understood. When Copernicus, Kepler, and Galileo, Newton’s predecessors, came to the point of saying to Christian society, then represented by the Church: “The Bible is mistaken; the earth revolves, and the sun is stationary,” they were right against society, which, on the strength of its senses and traditions, contradicted them. Could society then have accepted solidarity with the Copernican system? So little could it do it that this system openly denied its faith, and that, pending the accord of reason and revelation, Galileo, one of the responsible inventors, underwent torture in proof of the new idea. We are more tolerant, I presume; but this very toleration proves that, while according greater liberty to genius, we do not mean to be less discreet than our ancestors. Patents rain, but without governmental guarantee. Property titles are placed in the keeping of citizens, but neither the property list nor the charter guarantee their value: it is for labor to make them valuable. And as for the scientific and other missions which the government sometimes takes a notion to entrust to penniless explorers, they are so much extra robbery and corruption.

In fact, society can guarantee to no one the capital necessary for the testing of an idea by experiment; in right, it cannot claim the results of an enterprise to which it has not subscribed: therefore monopoly is indestructible. For the rest, solidarity would be of no service: for, as each can claim for his whims the solidarity of all and would have the same right to obtain the government’s signature in blank, we should soon arrive at the universal reign of caprice, — that is, purely and simply at the statu quo.

Some socialists, very unhappily inspired — I say it with all the force of my conscience — by evangelical abstractions, believe that they have solved the difficulty by these fine maxims: “Inequality of capacities proves the inequality of duties”; “You have received more from nature, give more to your brothers,” and other high-sounding and touching phrases, which never fail of their effect on empty heads, but which nevertheless are as simple as anything that it is possible to imagine. The practical formula deduced from these marvellous adages is that each laborer owes all his time to society, and that society should give back to him in exchange all that is necessary to the satisfaction of his wants in proportion to the resources at its disposal.

May my communistic friends forgive me! I should be less severe upon their ideas if I were not irreversibly convinced, in my reason and in my heart, that communism, republicanism, and all the social, political, and religious utopias which disdain facts and criticism, are the greatest obstacle which progress has now to conquer. Why will they never understand that fraternity can be established only by justice; that justice alone, the condition, means, and law of liberty and fraternity, must be the object of our study; and that its determination and formula must be pursued without relaxation, even to the minutest details? Why do writers familiar with economic language forget that superiority of talents is synonymous with superiority of wants, and that, instead of expecting more from vigorous than from ordinary personalities, society should constantly look out that they do not receive more than they render, when it is already so hard for the mass of mankind to render all that it receives? Turn which way you will, you must always come back to the cash book, to the account of receipts and expenditures, the sole guarantee against large consumers as well as against small producers. The workman continually lives in advance of his production; his tendency is always to get credit contract debts and go into bankruptcy; it is perpetually necessary to remind him of Say’s aphorism: Products are bought only with products.

To suppose that the laborer of great capacity will content himself, in favor of the weak, with half his wages, furnish his services gratuitously, and produce, as the people say, for the king of Prussia — that is, for that abstraction called society, the sovereign, or my brothers, — is to base society on a sentiment, I do not say beyond the reach of man, but one which, erected systematically into a principle, is only a false virtue, a dangerous hypocrisy. Charity is recommended to us as a reparation of the infirmities which afflict our fellows by accident, and, viewing it in this light, I can see that charity may be organized; I can see that, growing out of solidarity itself, it may become simply justice. But charity taken as an instrument of equality and the law of equilibrium would be the dissolution of society. Equality among men is produced by the rigorous and inflexible law of labor, the proportionality of values, the sincerity of exchanges, and the equivalence of functions, — in short, by the mathematical solution of all antagonisms.

That is why charity, the prime virtue of the Christian, the legitimate hope of the socialist, the object of all the efforts of the economist, is a social vice the moment it is made a principle of constitution and a law; that is why certain economists have been able to say that legal charity had caused more evil in society than proprietary usurpation. Man, like the society of which he is a part, has a perpetual account current with himself; all that he consumes he must produce. Such is the general rule, which no one can escape without being, ipso facto struck with dishonor or suspected of fraud. Singular idea, truly, — that of decreeing, under pretext of fraternity, the relative inferiority of the majority of men! After this beautiful declaration nothing will be left but to draw its consequences; and soon, thanks to fraternity, aristocracy will be restored.

Double the normal wages of the workman, and you invite him to idleness, humiliate his dignity, and demoralize his conscience; take away from him the legitimate price of his efforts, and you either excite his anger or exalt his pride. In either case you damage his fraternal feelings. On the contrary, make enjoyment conditional upon labor, the only way provided by nature to associate men and make them good and happy, and you go back under the law of economic distribution, products are bought with products. Communism, as I have often complained, is the very denial of society in its foundation, which is the progressive equivalence of functions and capacities. The communists, toward whom all socialism tends, do not believe in equality by nature and education; they supply it by sovereign decrees which they cannot carry out, whatever they may do. Instead of seeking justice in the harmony of facts, they take it from their feelings, calling justice everything that seems to them to be love of one’s neighbor, and incessantly confounding matters of reason with those of sentiment.

Why then continually interject fraternity, charity, sacrifice, and God into the discussion of economic questions? May it not be that the utopists find it easier to expatiate upon these grand words than to seriously study social manifestations?

Fraternity! Brothers as much as you please, provided I am the big brother and you the little; provided society, our common mother, honors my primogeniture and my services by doubling my portion. You will provide for my wants, you say, in proportion to your resources. I intend, on the contrary, that such provision shall be in proportion to my labor; if not, I cease to labor.

Charity! I deny charity; it is mysticism. In vain do you talk to me of fraternity and love: I remain convinced that you love me but little, and I feel very sure that I do not love you. Your friendship is but a feint, and, if you love me, it is from self-interest. I ask all that my products cost me, and only what they cost me: why do you refuse me?

Sacrifice! I deny sacrifice; it is mysticism. Talk to me of debt and credit, the only criterion in my eyes of the just and the unjust, of good and evil in society. To each according to his works, first; and if, on occasion, I am impelled to aid you, I will do it with a good grace; but I will not be constrained. To constrain me to sacrifice is to assassinate me.

God! I know no God; mysticism again. Begin by striking this word from your remarks, if you wish me to listen to you; for three thousand years of experience have taught me that whoever talks to me of God has designs on my liberty or on my purse. How much do you owe me? How much do I owe you? That is my religion and my God.

Monopoly owes its existence both to nature and to man: it has its source at once in the profoundest depths of our conscience and in the external fact of our individualization. Just as in our body and our mind everything has its specialty and property, so our labor presents itself with a proper and specific character, which constitutes its quality and value. And as labor cannot manifest itself without material or an object for its exercise, the person necessarily attracting the thing, monopoly is established from subject to object as infallibly as duration is constituted from past to future. Bees, ants, and other animals living in society seem endowed individually only with automatism; with them soul and instinct are almost exclusively collective. That is why, among such animals, there can be no room for privilege and monopoly; why, even in their most volitional operations, they neither consult nor deliberate. But, humanity being individualized in its plurality, man becomes inevitably a monopolist, since, if not a monopolist, he is nothing; and the social problem is to find out, not how to abolish, but how to reconcile, all monopolies.

The most remarkable and the most immediate effects of monopoly are:

1. In the political order, the classification of humanity into families, tribes, cities, nations, States: this is the elementary division of humanity into groups and sub-groups of laborers, distinguished by race, language, customs, and climate. It was by monopoly that the human race took possession of the globe, as it will be by association that it will become complete sovereign thereof.

Political and civil law, as conceived by all legislators with-out exception and as formulated by jurists, born of this patriotic and national organization of societies, forms, in the series of social contradictions, a first and vast branch, the study of which by itself alone would demand four times more time than we can give it in discussing the question of industrial economy propounded by the Academy.

2. In the economic order, monopoly contributes to the increase of comfort, in the first place by adding to the general wealth through the perfecting of methods, and then by CAPITALIZING, — that is, by consolidating the conquests of labor obtained by division, machinery, and competition. From this effect of monopoly has resulted the economic fiction by which the capitalist is considered a producer and capital an agent of production; then, as a consequence of this fiction, the theory of net product and gross product.

On this point we have a few considerations to present. First let us quote J. B. Say:

The value produced is the gross product: after the costs of production have been deducted, this value is the net product.

Considering a nation as a whole, it has no net product; for, as products have no value beyond the costs of production, when these costs are cut off, the entire value of the product is cut off. National production, annual production, should always therefore be understood as gross production.

The annual revenue is the gross revenue.

The term net production is applicable only when considering the interests of one producer in opposition to those of other producers. The manager of an enterprise gets his profit from the value produced after deducting the value consumed. But what to him is value consumed, such as the purchase of a productive service, is so much income to the performer of the service. — Treatise on Political Economy: Analytical Table.

These definitions are irreproachable. Unhappily J. B. Say did not see their full bearing, and could not have foreseen that one day his immediate successor at the College of France would attack them. M. Rossi has pretended to refute the proposition of J. B. Say that to a nation net product is the same thing as gross product by this consideration, — that nations, no more than individuals of enterprise, can produce without advances, and that, if J. B. Say’s formula were true, it would follow that the axiom, Ex nihilo nihil fit, is not true

Now, that is precisely what happens. Humanity, in imitation of God, produces everything from nothing, de nihilo hilum just as it is itself a product of nothing, just as its thought comes out of the void; and M. Rossi would not have made such a mistake, if, like the physiocrats, he had not confounded the products of the industrial kingdom with those of the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms. Political economy begins with labor; it is developed by labor; and all that does not come from labor, falling into the domain of pure utility, — that is, into the category of things submitted to man’s action, but not yet rendered exchangeable by labor, — remains radically foreign to political economy. Monopoly itself, wholly established as it is by a pure act of collective will, does not change these relations at all, since, according to history, and according to the written law, and according to economic theory, monopoly exists, or is reputed to exist, only after labor’s appearance.

Say’s doctrine, therefore, is unassailable. Relatively to the man of enterprise, whose specialty always supposes other manufacturers cooperating with him, profit is what remains of the value produced after deducting the values consumed, among which must be included the salary of the man of enterprise, — in other words, his wages. Relatively to society, which contains all possible specialties, net product is identical with gross product.

But there is a point the explanation of which I have vainly sought in Say and in the other economists, — to wit, how the reality and legitimacy of net product is established. For it is plain that, in order to cause the disappearance of net product, it would suffice to increase the wages of the workmen and the price of the values consumed, the selling-price remaining the same. So that, there being nothing seemingly to distinguish net product from a sum withheld in paying wages or, what amounts to the same thing, from an assessment laid upon the consumer in advance, net product has every appearance of an extortion effected by force and without the least show of right.

This difficulty has been solved in advance in our theory of the proportionality of values.

According to this theory, every exploiter of a machine, of an idea, or of capital should be considered as a man who increases with equal outlay the amount of a certain kind of products, and consequently increases the social wealth by economizing time. The principle of the legitimacy of the net product lies, then, in the processes previously in use: if the new device succeeds, there will be a surplus of values, and consequently a profit, -that is, net product; if the enterprise rests on a false basis, there will be a deficit in the gross product, and in the long run failure and bankruptcy. Even in the case — and it is the most frequent — where there is no innovation on the part of the man of enterprise, the rule of net product remains applicable, for the success of an industry depends upon the way in which it is carried on. Now, it being in accordance with the nature of monopoly that the risk and peril of every enterprise should be taken by the initiator, it follows that the net product belongs to him by the most sacred title recognized among men, — labor and intelligence.

It is useless to recall the fact that the net product is often exaggerated, either by fraudulently secured reductions of wages or in some other way. These are abuses which proceed, not from the principle, but from human cupidity, and which remain outside the domain of the theory. For the rest, I have shown, in discussing the constitution of value (Chapter II, section 2): 1, how the net product can never exceed the difference resulting from inequality of the means of production; 2, how the profit which society reaps from each new invention is incomparably greater than that of its originator. As these points have been exhausted once for all, I will not go over them again; I will simply remark that, by industrial progress, the net product of the ingenious tends steadily to decrease, while, on the other hand, their comfort increases, as the concentric layers which make up the trunk of a tree become thinner as the tree grows and as they are farther removed from the centre.

By the side of net product, the natural reward of the laborer, I have pointed out as one of the happiest effects of monopoly the capitalization of values, from which is born another sort of profit, — namely, interest, or the hire of capital. As for rent, although it is often confounded with interest, and although, in ordinary language, it is included with profit and interest under the common expression REVENUE, it is a different thing from interest; it is a consequence, not of monopoly, but of property; it depends on a special theory., of which we will speak in its place.

What, then, is this reality, known to all peoples, and never-theless still so badly defined, which is called interest or the price of a loan, and which gives rise to the fiction of the productivity of capital?

Everybody knows that a contractor, when he calculates his costs of production, generally divides them into three classes: 1, the values consumed and services paid for; 2, his personal salary; 3, recovery of his capital with interest. From this last class of costs is born the distinction between contractor and capitalist, although these two titles always express but one faculty, monopoly.

Thus an industrial enterprise which yields only interest on capital and nothing for net product, is an insignificant enterprise, which results only in a transformation of values without adding anything to wealth, — an enterprise, in short, which has no further reason for existence and is immediately abandoned. Why is it, then, that this interest on capital is not regarded as a sufficient supplement of net product? Why is it not itself the net product?

Here again the philosophy of the economists is wanting. To defend usury they have pretended that capital was productive, and they have changed a metaphor into a reality. The anti-proprietary socialists have had no difficulty in overturning their sophistry; and through this controversy the theory of capital has fallen into such disfavor that today, in the minds of the people, capitalist and idler are synonymous terms. Certainly it is not my intention to retract what I myself have maintained after so many others, or to rehabilitate a class of citizens which so strangely misconceives its duties: but the interests of science and of the proletariat itself oblige me to complete my first assertions and maintain true principles.

1. All production is effected with a view to consumption, — that is, to enjoyment. In society the correlative terms production and consumption, like net product and gross product, designate identically the same thing. If, then, after the laborer has realized a net product, instead of using it to increase his comfort, he should confine himself to his wages and steadily apply his surplus to new production, as so many people do who earn only to buy, production would increase indefinitely, while comfort and, reasoning from the standpoint of society, population would remain unchanged. Now, interest on capital which has been invested in an industrial enterprise and which has been gradually formed by the accumulation of net product, is a sort of compromise between the necessity of increasing production, on the one hand, and, on the other, that of increasing comfort; it is a method of reproducing and consuming the net product at the same time. That is why certain industrial societies pay their stockholders a dividend even before the enterprise has yielded anything. Life is short, success comes slowly; on the one hand labor commands, on the other man wishes to enjoy. To meet all these exigencies the net product shall be devoted to production, but meantime (inter-ea, inter-esse) — that is, while waiting for the new product — the capitalist shall enjoy.

Thus, as the amount of net product marks the progress of wealth, interest on capital, without which net product would be useless and would not even exist, marks the progress of comfort. Whatever the form of government which may be established among men; whether they live in monopoly or in communism; whether each laborer keeps his account by credit and debit, or has his labor and pleasure parcelled out to him by the community, — the law which we have just disengaged will always be fulfilled. Our interest accounts do nothing else than bear witness to it.

2. Values created by net product are classed as savings and capitalized in the most highly exchangeable form, the form which is freest and least susceptible of depreciation, — in a word, the form of specie, the only constituted value. Now, if capital leaves this state of freedom and engages itself, — that is, takes the form of machines, buildings, etc., — it will still be susceptible of exchange, but much more exposed than before to the oscillations of supply and demand. Once engaged, it cannot be disenaged without difficulty; and the sole resource of its owner will be exploitation. Exploitation alone is capable of maintaining engaged capital at its nominal value; it may increase it, it may diminish it. Capital thus transformed is as if it had been risked in a maritime enterprise: the interest is the insurance premium paid on the capital. And this premium will be greater or less according to the scarcity or abundance of capital.

Later a distinction will also be established between the insurance premium and interest on capital, and new facts will result from this subdivision: thus the history of humanity is simply a perpetual distinction of the mind’s concepts.

3. Not only does interest on capital cause the laborer to enjoy the fruit of his toil and insure his savings, but — and this is the most marvellous effect of interest — while rewarding the producer, it obliges him to labor incessantly and never stop.

If a contractor is his own capitalist, it may happen that he will content himself with a profit equal to the interest on his investment: but in that case it is certain that his industry is no longer making progress and consequently is suffering. This we see when the capitalist is distinct from the contractor: for then, after the interest is paid, the manufacturer’s profit is absolutely nothing; his industry becomes a perpetual peril to him, from which it is important that he should free himself as soon as possible. For as society’s comfort must develop in an indefinite progression, so the law of the producer is that he should continually realize a surplus: otherwise his existence is precarious, monotonous, fatiguing. The interest due to the capitalist by the producer therefore is like the lash of the planter cracking over the head of the sleeping slave; it is the voice of progress crying: “On, on! Toil, toil!” Man’s destiny pushes him to happiness: that is why it denies him rest.

4. Finally, interest on money is the condition of capital’s circulation and the chief agent of industrial solidarity. This aspect has been seized by all the economists, and we shall give it special treatment when we come to deal with credit.

I have proved, and better, I imagine, than it has ever been proved before:

That monopoly is necessary, since it is the antagonism of competition;

That it is essential to society, since without it society would never have emerged from the primeval forests and without it would rapidly go backwards;

Finally, that it is the crown of the producer, when, whether by net product or by interest on the capital which he devotes to production, it brings to the monopolist that increase of comfort which his foresight and his efforts deserve.

Shall we, then, with the economists, glorify monopoly, and consecrate it to the benefit of well-secured conservatives? I am willing, provided they in turn will admit my claims in what is to follow, as I have admitted theirs in what has preceded.

[starstruckkittensweets]

Chapter LX (“AWWW”)

A/N: So...I’m back, for now! Hello again everybody, I am so sorry for dropping this story out of the blue last year. A combination of work, writer’s block, and some family/personal issues made it kinda tough to sit down and focus on this story. I apologize if this chapter is a little choppy, I used it as an inspiration to crawl back out of my writer’s block, and writing it was a little therapeutic for me. It’s a slow chapter and a bit on the shorter side, but I think it’s a bit of a breather before we get into the last stretch of this story. Speaking of, I probably won’t update again until I have a majority of the remaining chapters written. It shouldn’t be too hard, I already have them planned and outlined, and now all I have to do is write them out. 

As always, thank you so very much for sticking with me throughout this long and drawn-out process. I really appreciate each and every one of you, it’s because of your constant support that I’ve gotten this far in this story to begin with. So thank you and I hope you enjoy the chapter! 

Fandom: Attack on Titan  Pairing: Levi x Mia (OC)  Words: 5.8k 

Warnings: suggestive dialogue, mentions of pregnancy and raising children, mostly fluff all around but Mia is hopeful for having children one day 

Taglist: @omg-lexiloveyou, @tootiredforyourshit3963, @super-peace-fangirl, @mr-robot-x, @unusversuscanicula, @cyborgnate, @saltypancakes 

|LX|

The summer sun was warm against my skin. A soft glow shining through the curtains, bleeding through the sheets around us. I stretched my arm along Levi’s bare chest, eliciting the smallest of hums from his throat. I couldn’t help but smile as he tightened his arms around me, as I buried my face against the crook of his neck.

Morning already? It feels as though I barely got enough sleep…

Still, it was early enough for us to laze around a bit. Neither of us had anywhere to be until later this afternoon, anyway. Maybe we could afford to sleep in, just this once.

Every part of my body felt sore; the muscles in my thighs were still burning from exhaustion, my throat was a little scratchy from screaming his name last night. By the way you were screaming Wolf, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole castle heard you. My face grew warm at the thought, and that’s when Levi shifted himself to smirk at me.

“What is it?” His voice was still raspy from sleep, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.

“Nothing. Just admiring my handsome captain, like I do every morning.”

He didn’t roll his eyes or scoff like I expected him to, just like he’d done every other time I’d called him the h-word. Instead he slid his fingers across my forehead, brushing a few strands of hair from my face, before thumbing the little white scar across my cheek. I hummed as he cradled my face in his hands, lips fluttering over the top of my head.

Of course, his one rule in bed: No kissing before brushing our teeth.

But the bed was so warm, and his arms were so comfortable, that the mere thought of getting out and leaving him was enough to make me grimace. So I snuggled in as close as I could, pressing my face to the planes of his chest and kissing the skin below.

“Someone’s clingy today.”

“You’re one to talk,” I retorted, but my voice was muffled by his chest. “You can’t stand it when I get out of bed before you.”

“Oh, is that why you won’t let me leave?”

As if to test his little theory, he began to inch closer to the edge of the bed, sliding his leg from out of the covers and towards the floor. But I was quick to snatch him back, hooking my leg around his own and keeping him pinned to the bed below.

“Tch, come on, you little shit.” But there was no malice in his tone as he carded his fingers through my messy hair. “I have to piss. And clean up. You should do the same, too.”

“But you’re so warm…”

He groaned again, flopping back down against the pillows. I crawled up the length of his body and held myself over his chest, with my elbow propped up against the side of his head.

“Just a few more minutes, captain.” His jaw tightened as I slid my finger across his collarbone, down his chest and over his abdomen. “You’re too warm and comfortable to let go of just yet.”

“…A few more minutes. But that’s it.”

Of course. I pressed a kiss to his cheek before settling into my usual place, with my head tucked beneath his chin and my palm pressed against his heart.

Already I could start to feel myself dozing off again. It was all so surreal to me—the gentle hum of his breaths, the warmth of his sun-kissed skin against mine, and the soft tug of his fingers in my hair, lazily twisting the strands at my nape. Suddenly I didn’t feel like a soldier of the Survey Corps; soldiers never felt peaceful like this for too long.

Every morning could be like this, after this war is over.

That little voice in the back of my head was already hard at work, whispering forbidden dreams and promises in my ear. I could only press my face against his chest, as the thoughts began to run rampant within my mind.

Imagine waking up next to him like this for the rest of your life, but in a different house. Maybe one somewhere deep in the forests beyond the Walls, away from the rest of the world. Maybe we’ll live in a cottage by a lake or a river, one we’ve built together with our own hands. Maybe we’ll have a barn as well, to keep a few horses close by. And maybe when I wake up one of these mornings, I’ll find Levi’s fingers splayed across my stomach, protecting the child growing inside of me. Our child.

The thought of children made my throat close up. Fuck. I forgot I’d mentioned them to him last night…

Neither of us were ready for that conversation, maybe not for a good few years. We were still soldiers, sworn to protect the remnants of humanity from the Titans, even at the cost of our lives. We couldn’t set aside our duties for a couple of children for ten years at least, or maybe even more. And I refused to give them off to a wet nurse or another couple to raise in our stead. If Levi and I were ever going to have children of our own, we would raise them ourselves, not let another person take over. I couldn’t even bear the thought of handing my child, either a boy like Levi or a girl like myself, over to a stranger I didn’t even know.

It was best to just wait until the Titans were eradicated altogether. Then we could settle in that silly little cottage in the forest. Then we could discuss the topic of children freely. But for now, it was a possibility neither of us dared to speak out loud.

“What is it?”

I brushed my fingers along his collarbone once more. “What’s what?”

“You know what I mean.” Levi groaned as he shifted himself against the pillows; I nearly laughed when I realized the spare pillow was still propped up against what remained of the poor headboard. “What’s bothering you? And don’t say it’s nothing…because I’ll know you’re lying.”

He held me firm against his body, with my chin propped up on his chest and his palms against my shoulders. I sighed, wondering if it was worth it to come clean to him now and bring up my thoughts about our future children—if we even end up having any to begin with.

But I couldn’t get the words out. They were lodged in the back of my throat, keeping me from breathing, from telling him just how I really felt about all of this. They were right there on the tip of my tongue, and yet I couldn’t say them out loud no matter how hard I tried.

I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want us to retire from the Scouts when this war is over. I want us to get married, to move to a little house far away from everyone else. I want us to have children, as many as we can possibly have. A son, a daughter, whatever you want—it doesn’t matter to me. And maybe we’ll have that tea shop you told me about once, maybe in one of the outer districts close to home. I want us to stay by each other’s sides until the day we take our last breaths, with graying hair and wrinkled skin and our many grandchildren playing at our knees.

But…how could I tell him all of this without scaring him away? If there was one thing I knew about Levi, it was that he liked to take things slowly, to allow himself to adapt and adjust. I couldn’t just dump all of that on him without any warning whatsoever.

Still, I had to say something to him. So I cleared my throat and touched his cheek, tracing down to his jawline as softly as I could.

“…I just wish every day could be like this.”

Soft, quiet, gentle—absolute bliss.

His only answer was a light squeeze against my shoulders—and I had no time to think before he pulled me in close, slotting his lips against my own. Morning breath be damned, I still loved the taste of his mouth.

“I thought you didn’t like kissing first thing in the morning.”

I snickered as he rolled his eyes, before pushing me off his chest and rolling onto his stomach on the bed. His arms curled around the pillows, the sun’s rays spilling across his back. The scratches I’d left last night were still there, pink and tender, stretching along the length of his shoulders. I leaned down to press a few kisses along each one, smirking as I felt him shiver beneath my mouth.

When I was done, I lowered myself across his back and curled a few strands of black hair behind his ear. It was strange, seeing him with messy morning hair, but I loved it all the same.

“Can we sleep in, just for a little bit?” He groaned into the pillow as I pressed my lips to the shell of his ear. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you tonight…”

“With what?” He shifted his head to the side, giving me a half-hearted smirk against the fabric of the pillow. “More scratches on my back with those claws of yours?”

“Well, I could, if you want me to… But I’ll clean them up again, as many times as you want.” Just for good measure, I pressed another line of kisses down the most prominent scratch on his left shoulder—a long red line that burned brighter than all the others.

Neither of us spoke for a while after that, and for a moment I wondered if he was actually going to give into my plea of sleeping in. But then he was pushing himself off the mattress, palms digging into the pillows below. I flopped down on my back at his side, staring up at him as he stretched out his arms and rolled his shoulders back and forth.

“Let me piss first, at least. And I suggest you do the same.”

It was hard not to smile as I watched him disappear into the bathroom, leaving the door open just a little bit. I yawned and curled my arm behind my head, staring up at the ceiling above. With the effects of sleep still lingering, and the warmth of Levi’s touch still against my skin, I closed my eyes and let my mind begin to wander.

Once this war was over, we’d be able to have all the lazy mornings we wanted. Just the two of us, in our little house in the heart of the forest. There was a Forest of Giant Trees just outside Shiganshina’s outer gates, and once we took back Wall Maria maybe we could settle there—that is, unless they didn’t turn it into a tourist attraction like they did with the ones within the Walls.

I thought of the river cutting through the southern half of the Walls, through the center of Shiganshina before leading further into the territory beyond Wall Maria. As far as I knew, none of the Scouts knew where it came to an end. It carried on further and further south, even past the old castle ruins I’d explored on my first expedition beyond the Walls. I remembered staring at it with my mouth agape, watching the water flow south as far as the eye could see, before disappearing into the red horizon. Ever since then, I’d wondered what was at the end of it, and whether or not there were even more rivers in the world beyond our three safe Walls.

Once we win this war, we’ll be able to find out for ourselves. We’ll settle down somewhere, away from everyone else within the Walls; once we start exploring the Walls will surely feel a bit cramped. It’ll just be me and Levi, and our two horses of course, and someday down the line—

Before I knew it, I was pressing my palm to my stomach, splaying my fingers across the scarred skin. And I couldn’t help but frown when all I felt was stillness. Nothing was in there—not yet, at least.

Hold on—what the fuck am I thinking? I groaned into my palms and turned over to lay on my stomach, nails digging into the top of my scalp.

You and Levi aren’t ready for children yet. Hell, you don’t even know if he wants children to begin with! You guys barely talked about it last night, you know. So stop jumping into sad little fantasies of the future.

As much as I hated to say it…the little voice in the back of my mind was right. The thought was nice, something to keep close whenever the future looked bright, but we both knew the truth. Neither of us had time to spare for a child right now. And there was too much at stake right now to start thinking about our retirement from the Scouts, or whether or not we would live together once the Titans were gone. And that alone made my hands begin to tremble.

Sure, we practically lived in each other’s offices at this point, but we were still under the same roof—with roughly a hundred other soldiers living in close proximity with us. Would Levi even be okay with walking away from the base someday to live alone with me? Or did he have other plans to live somewhere else—plans that didn’t include me?

Levi cleared his throat as he finally stepped out of the bathroom, ruffling his messy hair with his fingers. I was quick to slip in after him, catching a whiff of mint from his breath as he leaned in to kiss my forehead. Clean freak already brushed his teeth, huh?

“Make it quick if you want to go back to sleep.” I gasped as he gave my ass a light smack, before making his way towards the messy bed. “I won’t wait forever.”

I rolled my eyes and stuck out my tongue at him. “Just for that, I’m going to take all the time I want in here!”

“Go ahead, but don’t be surprised when you come back to a cold bed, brat.”

I closed the door with a huff, and even through the running water in the bathroom, I could hear him snickering on the other side.

My mind was still racing as I took care of my business, washing up my face and brushing my teeth with the minty toothpaste he kept on the side of the sink. A million questions flooded my mind about the future: what would happen to us, where we would live, the state of the entire Survey Corps, and everything in between. Of course, there was also the possibility we could never end up living together afterwards, even if we wanted to; for all we knew, one of us could end up dying before then.

I shivered and spat out the toothpaste with a grunt. Stop that. Thinking about it will only get you worked up. Focus on what you have right now in front of you, okay?

And right now, I had a handsome captain waiting for me in bed—all alone, and all mine.

He was still there when I opened the door to the bathroom—of course, I knew he would never leave me—and I wasted no time climbing back into bed and throwing the sheets over our bodies. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, pulling him in as close as possible as his arms found their way around my hips.

“So clingy,” he mumbled against my hair.

“…Just sleepy.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie—I was pretty sleepy, and already I could feel my eyelids drooping as I curled into his chest beneath the covers. I made sure to keep my body almost completely still (no kicking my legs or shifting from side to side), so he wouldn’t suspect anything was wrong with me. We were both too tired to even entertain any ideas of what the future could hold for us. I couldn’t spring this up on him now.

So I kept quiet and snuggled deeper into his chest, the warmth of the sun’s rays and his arms around me lulling me back to sleep.

|~|

When I finally left his room a little over an hour later, the first thing I did was head to the mess hall to check up on my kids. Thankfully they were no longer sleeping on the floor and across the tables, like they had been the night before. Now they were crowded around their usual tables, mumbling to each other over their identical bowls of gruel.

“Never again,” I heard Gretel mutter under her breath, “no more late nights. My head can’t take it…”

I snorted as I gathered my own bowl of gruel from the main counter. If that’s how she’s acting just by staying up late, I’d hate to see what she’s like when she’s hungover. Not that I would ever encourage my cadets to drink (at least, not when they were in my presence, of course).

Which reminded me… I’d have to go check on Mike and Moblit later today. Those two could become insufferable with alcohol in their systems, and while Moblit was usually reserved and had a high tolerance (normally), it was Mike who was the more rambunctious of the two. A bad influence on Moblit, if you ask me.

And sure enough, the two of them were sitting at our usual table, with Nanaba directly across from them. She was rolling her eyes as Mike held his head in his hands, and Moblit leaned too far over the table and smacked his forehead into the book he was currently reading.

“And if you look directly ahead,” she said, smiling as I made my way over to sit next to her, “you’ll see a pair of full-grown men struggling to hold their liquor the morning after. So much for all their big talk, huh?”

“I can handle it just fine, thank you,” Mike groaned into his palms. At least he seems too out of it to tease me about using Levi’s shampoo, like last time. “Those last couple shots killed me, though…”

“Wait…you had even more last night?” My eyes darted back and forth between Mike and Nanaba in between bites of my breakfast. “When was this?”

“After we split up, these two geniuses decided it would be a good idea to break into the whiskey in the cellar and see who could last the longest. And honestly…I’m giving this one to Moblit. Sorry, Mike.”

But neither of them seemed to be interested in the verdict. Moblit was whimpering into the pages of his book, as Mike mumbled a slew of curses under his breath. Poor boys. They would be like this for the rest of the day; I’d seen them both knock back shot after shot together after a particularly successful (and rare) expedition, and they were usually out of it for the next couple days or so. Moblit was always the first to recover, given how much he was already used to drinking during the week. (Working with Hanji every hour of every day could put quite the strain on both your mind and body.) Mike was the one who had to be babied through it all, which gave Nanaba plenty of room for teasing as she took care of him—and despite the occasional complaint, there was no denying both she and Mike loved the extra attention they got from one another.

“On a lighter note,” she continued, turning halfway in her seat to face me, “any plans for later today? Since this one’s going to be out of commission for a while, I’m looking for a new sparring partner.” Mike rolled his eyes at her, only to wince and grip his head once more. “I would ask Lynne or Gelgar, but they’re focusing on their ODM training today. So, you up for it?”

I glanced over at Reggie and Evan, yawning into their hands; at Emily and Murphy, who were dozing off on either side of Eld; and finally at Gretel, and despite putting on a brave face, she was quickly nodding off in her seat above her breakfast.

Looks like Mike isn’t the only one out of commission today. “Sounds like a plan! When do you want to meet up?”

|~|

Once I was finished with a small load of laundry and some extra paperwork lying on my desk, I headed out to meet Nanaba behind the girls’ barracks. By now the sun was at its peak in the sky, beating down hard on the two of us. She met me with a smile, her boots scuffing in the dirt as she rolled her sleeves up to her elbows.

Training with Nanaba was always a mixed bag; I never knew what she would focus on this time around. Sometimes she was stronger, sometimes she was faster. She never did the same thing twice, like myself or Mike did. While I focused on speed and evading attacks, and Mike insisted on pure, unbridled strength in his blows and kicks, Nanaba was always changing it up. It was impressive, how flexible she could be in the field—a good way to keep her opponents guessing, too.

But she was careful about the way she carried herself through our warmups, as well. Never hinting at saving her arm strength for her punches, or slowing down during our laps around the base to conserve her energy. She was someone who put her all into her workouts, and that’s what made her such an exciting partner to train with.

With three laps around the base under our belt, the two of us chose a shady spot at the edge of the meadow to train. The horses were grazing beyond the fences, tails swishing in the breeze, huge noses bumping into each other’s. I could see Ivy and Misty frolicking in the distance, kicking out their legs as though they were foals once more.

I was so enamored with the sight I almost didn’t see Nanaba’s fist aiming for my cheek. I let out a breath as I dodged her attacks, batting her wrists away and slinking to the side when she went for my head.

She’s fighting dirty today. Well, if that’s how she wants to play, then so be it!

Fists pressing into palms, a swift sweep of the leg—in no time the two of us were panting hard, foreheads slick with sweat beneath the cool shade of the trees nearby. She caught my wrist in her hand with a smirk, before tugging me close and bringing her knee up to my stomach. I grit my teeth against the pain, trying my best to break free from her grip, but she only snickered and wrapped her fingers around the collar of my shirt…and suddenly my back was pressed against the dirt, with Nanaba’s knee hovering over my chest.

“…No fair!”

“All’s fair in hand-to-hand combat, my dear.” She shifted herself off of my chest, before plopping down in the dirt beside me. I sat up with a groan, immediately reaching for the pair of canteens resting beside us in the shade. “You’re not as speedy as you usually are—still tuckered out from last night?”

“Fuck off.” I could only hope my blush added to my already-burning face from our workout.

“No, I’m serious.” Her smile was softer as she took a swig of her water, brushing her blond hair away from her forehead. “What’s on your mind?”

And suddenly it was coming back to me, so fast I could barely react: lying side by side with Levi in his bed, drawing lazy circles on his chest, dreaming about a future for the two of us beyond the Walls.

“…Nothing, I’m fine.”

But she was persistent; those bright blue eyes were cutting into my skin, poking, prodding for me to elaborate. Damn it, even without saying anything, she’s still so intimidating.

I wasn’t as close to Nanaba as I was with Hanji, but I still considered her one of my dearest friends. But how often had I actually sat down and talked with her like this? How many conversations did we have without the occasional joke thrown in, or with our fists flying during a training session? Nanaba was never the one I went to when it came to talking about my insecurities, or my dreams and fears of the world around me. It had always been Hanji, and later on Levi. But never Nanaba.

Still, there was a weight on my chest that I couldn’t get rid of, a nagging voice in the back of my head that demanded I talk to someone—and as much as I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t go to either Levi or Hanji this time.

“Come on,” she was leaning against the tree now, her legs crossed at the ankles, “spill already.”

I took another drink from my canteen, fingers trembling against my knees.

“…Do you have any plans…once this is over?”

“Once what is over?”

“You know…this?”

It wasn’t until I gestured to the base around us, to the soldiers training among the trees and the horses grazing in the fields that she seemed to understand. The soles of her boots dug into the dirt, her pointer finger tapping rapidly against the crook of her elbow. I clung to the canteen at my chest, waiting for her to speak.

“Honestly, I haven’t really thought about it.” She shook her head with a smile, which did little to quell the feeling in my chest. “Maybe I’ll tag along with Mike, if he goes back to his parents’ home up north. I don’t think they’d mind all that much.”

Of course they wouldn’t. Mike’s mother simply loved the company whenever we made the trip to Wall Sina, but there was always that sneaking suspicion that she loved Nanaba just a hair more than the rest of us.

Still, there was a forlorn look in her eye, a soft breath passing through her lips as she leaned further back against the tree. Almost as though she didn’t believe her own words.

“That sounds nice,” I whispered, but her eyes drooped to the ground, where she was scuffing up the dust with the heel of her boot. “…Doesn’t it?”

“I guess you could say that.” Her smile was back, but that look in her eye remained. “Now it’s your turn. What do you plan to do after this?”

Every word I could think of was on the tip of my tongue all at once; every silly dream I’d harbored since I was a child, right up until this morning as I curled up into Levi’s side, nestled comfortably in his bed. My cheeks were burning, my voice no more than a hushed mumble. But Nanaba leaned forward eagerly, urging me to speak up. And I knew better than to hide from those soft blue eyes.

You brought this on yourself, Wolf. So own up to it.

“…I want to marry. Maybe have a kid or two…”

I glanced up at her, waiting for a smug smile or a snarky comment about Levi (I know Hanji would absolutely go for it, but Nanaba had a bit more class than her). Instead she was gazing down at me, drumming her fingers against the crook of her elbow, and nodding along to the sound of my voice.

“That sounds nice, too.”

That sad look in her eye was back again, stronger than ever. And suddenly I was starting to feel a twinge in my chest, a gaping hole stretching itself wider and wider as our conversation began to truly sink in.

The question was hanging between us in the air, too heavy to say out loud. Too terrifying to confront head-on.

Do you really think you’ll live long enough to see the end of this war?

It was a question every soldier had to face at one point or another. From every cadet learning how to wield a pair of swords for the first time, to every veteran silently counting down the days with a smile on his face. There was always that lingering fear in their minds, that little voice that held too much weight to be ignored. That constant reminder of the reality of this world, and how cruel and unjust it could be.

We all had our dreams and goals and fears. Hopes for the future, regrets of the past, promises made to one another when all seemed lost. Little things to tell ourselves to get through the day, even if they consisted of unobtainable dreams we would never be able to reach in our lifetimes.

For Nanaba, it was going back home with Mike. For myself, it was settling down with Levi and having a child.

Sweet dreams to cling onto when all seemed lost, that little flicker of light at the end of the tunnel to help us keep pressing on. But all of that meant nothing when staring down the maw of a Titan, its beady eyes filled with rage.

How many of our comrades had held similar dreams? Dreams of returning to their homes and starting a new life for themselves? And how many of those dreams had died alongside them, at the jaws of the Titans beyond the Walls?

A bitter pill to swallow, but necessary nonetheless. It would be a miracle if we all came out of this war alive. We couldn’t afford to waste time wondering about what the future held for us. The best we could do was make the most out of what we could with our lives now.

I leaned against the tree with a sigh, my shoulder touching Nanaba’s beneath the shade. Across the meadows I could see Murphy and Evan, letting their horses out for a quick run. And close behind was Emily, with Ivy galloping after Misty and Gus as fast as her legs could carry her.

And suddenly it clicked—that was the future we were all fighting for. Not just for the good of humanity, for the safety of the people within the Walls, but for the chance to give those kids a better life.

Reggie, Gretel, Evan, Murphy, Emily—even Eld and Gunther, and Petra, Oluo, and Nifa. And every single one of our fresh-faced recruits, and even the cadets still in training at the southern tip of Wall Rose. Even the littler ones who played in the outer districts, who went to school in the heart of Wall Sina, who still got in trouble with their parents for playing too roughly with their siblings.

Those kids were the ones who mattered the most. The ones that were here and now, living and breathing—the most precious people within these Walls.

Maybe I couldn’t reach my dream of having children of my own in this life. But I could damn well do my best to make sure those kids woke up in the morning, without fear of what was lurking beyond our little haven.

|~|

The weight in my chest had eased up as the day carried on. By the time I retired to my office for the night it was no more than a little lump in my throat—easy to choke down when Levi came to visit me, a stack of paperwork under one arm, and a tray of tea in the other.

Neither of us spoke as we settled into our usual routine: the two of us seated across from each other at my desk, the only sound between us being the scratch of our pens against the parchment.

In a way I was relieved; at least neither of us seemed eager to mention my slip-up last night. It was for the best, anyway. The sooner I stopped thinking about it, the sooner it would leave my mind altogether.

But as I filed my papers away for the night, that strange feeling came back like a raging inferno. I grimaced at the culprit: the box set of books Moblit had gotten me for my birthday last night, resting on the edge of the file cabinet.

Where Mom Lives.

My mother’s favorite books to read as she waited for Dad to come home, curled up against the arm of the couch with her elbow propped up on a stack of pillows. She would always shake her head whenever the three of us would climb into her lap and ask her to read aloud to us. “You’re too young,” she would say, but she would still open the blanket and allow us to come cuddle with her. “You won’t appreciate it until you’re older. Much older than you are now.”

Before I knew it I was standing in front of the file cabinet, staring up at the three books above. Red, bronze, and green, each with fine gold trimming along the edges and spines. The pages were crisp and clean, and yet when I took the first book and opened it up, it still had that soft dusty smell to it.

Just like home, and my throat closed up all over again.

A pair of arms came to rest around my waist, and I bit back a smile as Levi pulled me backwards, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I hope you’re not planning on keeping those all to yourself.”

“Oh, would you like to read them when I’m finished?”

But he only shook his head, before leading me away from the cabinet, with his arms still around my waist. This time I laughed as he flopped us down on the couch, side by side, with the pillows pressed against my arm. Wordlessly he stole a pillow from the stack, placed it against my lap, and pressed his cheek to the soft fabric. A few seconds passed before he glanced up at me, the slightest trace of annoyance written across his face.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

With another laugh, I leaned down and kissed his forehead, brushing his long bangs out of his beautiful eyes. Then his nose, his cheeks, and finally his lips. And when I was done, I leaned against the cushions of the couch, turned to the first page, and began to read aloud.

And all the while, as selfish as it was, I thought of sharing a new life with him, just the two of us away from the world, with a home of our own and children in our arms.

[josephkravis]

Six Snaps: Propter Hoc Tantum | Vol. 1

Shadows of the Unknown

Shadows of the Unknown A Portrait of Mystique The Sentinel A hooded guardian with fierce eyes and an aura of quiet strength, she navigates the shadows with an unwavering resolve, embodying mystery and latent power. The Unveiled A powerful, unveiled woman with an intense gaze that speaks of unspoken stories and resilience, framed by an abstract background that hints at a post-apocalyptic…

[cozystars]

!!! BUILT LIKE BILBO BAGGINS !!!

[cloudcastor]

some dungeon meshis 💥

from patreon

[magrico-info]

mancheia vol. I · welcome where the garden grows · 1997 - 2000

Primeiro volume, «welcome where the garden grows», traz-nos uma amostra dos primeiros trabalhos (1997-2000) de magriço, Nuno Cardinho e Lucio Ferreira, vulgo «garden grows». Banda de garagem, de indie rock e/ou rock alternativo, experimental.

música [magriço, guitarra slide; cardinho, guitarra solo; lúcio, baixo] produção e edição por magriço; 2000

música [magriço, voz & guitarras] produção e edição por magriço; 2000

música [magriço, voz & guitarra; cardinho, guitarra solo; lúcio, bateria electronica & baixo] produção e edição por garden grows; 2000

música [magriço, voz & guitarra] produção e edição por magriço; 1997

música [magriço, voz & guitarra; cardinho, guitarra solo] produção e edição por magriço; 1997

[awkwardbakugou]

HE GOT IT SIGNED IM CRYING

[lazylittledragon]

y'know every time i feel guilty about bothering someone by singing along when i'm listening to music, i just remember that i have to tolerate my dirtbag brother screaming at his ps5 for hours every day so listening to muffled off-key fall out boy is probably preferable

[amos-evans]

🅱️linical 🅱️ases

[aquanutart]

THEY'RE BACK!!!! my childhood manga!!!

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter III. Economic Evolutions. — First Period. — The Division of Labor.

2. — Impotence of palliatives. — MM. Blanqui, Chevalier, Dunoyer, Rossi, and Passy.

All the remedies proposed for the fatal effects of parcellaire division may be reduced to two, which really are but one, the second being the inversion of the first: to raise the mental and moral condition of the workingman by increasing his comfort and dignity; or else, to prepare the way for his future emancipation and happiness by instruction.

We will examine successively these two systems, one of which is represented by M. Blanqui, the other by M. Chevalier.

M. Blanqui is a friend of association and progress, a writer of democratic tendencies, a professor who has a place in the hearts of the proletariat. In his opening discourse of the year 1845, M. Blanqui proclaimed, as a means of salvation, the association of labor and capital, the participation of the working man in the profits, — that is, a beginning of industrial solidarity. “Our century,” he exclaimed, “must witness the birth of the collective producer.” M. Blanqui forgets that the collective producer was born long since, as well as the collective consumer, and that the question is no longer a genetic, but a medical, one. Our task is to cause the blood proceeding from the collective digestion, instead of rushing wholly to the head, stomach, and lungs, to descend also into the legs and arms. Besides, I do not know what method M. Blanqui proposes to employ in order to realize his generous thought, — whether it be the establishment of national workshops, or the loaning of capital by the State, or the expropriation of the conductors of business enterprises and the substitution for them of industrial associations, or, finally, whether he will rest content with a recommendation of the savings bank to workingmen, in which case the participation would be put off till doomsday.

However this may be, M. Blanqui’s idea amounts simply to an increase of wages resulting from the copartnership, or at least from the interest in the business, which he confers upon the laborers. What, then, is the value to the laborer of a participation in the profits?

A mill with fifteen thousand spindles, employing three hundred hands, does not pay at present an annual dividend of twenty thousand francs. I am informed by a Mulhouse manufacturer that factory stocks in Alsace are generally below par and that this industry has already become a means of getting money by stock-jobbing instead of by labor. To SELL; to sell at the right time; to sell dear, — is the only object in view; to manufacture is only to prepare for a sale. When I assume, then, on an average, a profit of twenty thousand francs to a factory employing three hundred persons, my argument being general, I am twenty thousand francs out of the way. Nevertheless, we will admit the correctness of this amount. Dividing twenty thousand francs, the profit of the mill, by three hundred, the number of persons, and again by three hundred, the number of working days, I find an increase of pay for each person of twenty-two and one-fifth centimes, or for daily expenditure an addition of eighteen centimes, just a morsel of bread. Is it worth while, then, for this, to expropriate mill-owners and endanger the public welfare, by erecting establishments which must be insecure, since, property being divided into infinitely small shares, and being no longer supported by profit, business enterprises would lack ballast, and would be unable to weather commercial gales. And even if no expropriation was involved, what a poor prospect to offer the working class is an increase of eighteen centimes in return for centuries of economy; for no less time than this would be needed to accumulate the requisite capital, supposing that periodical suspensions of business did not periodically consume its savings!

The fact which I have just stated has been pointed out in several ways. M. Passy [13] himself took from the books of a mill in Normandy where the laborers were associated with the owner the wages of several families for a period of ten years, and he found that they averaged from twelve to fourteen hundred francs per year. He then compared the situation of mill-hands paid in proportion to the prices obtained by their employers with that of laborers who receive fixed wages, and found that the difference is almost imperceptible. This result might easily have been foreseen. Economic phenomena obey laws as abstract and immutable as those of numbers: it is only privilege, fraud, and absolutism which disturb the eternal harmony.

M. Blanqui, repentant, as it seems, at having taken this first step toward socialistic ideas, has made haste to retract his words. At the same meeting in which M. Passy demonstrated the inadequacy of cooperative association, he exclaimed: “Does it not seem that labor is a thing susceptible of organization, and that it is in the power of the State to regulate the happiness of humanity as it does the march of an army, and with an entirely mathematical precision? This is an evil tendency, a delusion which the Academy cannot oppose too strongly, because it is not only a chimera, but a dangerous sophism. Let us respect good and honest intentions; but let us not fear to say that to publish a book upon the organization of labor is to rewrite for the fiftieth time a treatise upon the quadrature of the circle or the philosopher’s stone.”

Then, carried away by his zeal, M. Blanqui finishes the destruction of his theory of cooperation, which M. Passy already had so rudely shaken, by the following example: “M. Dailly, one of the most enlightened of farmers, has drawn up an account for each piece of land and an account for each product; and he proves that within a period of thirty years the same man has never obtained equal crops from the same piece of land. The products have varied from twenty-six thousand francs to nine thousand or seven thousand francs, sometimes descending as low as three hundred francs. There are also certain products — potatoes, for instance — which fail one time in ten. How, then, with these variations and with revenues so uncertain, can we establish even distribution and uniform wages for laborers?....”

It might be answered that the variations in the product of each piece of land simply indicate that it is necessary to associate proprietors with each other after having associated laborers with proprietors, which would establish a more complete solidarity: but this would be a prejudgment on the very thing in question, which M. Blanqui definitively decides, after reflection, to be unattainable, — namely, the organization of labor. Besides, it is evident that solidarity would not add an obolus to the common wealth, and that, consequently, it does not even touch the problem of division.

In short, the profit so much envied, and often a very uncertain matter with employers, falls far short of the difference between actual wages and the wages desired; and M. Blanqui’s former plan, miserable in its results and disavowed by its author, would be a scourge to the manufacturing industry. Now, the division of labor being henceforth universally established, the argument is generalized, and leads us to the conclusion that misery is an effect of labor, as well as of idleness.

The answer to this is, and it is a favorite argument with the people: Increase the price of services; double and triple wages.

I confess that if such an increase was possible it would be a complete success, whatever M. Chevalier may have said, who needs to be slightly corrected on this point.

According to M. Chevalier, if the price of any kind of merchandise whatever is increased, other kinds will rise in a like proportion, and no one will benefit thereby.

This argument, which the economists have rehearsed for more than a century, is as false as it is old, and it belonged to M. Chevalier, as an engineer, to rectify the economic tradition. The salary of a head clerk being ten francs per day, and the wages of a workingman four, if the income of each is increased five francs, the ratio of their fortunes, which was formerly as one hundred to forty, will be thereafter as one hundred to sixty. The increase of wages, necessarily taking place by addition and not by proportion, would be, therefore, an excellent method of equalization; and the economists would deserve to have thrown back at them by the socialists the reproach of ignorance which they have bestowed upon them at random.

But I say that such an increase is impossible, and that the supposition is absurd: for, as M. Chevalier has shown very clearly elsewhere, the figure which indicates the price of the day’s labor is only an algebraic exponent without effect on the reality: and that which it is necessary first to endeavor to increase, while correcting the inequalities of distribution, is not the monetary expression, but the quantity of products. Till then every rise of wages can have no other effect than that produced by a rise of the price of wheat, wine, meat, sugar, soap, coal, etc., — that is, the effect of a scarcity. For what is wages?

It is the cost price of wheat, wine, meat, coal; it is the integrant price of all things. Let us go farther yet: wages is the proportionality of the elements which compose wealth, and which are consumed every day reproductively by the mass of laborers. Now, to double wages, in the sense in which the people understand the words, is to give to each producer a share greater than his product, which is contradictory: and if the rise pertains only to a few industries, a general disturbance in exchange ensues, — that is, a scarcity. God save me from predictions! but, in spite of my desire for the amelioration of the lot of the working class, I declare that it is impossible for strikes followed by an increase of wages to end otherwise than in a general rise in prices: that is as certain as that two and two make four. It is not by such methods that the workingmen will attain to wealth and — what is a thousand times more precious than wealth — liberty. The workingmen, supported by the favor of an indiscreet press, in demanding an increase of wages, have served monopoly much better than their own real interests: may they recognize, when their situation shall become more painful, the bitter fruit of their inexperience!

Convinced of the uselessness, or rather, of the fatal effects, of an increase of wages, and seeing clearly that the question is wholly organic and not at all commercial, M. Chevalier attacks the problem at the other end. He asks for the working class, first of all, instruction, and proposes extensive reforms in this direction.

Instruction! this is also M. Arago’s word to the workingmen; it is the principle of all progress. Instruction!.... It should be known once for all what may be expected from it in the solution of the problem before us; it should be known, I say, not whether it is desirable that all should receive it, — this no one doubts, — but whether it is possible.

To clearly comprehend the complete significance of M. Chevalier’s views, a knowledge of his methods is indispensable.

M. Chevalier, long accustomed to discipline, first by his polytechnic studies, then by his St. Simonian connections, and finally by his position in the University, does not seem to admit that a pupil can have any other inclination than to obey the regulations, a sectarian any other thought than that of his chief, a public functionary any other opinion than that of the government. This may be a conception of order as respectable as any other, and I hear upon this subject no expressions of approval or censure. Has M. Chevalier an idea to offer peculiar to himself? On the principle that all that is not forbidden by law is allowed, he hastens to the front to deliver his opinion, and then abandons it to give his adhesion, if there is occasion, to the opinion of authority. It was thus that M. Chevalier, before settling down in the bosom of the Constitution, joined M. Enfantin: it was thus that he gave his views upon canals, railroads, finance, property, long before the administration had adopted any system in relation to the construction of railways, the changing of the rate of interest on bonds, patents, literary property, etc.

M. Chevalier, then, is not a blind admirer of the University system of instruction, — far from it; and until the appearance of the new order of things, he does not hesitate to say what he thinks. His opinions are of the most radical.

M. Villemain had said in his report: “The object of the higher education is to prepare in advance a choice of men to occupy and serve in all the positions of the administration, the magistracy, the bar and the various liberal professions, including the higher ranks and learned specialties of the army and navy.”

“The higher education,” thereupon observes M. Chevalier, [14] “is designed also to prepare men some of whom shall be farmers, others manufacturers, these merchants, and those private engineers. Now, in the official programme, all these classes are forgotten. The omission is of considerable importance; for, indeed, industry in its various forms, agriculture, commerce, are neither accessories nor accidents in a State: they are its chief dependence.... If the University desires to justify its name, it must provide a course in these things; else an industrial university will be established in opposition to it.... We shall have altar against altar, etc....”

And as it is characteristic of a luminous idea to throw light on all questions connected with it, professional instruction furnishes M. Chevalier with a very expeditious method of deciding, incidentally, the quarrel between the clergy and the University on liberty of education.

“It must be admitted that a very great concession is made to the clergy in allowing Latin to serve as the basis of education. The clergy know Latin as well as the University; it is their own tongue. Their tuition, moreover, is cheaper; hence they must inevitably draw a large portion of our youth into their small seminaries and their schools of a higher grade....”

The conclusion of course follows: change the course of study, and you decatholicize the realm; and as the clergy know only Latin and the Bible, when they have among them neither masters of art, nor farmers, nor accountants; when, of their forty thousand priests, there are not twenty, perhaps, with the ability to make a plan or forge a nail, — we soon shall see which the fathers of families will choose, industry or the breviary, and whether they do not regard labor as the most beautiful language in which to pray to God.

Thus would end this ridiculous opposition between religious education and profane science, between the spiritual and the temporal, between reason and faith, between altar and throne, old rubrics henceforth meaningless, but with which they still impose upon the good nature of the public, until it takes offence.

M. Chevalier does not insist, however, on this solution: he knows that religion and monarchy are two powers which, though continually quarrelling, cannot exist without each other; and that he may not awaken suspicion, he launches out into another revolutionary idea, — equality.

“France is in a position to furnish the polytechnic school with twenty times as many scholars as enter at present (the average being one hundred and seventy-six, this would amount to three thousand five hundred and twenty). The University has but to say the word.... If my opinion was of any weight, I should maintain that mathematical capacity is much less special than is commonly supposed. I remember the success with which children, taken at random, so to speak, from the pavements of Paris, follow the teaching of La Martiniere by the method of Captain Tabareau.”

If the higher education, reconstructed according to the views of M. Chevalier, was sought after by all young French men instead of by only ninety thousand as commonly, there would be no exaggeration in raising the estimate of the number of minds mathematically inclined from three thousand five hundred and twenty to ten thousand; but, by the same argument, we should have ten thousand artists, philologists, and philosophers; ten thousand doctors, physicians, chemists, and naturalists; ten thousand economists, legists, and administrators; twenty thousand manufacturers, foremen, merchants, and accountants; forty thousand farmers, wine-growers, miners, etc., — in all, one hundred thousand specialists a year, or about one-third of our youth. The rest, having, instead of special adaptations, only mingled adaptations, would be distributed indifferently elsewhere.

It is certain that so powerful an impetus given to intelligence would quicken the progress of equality, and I do not doubt that such is the secret desire of M. Chevalier. But that is precisely what troubles me: capacity is never wanting, any more than population, and the problem is to find employment for the one and bread for the other. In vain does M. Chevalier tell us: “The higher education would give less ground for the complaint that it throws into society crowds of ambitious persons without any means of satisfying their desires, and interested in the overthrow of the State; people without employment and unable to get any, good for nothing and believing themselves fit for anything, especially for the direction of public affairs. Scientific studies do not so inflate the mind. They enlighten and regulate it at once; they fit men for practical life....” Such language, I reply, is good to use with patriarchs: a professor of political economy should have more respect for his position and his audience. The government has only one hundred and twenty offices annually at its disposal for one hundred and seventy-six students admitted to the polytechnic school: what, then, would be its embarrassment if the number of admissions was ten thousand, or even, taking M. Chevalier’s figures, three thousand five hundred? And, to generalize, the whole number of civil positions is sixty thousand, or three thousand vacancies annually; what dismay would the government be thrown into if, suddenly adopting the reformatory ideas of M. Chevalier, it should find itself besieged by fifty thousand office-seekers! The following objection has often been made to republicans without eliciting a reply: When everybody shall have the electoral privilege, will the deputies do any better, and will the proletariat be further advanced? I ask the same question of M. Chevalier: When each academic year shall bring you one hundred thousand fitted men, what will you do with them?

To provide for these interesting young people, you will go down to the lowest round of the ladder. You will oblige the young man, after fifteen years of lofty study, to begin, no longer as now with the offices of aspirant engineer, sub-lieutenant of artillery, second lieutenant, deputy, comptroller, general guardian, etc., but with the ignoble positions of pioneer, train-soldier, dredger, cabin-boy, fagot-maker, and exciseman. There he will wait, until death, thinning the ranks, enables him to advance a step. Under such circumstances a man, a graduate of the polytechnic school and capable of becoming a Vauban, may die a laborer on a second class road, or a corporal in a regiment

Oh! how much more prudent Catholicism has shown itself, and how far it has surpassed you all, St. Simonians, republicans, university men, economists, in the knowledge of man and society! The priest knows that our life is but a voyage, and that our perfection cannot be realized here below; and he contents himself with outlining on earth an education which must be completed in heaven. The man whom religion has moulded, content to know, do, and obtain what suffices for his earthly destiny, never can become a source of embarrassment to the government: rather would he be a martyr. O beloved religion! is it necessary that a bourgeoisie which stands in such need of you should disown you?...

Into what terrible struggles of pride and misery does this mania for universal instruction plunge us! Of what use is professional education, of what good are agricultural and commercial schools, if your students have neither employment nor capital? And what need to cram one’s self till the age of twenty with all sorts of knowledge, then to fasten the threads of a mule-jenny or pick coal at the bottom of a pit? What! you have by your own confession only three thousand positions annually to bestow upon fifty thousand possible capacities, and yet you talk of establishing schools! Cling rather to your system of exclusion and privilege, a system as old as the world, the support of dynasties and patriciates, a veritable machine for gelding men in order to secure the pleasures of a caste of Sultans. Set a high price upon your teaching, multiply obstacles, drive away, by lengthy tests, the son of the proletaire whom hunger does not permit to wait, and protect with all your power the ecclesiastical schools, where the students are taught to labor for the other life, to cultivate resignation, to fast, to respect those in high places, to love the king, and to pray to God. For every useless study sooner or later becomes an abandoned study: knowledge is poison to slaves.

Surely M. Chevalier has too much sagacity not to have seen the consequences of his idea. But he has spoken from the bottom of his heart, and we can only applaud his good intentions: men must first be men; after that, he may live who can.

Thus we advance at random, guided by Providence, who never warns us except with a blow: this is the beginning and end of political economy.

Contrary to M. Chevalier, professor of political economy at the College of France, M. Dunoyer, an economist of the Institute, does not wish instruction to be organized. The organization of instruction is a species of organization of labor; therefore, no organization. Instruction, observes M. Dunoyer, is a profession, not a function of the State; like all professions, it ought to be and remain free. It is communism, it is socialism, it is the revolutionary tendency, whose principal agents have been Robespierre, Napoleon, Louis XVIII, and M. Guizot, which have thrown into our midst these fatal ideas of the centralization and absorption of all activity in the State. The press is very free, and the pen of the journalist is an object of merchandise; religion, too, is very free, and every wearer of a gown, be it short or long, who knows how to excite public curiosity, can draw an audience about him. M. Lacordaire has his devotees, M. Leroux his apostles, M. Buchez his convent. Why, then, should not instruction also be free? If the right of the instructed, like that of the buyer, is unquestionable, and that of the instructor, who is only a variety of the seller, is its correlative, it is impossible to infringe upon the liberty of instruction without doing violence to the most precious of liberties, that of the conscience. And then, adds M. Dunoyer, if the State owes instruction to everybody, it will soon be maintained that it owes labor; then lodging; then shelter.... Where does that lead to?

The argument of M. Dunoyer is irrefutable: to organize instruction is to give to every citizen a pledge of liberal employment and comfortable wages; the two are as intimately connected as the circulation of the arteries and the veins. But M. Dunoyer’s theory implies also that progress belongs only to a certain select portion of humanity, and that barbarism is the eternal lot of nine-tenths of the human race. It is this which constitutes, according to M. Dunoyer, the very essence of society, which manifests itself in three stages, religion, hierarchy, and beggary. So that in this system, which is that of Destutt de Tracy, Montesquieu, and Plato, the antinomy of division, like that of value, is without solution.

It is a source of inexpressible pleasure to me, I confess, to see M. Chevalier, a defender of the centralization of instruction, opposed by M. Dunoyer, a defender of liberty; M. Dunoyer in his turn antagonized by M. Guizot; M. Guizot, the representative of the centralizers, contradicting the Charter, which posits liberty as a principle; the Charter trampled under foot by the University men, who lay sole claim to the privilege of teaching, regardless of the express command of the Gospel to the priests: Go and teach. And above all this tumult of economists, legislators, ministers, academicians, professors, and priests, economic Providence giving the lie to the Gospel, and shouting: Pedagogues! what use am I to make of your instruction?

Who will relieve us of this anxiety? M. Rossi leans toward eclecticism: Too little divided, he says, labor remains unproductive; too much divided, it degrades man. Wisdom lies between these extremes; in medio virtus. Unfortunately this intermediate wisdom is only a small amount of poverty joined with a small amount of wealth, so that the condition is not modified in the least. The proportion of good and evil, instead of being as one hundred to one hundred, becomes as fifty to fifty: in this we may take, once for all, the measure of eclecticism. For the rest, M. Rossi’s juste-milieu is in direct opposition to the great economic law: To produce with the least possible expense the greatest possible quantity of values.... Now, how can labor fulfil its destiny without an extreme division? Let us look farther, if you please.

“All economic systems and hypotheses,” says M. Rossi, “belong to the economist, but the intelligent, free, responsible man is under the control of the moral law... Political economy is only a science which examines the relations of things, and draws conclusions therefrom. It examines the effects of labor; in the application of labor, you should consider the importance of the object in view. When the application of labor is unfavorable to an object higher than the production of wealth, it should not be applied... Suppose that it would increase the national wealth to compel children to labor fifteen hours a day: morality would say that that is not allowable. Does that prove that political economy is false? No; that proves that you confound things which should be kept separate.”

If M. Rossi had a little more of that Gallic simplicity so difficult for foreigners to acquire, he would very summarily have thrown his tongue to the dogs, as Madame de Sevigne said. But a professor must talk, talk, talk, not for the sake of saying anything, but in order to avoid silence. M. Rossi takes three turns around the question, then lies down: that is enough to make certain people believe that he has answered it.

It is surely a sad symptom for a science when, in developing itself according to its own principles, it reaches its object just in time to be contradicted by another; as, for example, when the postulates of political economy are found to be opposed to those of morality, for I suppose that morality is a science as well as political economy. What, then, is human knowledge, if all its affirmations destroy each other, and on what shall we rely? Divided labor is a slave’s occupation, but it alone is really productive; undivided labor belongs to the free man, but it does not pay its expenses. On the one hand, political economy tells us to be rich; on the other, morality tells us to be free; and M. Rossi, speaking in the name of both, warns us at the same time that we can be neither free nor rich, for to be but half of either is to be neither. M. Rossi’s doctrine, then, far from satisfying this double desire of humanity, is open to the objection that, to avoid exclusiveness, it strips us of everything: it is, under another form, the history of the representative system.

But the antagonism is even more profound than M. Rossi has supposed. For since, according to universal experience (on this point in harmony with theory), wages decrease in proportion to the division of labor, it is clear that, in submitting ourselves to parcellaire slavery, we thereby shall not obtain wealth; we shall only change men into machines: witness the laboring population of the two worlds. And since, on the other hand, without the division of labor, society falls back into barbarism, it is evident also that, by sacrificing wealth, we shall not obtain liberty: witness all the wandering tribes of Asia and Africa. Therefore it is necessary — economic science and morality absolutely command it — for us to solve the problem of division: now, where are the economists? More than thirty years ago, Lemontey, developing a remark of Smith, exposed the demoralizing and homicidal influence of the division of labor. What has been the reply; what investigations have been made; what remedies proposed; has the question even been understood?

Every year the economists report, with an exactness which I would commend more highly if I did not see that it is always fruitless, the commercial condition of the States of Europe. They know how many yards of cloth, pieces of silk, pounds of iron, have been manufactured; what has been the consumption per head of wheat, wine, sugar, meat: it might be said that to them the ultimate of science is to publish inventories, and the object of their labor is to become general comptrollers of nations. Never did such a mass of material offer so fine a field for investigation. What has been found; what new principle has sprung from this mass; what solution of the many problems of long standing has been reached; what new direction have studies taken?

One question, among others, seems to have been prepared for a final judgment, — pauperism. Pauperism, of all the phenomena of the civilized world, is today the best known: we know pretty nearly whence it comes, when and how it arrives, and what it costs; its proportion at various stages of civilization has been calculated, and we have convinced ourselves that all the specifics with which it hitherto has been fought have been impotent. Pauperism has been divided into genera, species, and varieties: it is a complete natural history, one of the most important branches of anthropology. Well I the unquestionable result of all the facts collected, unseen, shunned, covered by the economists with their silence, is that pauperism is constitutional and chronic in society as long as the antagonism between labor and capital continues, and that this antagonism can end only by the absolute negation of political economy. What issue from this labyrinth have the economists discovered?

This last point deserves a moment’s attention.

In primitive communism misery, as I have observed in a preceding paragraph, is the universal condition.

Labor is war declared upon this misery.

Labor organizes itself, first by division, next by machinery, then by competition, etc.

Now, the question is whether it is not in the essence of this organization, as given us by political economy, at the same time that it puts an end to the misery of some, to aggravate that of others in a fatal and unavoidable manner. These are the terms in which the question of pauperism must be stated, and for this reason we have undertaken to solve it.

What means, then, this eternal babble of the economists about the improvidence of laborers, their idleness, their want of dignity, their ignorance, their debauchery, their early marriages, etc.? All these vices and excesses are only the cloak of pauperism; but the cause, the original cause which inexorably holds four-fifths of the human race in disgrace, — what is it? Did not Nature make all men equally gross, averse to labor, wanton, and wild? Did not patrician and proletaire spring from the same clay? Then how happens it that, after so many centuries, and in spite of so many miracles of industry, science, and art, comfort and culture have not become the inheritance of all? How happens it that in Paris and London, centres of social wealth, poverty is as hideous as in the days of Caesar and Agricola? Why, by the side of this refined aristocracy, has the mass remained so uncultivated? It is laid to the vices of the people: but the vices of the upper class appear to be no less; perhaps they are even greater. The original stain affected all alike: how happens it, once more, that the baptism of civilization has not been equally efficacious for all? Does this not show that progress itself is a privilege, and that the man who has neither wagon nor horse is forced to flounder about for ever in the mud? What do I say? The totally destitute man has no desire to improve: he has fallen so low that ambition even is extinguished in his heart.

“Of all the private virtues,” observes M. Dunoyer with infinite reason, “the most necessary, that which gives us all the others in succession, is the passion for well-being, is the violent desire to extricate one’s self from misery and abjection, is that spirit of emulation and dignity which does not permit men to rest content with an inferior situation.... But this sentiment, which seems so natural, is unfortunately much less common than is thought. There are few reproaches which the generality of men deserve less than that which ascetic moralists bring against them of being too fond of their comforts: the opposite reproach might be brought against them with infinitely more justice.... There is even in the nature of men this very remarkable feature, that the less their knowledge and resources, the less desire they have of acquiring these. The most miserable savages and the least enlightened of men are precisely those in whom it is most difficult to arouse wants, those in whom it is hardest to inspire the desire to rise out of their condition; so that man must already have gained a certain degree of comfort by his labor, before he can feel with any keenness that need of improving his condition, of perfecting his existence, which I call the love of well-being.” [15]

Thus the misery of the laboring classes arises in general from their lack of heart and mind, or, as M. Passy has said somewhere, from the weakness, the inertia of their moral and intellectual faculties. This inertia is due to the fact that the said laboring classes, still half savage, do not have a sufficiently ardent desire to ameliorate their condition: this M. Dunoyer shows. But as this absence of desire is itself the effect of misery, it follows that misery and apathy are each other’s effect and cause, and that the proletariat turns in a circle.

To rise out of this abyss there must be either well-being, — that is, a gradual increase of wages, — or intelligence and courage, — that is, a gradual development of faculties: two things diametrically opposed to the degradation of soul and body which is the natural effect of the division of labor. The misfortune of the proletariat, then, is wholly providential, and to undertake to extinguish it in the present state of political economy would be to produce a revolutionary whirlwind.

For it is not without a profound reason, rooted in the loftiest considerations of morality, that the universal conscience, expressing itself by turns through the selfishness of the rich and the apathy of the proletariat, denies a reward to the man whose whole function is that of a lever and spring. If, by some impossibility, material well-being could fall to the lot of the parcellaire laborer, we should see something monstrous happen: the laborers employed at disagreeable tasks would become like those Romans, gorged with the wealth of the world, whose brutalized minds became incapable of devising new pleasures. Well-being without education stupefies people and makes them insolent: this was noticed in the most ancient times. Incrassatus est, et recalcitravit, says

Deuteronomy. For the rest, the parcellaire laborer has judged himself: he is content, provided he has bread, a pallet to sleep on, and plenty of liquor on Sunday. Any other condition would be prejudicial to him, and would endanger public order.

At Lyons there is a class of men who, under cover of the monopoly given them by the city government, receive higher pay than college professors or the head-clerks of the government ministers: I mean the porters. The price of loading and unloading at certain wharves in Lyons, according to the schedule of the Rigues or porters’ associations, is thirty centimes per hundred kilogrammes. At this rate, it is not seldom that a man earns twelve, fifteen, and even twenty francs a day: he only has to carry forty or fifty sacks from a vessel to a warehouse. It is but a few hours’ work. What a favorable condition this would be for the development of intelligence, as well for children as for parents, if, of itself and the leisure which it brings, wealth was a moralizing principle! But this is not the case: the porters of Lyons are today what they always have been, drunken, dissolute, brutal, insolent, selfish, and base. It is a painful thing to say, but I look upon the following declaration as a duty, because it is the truth: one of the first reforms to be effected among the laboring classes will be the reduction of the wages of some at the same time that we raise those of others. Monopoly does not gain in respectability by belonging to the lowest classes of people, especially when it serves to maintain only the grossest individualism. The revolt of the silk-workers met with no sympathy, but rather hostility, from the porters and the river population generally. Nothing that happens off the wharves has any power to move them. Beasts of burden fashioned in advance for despotism, they will not mingle with politics as long as their privilege is maintained. Nevertheless, I ought to say in their defence that, some time ago, the necessities of competition having brought their prices down, more social sentiments began to awaken in these gross natures: a few more reductions seasoned with a little poverty, and the Rigues of Lyons will be chosen as the storming-party when the time comes for assaulting the bastilles.

In short, it is impossible, contradictory, in the present system of society, for the proletariat to secure well-being through education or education through well-being. For, without considering the fact that the proletaire, a human machine, is as unfit for comfort as for education, it is demonstrated, on the one hand, that his wages continually tend to go down rather than up, and, on the other, that the cultivation of his mind, if it were possible, would be useless to him; so that he always inclines towards barbarism and misery. Everything that has been attempted of late years in France and England with a view to the amelioration of the condition of the poor in the matters of the labor of women and children and of primary instruction, unless it was the fruit of some hidden thought of radicalism, has been done contrary to economic ideas and to the prejudice of the established order. Progress, to the mass of laborers, is always the book sealed with the seven seals; and it is not by legislative misconstructions that the relentless enigma will be solved.

For the rest, if the economists, by exclusive attention to their old routine, have finally lost all knowledge of the present state of things, it cannot be said that the socialists have better solved the antinomy which division of labor raised. Quite the contrary, they have stopped with negation; for is it not perpetual negation to oppose, for instance, the uniformity of parcellaire labor with a so-called variety in which each one can change his occupation ten, fifteen, twenty times a day at will?

As if to change ten, fifteen, twenty times a day from one kind of divided labor to another was to make labor synthetic; as if, consequently, twenty fractions of the day’s work of a manual laborer could be equal to the day’s work of an artist! Even if such industrial vaulting was practicable, — and it may be asserted in advance that it would disappear in the presence of the necessity of making laborers responsible and therefore functions personal, — it would not change at all the physical, moral, and intellectual condition of the laborer; the dissipation would only be a surer guarantee of his incapacity and, consequently, his dependence. This is admitted, moreover, by the organizers, communists, and others. So far are they from pretending to solve the antinomy of division that all of them admit, as an essential condition of organization, the hierarchy of labor, — that is, the classification of laborers into parcellaires and generalizers or organizers, — and in all utopias the distinction of capacities, the basis or everlasting excuse for inequality of goods, is admitted as a pivot. Those reformers whose schemes have nothing to recommend them but logic, and who, after having complained of the simplism, monotony, uniformity, and extreme division of labor, then propose a plurality as a SYNTHESIS, — such inventors, I say, are judged already, and ought to be sent back to school.

But you, critic, the reader undoubtedly will ask, what is your solution? Show us this synthesis which, retaining the responsibility, the personality, in short, the specialty of the laborer, will unite extreme division and the greatest variety in one complex and harmonious whole.

My reply is ready: Interrogate facts, consult humanity: we can choose no better guide. After the oscillations of value, division of labor is the economic fact which influences most perceptibly profits and wages. It is the first stake driven by Providence into the soil of industry, the starting-point of the immense triangulation which finally must determine the right and duty of each and all. Let us, then, follow our guides, without which we can only wander and lose ourselves.

Tu longe seggere, et vestigia semper adora.

[quitesins]

I have 97 mental illnesses and am banned from most public spaces

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Shrimpin' ain't easy